It goes against my better judgment to talk to her, much less have her in this house. The decision is not mine, however. This is the work of Maelstrom. And as long as he is writing the checks that make my life possible here at Singing Wind, who am I to argue?

It is a very good life.

She is, young, perhaps late twenties, early thirties, blonde with perfect legs; feet on one end and ass on the other. The fact that her ass can only be considered a 9 ½ is only because I have never seen a true 10. Meeting her at the door to my study, I offer my arm to escort her in, the perfect gentleman. I purposely situate her body out of my line of sight. I want only to concentrate on her face. It is not a beautiful face. No, not beautiful, Beautiful is too bland an adjective. She is interesting, intelligent, and smooth. These adjectives work. . She is magnificent, utterly magnificent. Perhaps you think I exaggerate, but this is not the case. I have made a life study of women and fancy myself a connoisseur of feminine flesh and character. To put it in the vernacular of my trade, this is a five million dollar cunt. And this was the strangest recruitment interview I have ever conducted.

“…and he told me I could count on you to fully acclimate me to the facility.” She told me in a flat tone, delivered with even a flatter look on her face. She was sizing me up and at the same time, trying to maintain her dignity. Dignity is a strange thing to women. This one views me as powerful and I am. But she also thinks I’m the lowest form of life on the planet. Be nice to the lowlife, the pervert. How genteel. I may be, too, all that and more. I trade in flesh. I am the first link in the White Slave chain store. Now I find myself interviewing a genuine, card carrying member of the fourth estate, the press, the New York Times. She is sitting across my from me, in my study, wearing a short skit and no panties hoping to entice me. To be honest, I had no idea whether to laugh or laugh uncontrollably.

“My facility,” I intoned just as flatly. “This entire facility, as you put it, is mine. Its conception, construction, and implementation are the produce of my thoughts, dreams and desires. It exists because one man dared to dream a dream and is willing to pay the price of seeing his ideas bear fruit. And yes, you can count on me to fully acclimate you to Singing Winds.” I let these words, the latter delivered with sarcastic mirth and trail off to the proverbial pregnant pause, as I’d heard my aunt say, if not a million times, then close. Her flat look was still plastered to her face but it didn’t go all the way to her eyes, though. Her eyes were flinty. I would not swear to it, but it seemed her breathing had hiccupped, just a small catch. She glanced at her notebook as if she needed to refresh her memory, and I think that is true, in so far as the thread of her memory is unraveling.

“Exactly, where am I?” She asked.

“You are in The House of Singing Wind.” I replied, hinting in my voice that this was an illogical question.

“I mean, exactly where is the House of Singing Wind? Generally speaking, I don’t want to know the GPS coordinates or anything, just where I am.” Her confidence was returning, though not to full force.

“Generally speaking, on Earth. Great pains have been taken to assure my privacy, my client’s privacy and the privacy of my novitiates. You are an investigative reporter. Investigate. The precautions we have taken with you are the same that any client, the hired help, or the newly chosen experience. Blindfold, hood and blacked out windows on my jet. No contact with the crew. Timing the flight won’t help, either. The flight lasts between nine and eleven and three quarter hours.

“Singing Winds has been in operation for fourteen years. I do the recruiting, the scheduling, the transportation, and have personally directed the curriculum.” Curriculum, what a concept! I think the word “program” would be a more likely term, so I correct my self. “I like to think of it as the program.” At this, I see her visibly swallow hard. Her confidence is waning.

“The program,” she repeated, “exactly what does that involve?” I cannot stop the small smile that is tugging at the corner of my mouth. She is trying to be the reporter, always analytical. I wondered how long that was going to last. Perhaps forever, perhaps not past tomorrow.

“It’s a training program, pure and simple.” At this, I stood and clasped my hands behind my back and knew I was about to lecture. And she was completely in my view again. “We train concubines, servants, slaves, fuck toys, whores, sluts, or whatever you want to call uncompensated human beings that are owned, controlled, used, abused and held in servitude. We train them to understand the importance of serving another, completely, in any manner prescribed by the client. What the client desires, we provide. The actual crux of the matter is that each novice is here of their own volition.” I chuckled, “An all volunteer force, if you will, striving to be the best they can. They have the desire to serve, to be of service and to be compliant. We foster that desire, we mold that desire, and we hone it to a fine edge. That is the Program. What is it you desire? You’ve got your full story now, you can write your article and enlighten the world about Singing Wind. You have seen all you will see and told all you will be told.” I turned and started toward the door.

“No, wait!” She implored to me. “I want to have the full picture I want to know what it’s like to be in the House of Singing Wind, the experience, talk to the others. I want my story to be fact based on my own experience not perceptions. I’ve flown here, to God knows where and you’re ready to send me off? Maelstrom promised me a story and I’m here to get it and I mean to get it.” There was fire in her eyes now and the small smile was again licking at the corners of my mouth. She was close to saying what she needed to say, but not quite there. “I want to see what the novices go through, I want that.”

“No!” I almost barked, “That is not going to happen. Maelstrom does not own this place and I’m not his servant. I’m under no obligation to show you anything. I’ve told you what you wanted to know about this place. Go back to New York and make up what you’d like about Singing Wind. It exists, you’ve seen it.”

In almost a girlish tone she said what I’d known she’d say, eventually, I was taken completely by surprise by how quickly and timidly it came.

“I want to be trained.”

And that was that and I knew an article would never be written.

I walk over and stand before her. I know what my eyes look like boring into her and I am looking quite through her. I can taste the fear stirring in her soul. I can feel the intensity building in the muscles of my face. I can smell her very well now, her perfume, her perspiration, her cunt. I can feel my voice box tighten, ready to take on the raspy quality that comes with “The Voice”. I watch as her hands tighten their grips on the arms of her chair, her knuckles going white. I stop 3 paces from her chair.

“Kneel.” My voice is deep, the word perfectly annunciated.

She does not move, so I repeat: “Kneel.” My voice is even, almost slow. It is not a whisper, it is very conversational with enough conviction to let her know I am in no mood for games. Still, she does not move. As slowly as I can, I close the distance between us and as my right foot comes to rest next to my left, my right hand flashes from my side, a flick, fast as a fighter’s jab, I slap her. The sound reverberates in the stillness of my office. I think to myself that I will never forget this look in her eye. She is stunned, but she does not become hysterical. This time when I say “Kneel.” in the same, even tone of the last two commands, she slides smoothly to the floor into a kneeling position.

“Pleasure me.” Same slow, quiet, melodious tone. Again, she looks at me with an uncomprehending look. “Suck me, blow me, slurp the schlong, smooch the root, give Mr. Johnson a kiss, eat me, do the deep throat, puff the penis, bob the knob, you give me long time sucky-sucky, give me head. Do what your told, when you’re told. Are there any questions?” I slap her smartly again. “No? Well, that’s just fine.”

And deftly, her hands go to my fly to release my cock from confinement, her lips part and she envelopes the shaft into her warm, moist mouth. Her eyes close and, I’m sure her motivation is to get this over as quickly as possible. I make suggestions as to speed, tongue usage, teeth positioning, and she quickly learns to gently and devotedly bring me to climax. Dutifully, she swallows every drop of cum I pump into her mouth.

My orgasm does not stop her ministrations until I gently pushed her mouth from me, the sensation is too intense to deal with for long. I could swear that I see disappointment furrow her brow as I pull my manhood from her lips. Then, she looks up at me. I say nothing for a long moment. “When you are done with something, put it away,” I say. And dutifully, she does. I walk back to my desk and discreetly push a small button. Almost immediately, the door opens and an Asian woman with a dour look on her face walks in. “This is Soledad. You will call her Mistress Sollie. She is going to play show and tell with you. Show you what you need to see and tell you what you need to know. Sollie, this bitches name is Slut. Take very good care of her or we just might need a session with the barbed wire flogger.” Oh, the look on Slut’s face upon hearing this reminded me of the credit card commercial. Priceless. As fast as cat, Sollie places an iron collar on Slut’s neck and slips a leash in place and leads her away. Slut, too shocked and stunned to protest, crawls away on her hands and knees like a dutiful puppy.

Chapter 2 – Li

The morning is hot and muggy and there is little doubt there will be rain in the jungle before noon. From the tree line, we watch as people from the surrounding villes began to congregate in a clearing, a cul-de-sac, one road both in and out. There is little to do but wait and see what is going on. The Laotian-Thailand border is notorious as a portal for arms and supplies from China via Laos, across Thailand into Cambodia and on into Vietnam. What is most curious about this gathering is the predominance of men and children, mostly young women. To my eye, I am certain these are families. Tran Ngo, the team’s translator, sidles up to me to apprise me of the situation, for my ears only.

“These farmers, very poor. Come to sell children. Not come to meet to meet Cong. No guns, no rice.”

I was stunned. “Why?” I asked.
”No money, no food. Girl childs no be married, no money, no buffalo to give to husband’s family, boys too young to work to rice paddies. Farmers has many children, many mouth to feed. If no can work, no can feed. Better sell than kill or starve.” He said this with a matter of fact dignity. This was the oriental way: He would make no judgments. His flat look told me that I was in no position to judge, either.

When his report is finished, Tran evaporates as silent as a ghost just as a mid fifties vintage Cadillac pulls into the clearing. My fist shoots up in a tight fist next to my ear. My index finger goes strait up, waggles back and forth once and then I make the peace sign. None of the men in the team need any explanation for the signal: Freeze, take cues from me, safeties on. Also, the men know exactly who is driving the Caddy. It is Dirty Mary, the mamasan of a bar by the same name in downtown Bangkok.

“Looks like Mamasan’s on a mission to buy some new hookers.” Miller says. “Fresh meat and I’m three months from mid tour R&R.” He said this almost disgustedly. Virgins go for a premium bar fine and are very sought after on their first night working the second floor at Dirty Mary’s..

I flash “on me” and say out loud, “The smoking lamp is lit.” I pull a Lucky from my pocket and made a big production of lighting it, not caring if the clicking noise of my Zippo carries into the clearing and I begin walking toward the gathering crowd. The sight of five men carrying weapons sends a ripple of tension through the group, but they quickly realize that we are not Thai Federal Police and they relax. Dirty Mary recognizes Miller right away. I suppose spending the paychecks saved for five months in a week at a whorehouse can really popularize a person and she breaks out into a ever widening grin.

“You number one, GI, Millersan!” she cries out. That just about did it for me. I had the urge to butt stroke her upside her toothless head. I hate the way the gooks are always slipping into Japanese sounding Pigeon English; always calling us “Number One”. I am pretty sure that number is signified by the middle finger, but I ignore her.

I motion for Tran to get his ass over to me and point to a farmer standing next to a young girl. “Ask him how old she is,” I order. Tran did and the farmer went into a diatribe that lasted a lot longer than just stating a number.

“‘He say, she fifteen and very strong. Can pick grass out of rice patty long time, pick rice too. She good cook and make many baby, all boy.” The look on my face upset the farmer and filled him with fear. This seems to be Dirty Mary’s cur to begin to examine the girl. It reminded me of grizzled old ranchers examining breed stock before an auction at stockyards back, back in the world in Oklahoma. She fells the girl’s breasts through her rough blouse and pulls back her woven hat to pick at her hair and part her lips to look at her teeth, teeth that were perfect in spite of never having been seen by a dentist in their lifetime. Then, she began to dicker with the farmer. I looked a Tran and he said “She say she give 500 baht.” Twenty-five American dollars.

“Tell him I give one thousand,” and so the price war began. Back and forth the bidding goes until the figure reaches ten thousand baht. Finally, Dirty Mary gives me a disgusted look and spits at my feet. “You no come to my bar, no more, Lieutenantsan!”

“Not a problem,” I said, and spit right back at her feet. I paid the farmer who without another look at his daughter, turns and walks away, towards the woods and Laos. Mary makes an awful sound in my direction and Tran starts to translate. I hold up my hand him. “I know what she said, Tran.”

I walk away, also back toward the woods, to the Landing Zone where we’ll be picked up. Tran just looks at me and then says “You boo koo dinky dau!” “Yep, Tran, one crazy motherfucker, I just spent ten thousand nickels, five hundred bucks on a human being!”

I awake with a start and come instantly alert as I always do when I have this dream. You can take the boy out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the boy. A soft hand caresses my cheek and I look into two limpid brown pools of light that are Li’s eyes. I think she knows what I am dreaming about but she never says a word, and snuggles closer to me, placing her tiny hand on my chest. I am awake and will be for the rest of the night. I patiently wait for her breathing return to a rhythmical steady beat before I leave the bed. I have a lot to think about, the least of which is how Li came to be in my life. The dream that was not always a dream sometimes disturbs me.

I leave my private wing of Singing Winds heading towards the staff cells; I want to talk to Sollie before I leave. Without knocking, I walk right in to her room. Even if there were a lock on her door, I knew it would be unlocked. I reach into my pocket for the Zippo that has been in my pocket for the last thirty years, minus the four months three years ago when it took a little vacation to Bradford, Pee Ay, back in the good ole’ You Ess of Ay for some of that good old lifetime warranty service. Made it the U.S. of A may not mean shit in Detroit, but Pennsylvania is a whole different ball game.

I could have turned on the lights, but when talking to Sollie, especially, I find candlelight soothing. I open the lid of the lighter slowly and quietly and light a taper on her bed table and this does not wake her. On the other side of her bed, leaning against the wall I make out a shape. Picking up the candle, I move to the other side of the bed and can’t help but smile. No wonder Sollie doesn’t wake up seems she was busy far into the night.

Leaning against the wall is a rough cross with a limp body tied to it. The eyes are closed and I can see the eyes rapidly moving in REM dream-sleep. Ahh, the dreams of Slut; these are dreams that could interest me. Softly I touch her lips and an involuntary shiver courses down her body but she does not wake. She is beautiful, her breasts are full and pendulous, with a light sheen of perspiration that glistens in the candlelight. I can see that she is wearing a chastity devise. I don’t need to guess that her cunt and ass are filled and well filled at that. The slickness on her thighs also says that I don’t have to guess that it might be KY jelly. I return to the far side of the bed, lean down and give Sollie’s cheeks several light taps. Her eyes pop open and move side to side rapidly, unfocused. Finally, her eyes settle on my face and she recognizes me. She quietly slips out of bed and onto her knees. I sit on her bed feeling the warmth of her body still in the sheets. She knee walks forward and settles between my thighs, Idly I begin to stroke her black hair as she looks into my eyes with a shy smile that lights her entire face.

“Rough night?” I ask. Her smile broadens and just as suddenly she is serious. “Are you sure this one should be here?” She asks softly, nodding toward Slut. “There’s a lot of spirit in her. I’m not sure if she’s taking training because she wants it or because it gets her what she wants.” I knew exactly what she meant. “Sollie,” I said, “Don’t question her motives, and just train her to the best of your, and her, abilities.” I think she wanted to talk more about this but she knew the discussion was over. It is now time to listen to me.

“I’m leaving this morning; I’m going to see Maelstrom about this one and run some other errands. Don’t try too hard to break this one. And be extremely careful, I don’t know yet if this is someone’s property. Not that I really care, but if she belongs to Malestrom then it’s going to cost him the same she would fetch at auction to training her. Just in case, leave something out because Maelstrom thinks he can finish a slave’s training regimen.” We smiled at each other at this. “If that’s the case, I think this one might be at Singing Wind for a very long time,” I added and Sollie nodds in agreement.

I crane my head back as if to look at the ceiling and begin to rotate my head, eyes closed, feeling the gravel in my neck and spine grate bone to bone as I try to relax. I feel Sollie’s hand go into the fly in my silk pajamas and slip inside. I looked down at her and lightly grab her wrist to stop her. “Li’s already taken care of that,” I said. Rolling over on my side, I stretch out on Sollie’s bed. I am awake and know I won’t fall back asleep, but I am exhausted, the way I always feel after the dream. Sollie crouches at the end of the bed and begins to massage my feet. I close my eyes and give into the sensation she is sending up my sciatic nerve that culminates in a tingling sensation just behind my right ear. I roll onto my back and I feel her take my toes between her warm, moist lips, sucking my toes, pulling them between her lips as if they were tiny cocks. She runs her tongue between my toes and then licks up their lengths. She takes all five on each foot into her mouth at once and runs her tongue around each one. She then began to lick the entire foot with deliberate, long, tongue strokes. I raise my head and look down at her, her features softened by the glow of the candle, her face serene in her devotion to the worship of my feet. I lay back, closed my eyes and completely lose myself in her ministrations. She works on, sensually and methodically, into the night.

I wake, again, to light streaming through the high window of Sollie’s cell. I am in her bed, covered up, feeling snuggly warm. Slut is not tied to the cross any longer and I am quite alone in Sollie’s room. I throw back the covers and get to my feet, stretching broadly. I feel totally refreshed and alert, not totally unlike the mornings I awoke in the jungle a million years ago: Totally ready for any contingency. Briskly, I leave the room and head back to my quarters. Have to get a move on. Today, I’m to be a traveling man.

Chapter 3 – Changelings

Gently, Sollie tucks her master into her bed as the graying sky of morning was brightening her cell enough to see with out a light. Slut, tied to her cross is still sleeping the sleep of the dead. Sollie can see a ropy line of spittle falling from the corner of Slut’s mouth dribbling onto her left breast and this makes her smile. Picking a pair of soiled panties from the hamper next to her dresser, she retrieves a roll of duct tape from the bottom drawer. Moving silently to the sleeping form tied to the cross, she tears off half a foot and sticks it to the lower edge of the cross piece. She reaches out and pinches Slut’s nostrils causing her mouth to open and stuffs the balled up the panties deeply into Slut’s mouth and quickly secures her mouth with the tape.

Slut’s eyes flash open almost immediately wondering why this Filipino bitch would not leave her alone. The gag in her mouth did not allow for any noise to escape her. Solly moved close to her ear and spoke softly,

“Look in my bed.”

Slut did as she was told surprised to see the man she had met only the day before, the one who had sent her into hell with this bitch from hell who has seemingly worked her over the entire night. Just as quickly, she realizes that Mistress Sollie has not been working on her all night; she has been asleep standing tied to the cross. Her eyes go back to Mistress Solly. What surprised most is that that is exactly how she is thinking about this Asian woman: Mistress Sollie.

“Make one sound that wakes him up and your whole day will be irreversibly fucked up in the first 30 seconds you are awake.”

Slut thinks to herself that the day is already pretty much fucked up waking up tied to a cross, with a pair of panties taped in your mouth, wearing a chastity belt with a dildo up your ass and cunt wearing only what must be really nice bruises on her ass and tits being ordered around by what her brother (who’d done a tour in the Marines) would call a LBRPFM’s, which is short for Little Brown Rice Powered Fucking Machines. No, she thinks, days do not come any more fucked than this. “Understand?” Solly barks softly.

Slut nodded dumbly.

Taking a leash from a hook on the wall, Solly clipps it deftly to the collar around Slut’s neck and unties first her ankles and then her wrists. As she is lowered to the floor her shoulder joints make a loud popping sound. They are numb and leaden. Sollie gives Slut a hard look. “You know what position you are to be in when you are on the leash,” she hissed.

Slut dropped to all fours and is promptly and unceremoniously led out of the cell and into the morning light. Sollie keeps her moving at a rapid pace and Slut finds she can not keep up and quickly adjusts by coming up off her knees and onto the balls of her feet moving in a crab like fashion. Awkward as this was, she finds that she can now keep up with her Mistress. Abruptly, Sollie stops. Intent on keeping her balance, Slut does not realize this until the leash became taut and spills her on her face.

“Pay attention!” Sollie snaps. She grabs Slut’s collar and jerks her to her knees. Roughly, she rips the duct tape that covering her mouth and Slut can not stifle a cry and involuntarily a hand goes to her mouth to rub her lips. Her breath is coming in ragged gulps as she tries to catch her breath and spit the panties from her mouth. Slut has been in constant torment since leaving the study yesterday and Mistress Sollie has given her little respite since coming into her charge. The sleep she’d had on the cross had been poor, at best and fatigue was now her constant companion.

“We are now going into breakfast. I know you haven’t eaten since yesterday, but don’t bolt your food. Eat what you are given and don’t you dare ask for more. As a matter of principle, don’t talk at all. That is unless being tutored in manner is what you want from me, then, well, just piss me off.” Sollie gives Slut a sardonic and wryly sadistic smile at this while looking down at the wretched form of Slut, kneeling in the sandy grass with puffy eyes and raw knees, generally looking pitiful.

Slut thinks she wants to do more than just piss Mistress Solly off. She wants to grab a handful of hair and jerk her to the ground and give her a taste of her own medicine, but something tells her this was not even a remotely good idea. These thoughts, against her will, telegraph to her face. Sollie smiles, reached out and twists her left nipple cruelly saying, “You better think again. That good idea you are thinking right now may not be such a good idea in reality.” And Slut blushes bright red and tears began to course down her face. How in the name of fuck can she know what she is thinking?

Sollie turns and with hard tug on the leash, Slut begins to follow at a slower pace. They enter a building through a large doorway and she is led to a low bench before a long table and is given the order to stand. To her amazement, as she looks around the room, she is surprised to find the room filled with at least ten long tables and each has at least a dozen women standing just as she is. On the table before each place is a bowl of what can be best described as mush. A small bell rings and the women, in mass, sit in their respective places. Sollie has to give a small jab into Slut’s back to get her to follow suit. When she sits, the dildo from chastity device in her ass is noticeably uncomfortable and she is shocked to realize that her bodily needs are becoming pressing: She has to pee very badly. She sees that all the women have lowered their faces into the bowls and are eating. Sollie grabbed a handful of Slut’s hair and shoves her face into the bowl and she began to lap at the contents so as not to drown. Sollie says in a low voice “I’ll see you tomorrow, behave.” And she is gone. Slut does not see Mistress Solly for the next eighteen hours.

* * *

Slut is amazed that the contents of the bowl tastes delicious and she begins to eat greedily. She raises her eyes enough to see the girl across from her looking at her, her face and nose sticky and covered with the creamy mush.

“It’s breadfruit,” the girl whispers. No sooner than this is said, a hand pushes the girl’s face back into the bowl roughly.

“You want to eat or you at high tea this morning? Shoot the shit on your own time!”

Looking up, Slut sees a very large woman standing behind the girl holding her face in the bowl and then grabs a handful of hair and lifts her face from it bringing her to an upright position. The girl, her face now covered completely with her breakfast, opens her soft brown eyes and smiles softly at Slut.

“Thank you mistress for correcting this wayward bitch,” she says in an even voice. The woman only grunts and gives the girl’s head a shove. The girl only smils again and resumed eating.

She points a riding crop at Slut and barks, “Get your face back in that bowl if you know what’s good for you,” and then walks on.

Trying to take in as much of the scene as possible, Slut does not finish her meal before the small bell rings and once again, in unison, the women all rise. She can only look back at her unfinished meal and frown. The women deftly step back over the benches and reached their hands out to either side to clasp the hands of the women to either side. Slut did like wise. The women on her side of the table executed a left face, while those opposite performed a right face maneuver and the women file out two abreast for where Slut knows not.

* * *

Waking up in Sollie’s bed, I leisurely stretch out before leaving her cell and walk toward the beach rather than my quarters. Once on the beach, I contort my body with exercise to stretch out my leg and back muscles before I start out at an easy gait. Quickly tiring in the loose, dry sand, I ease down past the tide line on to the hard, wet packed sand and pick up the pace. I watch for my markers and in just over 13 minutes I punch out two and half miles thinking about nothing other than the blue in blue of the South China Sea off to my left. The hot, humid morning has me drenched in sweat and as I slow to a cooling walk, I can smell Sollie on me and that, perhaps, is also tinted with the smell of Slut.

Back at my quarters, I shower and change into a freshly pressed white Panama suit. Li has laid my clothes neatly out on the valet before the triple tailor’s mirrors and I can not help but admire the figure I cut. I am not a vain man, in the least, but I am amazed at how a tailored suit makes a man look. I think of Charles Laughton or Sidney Toler, the actor who played Charlie Chan and how good they always looked in a Panama suit, I never thought I would look so good. Knowing that Li has never seen a Charlie Chan movie or has any clue as to whom Charles Laughton might be, I am struck by her sense of style.

Just out the door my quarters, I found a jeep waiting on the cobblestone drive. In the driver’s seat is a young blonde woman and sitting in the rear seat is a dark, mysterious Hindu goddess. She is dressed in a cream silk blouse and dark A line skirt. The driver is naked save for a collar with a silver tag engraved ‘Cocksucker’. Not a word is spoken as I get into the front seat as the driver puts the jeep in gear and smoothly speeds out of the drive to the road leading toward the airfield. The trip takes less than 5 minutes even though the car never reaches a speed above 15 miles per hour. As the field comes into view, I can see the Gulfstream sitting on the tarmac as a lone figure completes a walk-around inspection as the tail strobe light flashes in the gathering sunlight of morning. I know instinctively that the inspector is Tommy Milkman, a bright, handsome lad, who you might mistake for preppy if it weren’t for his deep southern drawl, a true Son of Georgia. Tommy had learned to fly in the Air Force, flying lumbering cargo planes. He had longed to slip the surly bounds of Earth in the cockpit of an F-16, but had only qualified to fly the Military’s version of the Douglas DC-9, great training if your dream was to fly forever and ever for an airline, but that really sucked if you had the need for speed and Tommy had the need for speed very bad.

In the cockpit was J.D. McAlester. Mac had been my roommate at the Boat School, the Naval Academy, and captain of the crew team. He had been an Aerospace major, while I am a mere English major. He had dreamed of the sky since his childhood. From the time he was ten, every thought, every action was designed to get him into the cockpits of jets. And it had worked. F-4 Phantoms in Vietnam, almost becoming an ace and later he flew F-14A Tomcats. However, the Tomcat had bitten. In a training exercise, the immense weight of the aircraft over powered by a pair of Pratt and Whitney TF 30’s had managed to flat spin. By the time recovery of the aircraft had quit being an academic probability and had became a firm impossibility, the decision to eject had already been made by the Naval Flight Officer, a man who J.D. will only speak of by his call sign, Zippo. Coming out of the cockpit with the force and speed of a rocket strapped to their asses, the men were accelerated by ten gravities of thrust. Zippo’s body was never recovered while J.D.’s Martin-Baker ejection seat worked as advertised to float him into the Mediterranean Sea safely. He was cleared by the Board of Inquiry but, never the less, the injuries he suffered that day prevented him from ever sitting in the driver’s seat of a jet aircraft again, that is, until I bought him this Gulfstream, with a severe warning that eternity would be a nightmare of epic proportions if he killed me in the goddamn thing. Truth was, he was my best friend: If we died together, we’d toast the devil with his own scotch and spit in his eye.

Pulling along side the aircraft, Cocksucker brought the jeep to a smooth stop. I gave the driver’s left nipple a pinch and a tug and said with a smile, “Thank you, Cocksucker.”

“The pleasure is mine, Milord.” She says with a sweet smile, enjoying the manipulation of her nipple a little too much.

As the other passenger unloads my traveling case along with two suitcases of her own and lugs them toward the plane, I go strait over to Tommy waiting by the cargo hatch and exchange pleasantries as we wait for the girl to bring the luggage. Setting the three cases on the ground near the plane, she gracefully drops to her knees to bend forward to kiss Tommy’s shoes. I stifled a laugh as this is one of those things that is an embarrassment to Tommy and he can only look at me sheepishly.

“Get aboard,” I tell her and lightly touch her forehead as she rises to her feet.

“Where to Boss?” He is clearly relieved that the girl is leaving to board the aircraft.

“Hong Kong, Miss Singh has a date at an auction this evening at the Hilton and then we’re all going to get a massive steak and really drunk at Ned Kelly’s Last Stand on the Kowloon side. J.D.’s buying.”

“Does he know that?”

“Not yet,” I smiled, “you can break that part to him.”

And with that, I board the plane to take my seat.

Chapter 4 – An interlude between worlds

Tommy came through the cabin door after securing the fuselage compartments, folded the stairway and started to close the hatch behind him. Miss Singh came up behind him and lightly touched his arm. He turns and almost immediately the blush he had had outside on the tarmac was back. She can see it and his eyes, eyes that said he was a man unaccustomed to being in close proximity of such a beautiful woman, one that responds in a way that no woman in Tommy’s world ever responds. I watch as his Adams apple bobs in a very long swallow. She looks directly into his light blue eyes with her soft doe eyes.

“I will secure the door,” she says softly, so softly that in the distance between us, two seats, I can only make out the word door. Tommy slowly nods and turns and goes into the cockpit and gently closes the privacy curtain behind him. I imagine that he has sat down in the co-pilot’s chair rather quickly. Seeing him with a hard on would keep J.D. in stitches for months. Tommy does not care for the world on the other side of the island and I respect that. While he respects what it is I have built here and why I do it, it is something that he keeps a respectful distance from.

Miss Singh has been known for the last two years as Knob Bobber. Before that, she was known as Amahdee and twelve hours from now she will be known, as Linda, The Pretty One, for the rest of her life. She now stands at the door for a long time looking out taking in the scene and breathing in the warm, tropical air deeply. She makes no sound. The auxiliary power unit comes on line and the sound level rises noticeably and the cabin lights momentarily flicker. The unit begins to spool up as high pressure air makes it way to the compressor sections of the plane’s engines. At this, Miss Singh tugs on the tether to close the door and locks the handle in place. When she turns, she is crying. The sobs deep inside her chest are being restrained, but not very well. The tears, large and free flowing course down her cheeks streaking her makeup. Without looking at me, she takes her seat and buckles herself in. The jet turns at idle speed for about two minutes, taxies to the end of the runway, turns and accelerates in one fluid maneuver. Three minutes after engines start, we are in the air and “feet wet”, over the water. Miss Singh’s sobbing does not abate and her tears seem ceaseless.

I reached over and touch her arm. Her eyes meet mine. Her tears freshen.

“I cannot go, I am not ready,” she says.

“Yes,” I say simply. And with tears streaming unashamedly down her face, she laughs. A deep laugh, a normal, funny laugh, as if hearing a joke.

“Yes, I’m not ready or yes, I’m not?”

“Pick one,” I smile, “because what I think is of no import. It’s what you think that counts. Remember your first days here? Think about then, how badly you wanted this day to come.”

“First days? How about the better part of the first year! I wanted to be taught to be something other than me. How could I know that what I needed was to be taught to be treated like property? How would I know that I would love that? No, I don’t think I’m ready. I know I am not ready.” She said the last with conviction.

“You’re ready. Open the window shade and take a look.”

I touch the key to the intercom and bark “J.D., turn around. Give the island a flyby then do it again at 90 degrees.” I meant for it to sound like a request but it sounded more like an order.

He did just as I’d asked. We cruise the island about a mile off at just over a thousand feet up. I watch as Miss Singh cranes her neck to see the island come into view, watch it pass, and crane her neck again to see it pass behind us. After a long slow turn, the island comes into view again and she does the same again. Some time after it has passed from her view, forever, she closes the shade and turns to me. The tears are back and I soften.

“You can live your old life until we land.”

With that, she stands and slowly slides down the zipper of the skirt and lets it fall. She carefully unbuttons her blouse, removes it, and carefully folds her clothes so not to wrinkle them. She then unhooks her bra and slips from it and stands naked before me. She is not wearing any panties. From my jacket pocket, I take out a collar with a small silver tag that reads “Knob Bobber”. She kneels before me so that I can place it back on her neck and I am greeted with the sweetest smile I have ever seen.

* * *

Slut and the others silently leave the dining hall two abreast into the morning sunshine. The sound of an airplane draws her eyes skyward and she watches the small jet aircraft pass from left to right. She wanted to stop and watch it but when she slowed down the woman behind her ran into her and dropped her mentally back into reality. She knows it is the same plane that she had boarded in Honolulu, what, two, three days ago? She is dawdling and can tell the girl behind her is growing impatient with her as she is squeezing her hand sharply.

She fells like a schoolgirl again, walking in line with other girls, holding hands front to back, going to the lavatory in the library building at her elementary school, Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. As she looks as far up the line as she can, she sees that they all wear the same uniform. A lack of uniform actually, but uniform all the same. Each woman wears a polished black collar adorned with a silver tag and four inch black stiletto pumps. She is the only one different in the fact she is the only one wearing a chastity belt. This fact brings a new thought. Is this because she is new or is this because the belt signifies dunce?

She takes in her surroundings and is surprised at the campus like atmosphere. The courtyard is a quadrangle, surrounded by 6 buildings that she can see with an unknown number behind her and she dares not to turn to count buildings. Further, she cannot see anyone who appears to be in charge. They are crossing the quad two abreast, marching in step the only noise is the clicking of their heels reverberating off the surrounding buildings in unison. This made her remember Sister Rose, who, while strict, had made school somewhat fun. Sr. Rose had taught the girls to hum the theme song from the Adams’ Family Show” in their heads to help them stay in perfect step with a proud march. And just as suddenly she realized that tune was playing in her head and she was walking in perfect harmonious step with what she guessed to be fifty women.

The last two girls at the rear in each column suddenly dropped the hands of the girls in front and sprinted to the front of the formation to open and hold the doors of the building directly in front of them. The column of two marched directly into the building with out missing a beat, proud and strong. Just as the last of the women passed the portal, the door guards quickly closed the doors and the formation broke up in to a cacophony of sound as the formation dissolved and every one in the group relaxed.

Slut stands there in disbelief as the women begin to chat, sit on the floor and take off their stilettos and massage their feet and calves. The girl next to her, who is still wearing the breadfruit mush on her face, points at Slut’s chastity belt and says “Want some help getting that thing off?”

“I don’t know if I’m allowed.” She says dumbfounded.

The girl just smiles. “Yes, you are. It’s bath time and for the next six hours nobody will tell you what to do….” She trails off and reaches for the silver tag on Slut’s collar and reads the inscription. “…Slut,” she finishes. “This is our time and my name is Allpussy.” She sticks out her hand and with a growing smile shakes Slut’s hand.

She then spins Slut around and begins to work on the buckles of the chastity belt.

“So, you got orientation from Sollie? Oh, I know that because she has her initials

tooled into this thing. I hate this fucking thing.”

As the strap that runs between her legs falls forward, it relieves the pressure on the dildos that impale her. Allpussy reaches around from behind and plucks the dildo from her pussy and holds it up before her face. It is made from polished ebony wood and despite of the fact she has probably worn it for over eight hours, it glistens with moisture from her cunt. Allpussy leans close to her ear to speak to her in a low tone of voice.

“If one of these comes out of any of your holes in Mistress Sollie’s presence, you’d best take it in that pretty little mouth of yours and lick clean as Buddha’s cock. She loves to see them worshipped.” Allpussy then brushes the wooden cock across Slut’s lips. Slut gets the idea and opens her lips and takes the object into her mouth and begins to lovingly clean it. Before she could get fully into the act, Allpussy spins her around again and pulls her close so that they are cunt to cunt. The chastity belt drops to the floor, and reaches around and pulls the second dildo from Slut’s ass. Holding it next their faces, Slut turns to look at it. Allpussy says, “This one too!” Before Slut can do anything, Allpussy tosses the dildo from her ass over her shoulder and wraps her arms around Slut’s neck in an intimate embrace. “Give me a kiss,” she smiles, “I just saved you from a future ass whipping, though you might get one anyway for already knowing what to do. She’s pretty anal retentive that way.” With that, she pulls Slut into a deep, deep kiss.

Abruptly, Allpussy breaks the kiss and takes Sluts hand pull her into a short tiled hallway ending at a wall that seemingly goes nowhere. Just before the end, however, she sees two openings on each side that open into a larger cavernous room with whirlpool baths dotting the tiled deck and beyond those, an Olympic sized swimming pool. On the other side of the pool there are row upon row of massage tables, some already being used as slave girl works on slave girl while in the whirlpools, slave bathes slave. Two slave girls approach them each takes Slut and Allpussy in different directions. Slut reads the tag that tells her new companions name is Fuckface and she is leading her toward one of the baths. Gently, she assists her into the warm, bubbling water, places her head in the cushioned notch at the end and drapes her hair behind her.

Not a word is spoken as Fuckface picks up a brush and starts to brush out Slut’s hair, gently, lovingly. Slut raises her eyes and tilts her head to look at the girl, upside down. The face is serene, as if this girl were lost in a fantasy, perhaps brushing the hair of some long forgotten doll. Slut breaks the silence.

“What’s your name?”

“Fuckface,” the girl says touching her tag.

“No, I mean your real name.”

The girl lets out a small sigh and then the hint of a smile sneaks onto the corners of her lips. “Slut,” she says, “that is my real name. Whatever you called your self before, whatever I called myself before, well, those people don’t exist anymore. I mean, did you really like the person you were before? If that person is still in you and still has a name, I don’t want to know it. If you were happy before you got this name, then, why are you here?”

She wanted to say to get a story, but, she didn’t. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. Certainly, she was surprised. Malestrom had told her everyone here in training was here of their own free will. Hell, she’d had been forced to ask, no beg, for the privilege to entering this compound. However, compound didn’t sound right. After all, there were no fences, no guard towers and she hadn’t even seen a lock on a single door.

She needed to think on this, just like she would need to think about the similarities she was beginning to feel with her younger days at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows, remembering the nuns, the order, the discipline and the symmetry.

What surprised her most, however, was the peace of acceptance she was beginning to feel. At first, she had thought perhaps that too much was happening too quickly and then she thought that that wasn’t it, either. It was getting a story. Originally, she thought she could and she would endure anything for a story. And then the truth finally comes to her: The story is getting her. She looks back at Fuckface. “Thank you.” She says simply and closes her eyes. In Manhattan, a spa day of this magnitude would run close to a thousand bucks. She decides to just enjoy it and worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

It was almost a month before she finally admitted to me that she wanted to be raped, not that it would really be rape, because it’s what she wanted, but more than anything she wanted to be treated like she was just an object, devoid of control, to be used completely for a man’s pleasure and nothing more than a rag doll to be fucked and abused.

Her name was Allison, but she went by Allie most of the time.  I thought it was a cute, and perfect, name for her.  She was attending community college nearby, looking to eventually be a nurse, or school teacher, though I wondered, if she was honest with herself, if her goal really wasn’t to find a Master, somebody to own and use her without mercy.

My heart started beating the instant I saw her step nervously through the door that first time, her nipples were rock hard as she crossed her arms over her chest unconsciously, trying to cover the obvious sign of arousal, or at least trepidation, she felt.

She was almost willowy in appearance, young, barely 19 now, she would be an absolutely gorgeous girl in her mid-twenties, in a different way, after she’d fully blossomed, but she was by no means unattractive, but she was still physically young, her body was angular, her elbows sharp, her legs long and lean, almost like those of a doe.  She was thin, very thin, the t-shirt she wore clung to her body and focused all the more attention on her breasts, which were quite large for her size.  She was perhaps 5’4”, maybe 5’5”, but I doubt she weighed much over 100 lbs.

She cast me a nervous glance and smiled quickly as she walked toward the booth in which I sat.  As she approached, she lowered her head and her cheeks went flush.  She had on a short skirt and large hoop earrings, slut earrings I liked to think.  Her long blonde hair was straight and framed her face perfectly, her skin was smooth as porcelain and I instantly wanted to touch her, to run my hand over her flesh.

“Hi, I’m Allie, I’m, it’s, it’s nice to meet you, finally.”  Her face went crimson with embarrassment, almost exasperation.

“I’m Peter, so nice to meet you too.”  I slipped out of the booth and took her hand, her fingers were long and her palm was moist with nerves.

“You’re much prettier in person than in your photos.”   Allie blushed with the compliment.

“Thanks.”  Allie could barely look me in the eyes as a bored, raspy-voiced, waitress came over and we ordered coffee, and a light dinner.

We sat talking for about an hour, I thought it best to meet and chat in person, to make sure she was ready.  I guess it was as much for me too, to know that I could trust her, and that I knew she knew what she was doing.  My dick was hard the whole time, it was painful, it almost felt like I was in high school again, the hormones running uncontrolled through my body, I don’t think I’d ever been as horny as I was at that point, because I knew from almost the instant she sat down she was the perfect girl.

“So, do you want to do this then?”  I could tell for the previous 20 minutes she wanted to bring it up, to make it finally happen, but I could also see the nerves, and, oh, that sadistic bastard in me wanted to make her suffer a little while longer.

I slid a small stack of papers across the table, her hands where shaking as she moved the documents in front of her and started to read.  We’d talked about the night for a long time, I knew she wanted to be used and abused, to be raped, but still, perhaps it’s the obsessive compulsive in me, that person that needs to control everything, but I wanted to make sure, I didn’t want anything to come back on me, I suppose that’s the lawyer in me too, but I’d laid out in explicit detail what we had agreed to, what she wanted.

“Is everything alright and in there?”  She slowly nodded her head and signed the papers, one copy for her, one for me.  Allie blurted out, like and excited child.

“God my pussy is on fire.”  Instantly she covered her face with her hands and whimpered in embarrassment, unable to believe what she’d just said.  I just smiled broadly, wanting desperately to stroke my cock, it was throbbing so hard I didn’t think I could take it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I just said that.”  I loved the way her face was beet red.

“Let’s get going.”  I left some money on the table and led Allie out into the parking lot.  Her legs were unstable as I helped her in the car.  She didn’t say a word as we drove to the motel.  She let out a gasp of shock as I reached over and laid my hand on her thigh as we pulled to a stop.

“We’re here.”  I ran my hand over her naked thigh towards the confluence of her legs.  It was the only sexual act of the evening, thus far.

Her hands trembled as I helped her out of the passenger seat and pointed her toward our room.  I could see the way her chest rose and fell quickly as we moved through the shadows, her nipples were rock hard against her top.

I grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to a stop before we got to the motel door.

“You understand, the minute that door closes, I own you, I’m going to use you the way I want to, I’m going to rape you.”  I could hear the nervousness in her voice, but there was also something more, I knew it was lust, not that she would ever admit it.  For months she’d been telling me how she wouldn’t enjoy being abused at all during, even though I knew she masturbated at least once a day about the thought of being raped, even just play-raped.

“Yes.”

“Good.”  I put the key card in the lock and the door opened.  I’d made sure to get a room with no others adjoining.  I didn’t expect it to be silent, but I wanted to avoid too many prying ears.  We’d agreed on a motel, mostly because we both felt safer that way.

I could distinctly hear the breath whisping through her nose as we stepped over the threshold.  I think she was shocked by the suddenness of my movement.  The instant the door clapped shut I had hold of her long blonde hair and jerked her head back violently, my hand was over her mouth before she could even make a sound.

“Don’t make a fucking sound bitch!”  I barked in her ear and brought a knife to her throat.  I could see the fear in her eyes.

“Don’t make a sound cunt, do you understand me?”  I could see the surprise, the terror, in her eyes.  I knew she’d fantasized about being raped, probably thousands of times, but perhaps the reality of it was somewhat different than she expected.

“Do you understand me you stupid whore?”  She nodded her head quickly, desperately.

“Good, you know I’m going to rape that pussy of yours till you scream, don’t you cunt!”  Tears bubbled from her eyes as she frantically whimpered.

“Let’s get to business slut, I want my dick in your pussy, bad!  That’s all your good for anyway”  I pulled the knife from her throat and dropped it on the floor, I grabbed a wad of cloth from my pocket and stuffed the balled rag into her mouth, I could hear the air whine through her nostrils as she sucked in deep breaths.  I grabbed for a roll of duct tape and put a wide piece over her mouth.

“That’ll keep you quite for now cunt!”  I pulled her wrists roughly behind her back and wrapped the duct tape around her forearms, they were crossed in the small of her back, her hands almost to the opposite arm’s elbow.  I could hear her sobbing, I knew she was crying and I could see the tears streaking down her smooth, pretty cheeks.  Her makeup ran down her skin and only turned me on more.

I smacked her hard across the face.

“I know you want it slut, all cunts do!”  I moved her easily across the floor, she weighed almost nothing, and with the adrenaline, the lust, running through my veins, I slammed her hips into the edge of the couch and pusher her forward, bending her at the waist.

“Just a few more seconds bitch, then you’ll get to feel my cock in your dirty snatch!”  I grabbed the hem of her skirt and lifted it up her thigh’s, I brutally grabbed for her panties and tugged them down her legs till they were wrapped around her ankles.

“Spread those legs bitch!”  I kicked her feet wide.

The gag muffled her shriek as I slammed one finger in her quivering pussy and leaned down over her, pressing my chest against her back.  I grabbed her by the hair and twisted her head as I whispered in her ear and pumped one finger in and out of her convulsing vagina.

“How do you like that bitch?  I bet you can’t wait to feel my cock in that tight little snatch of yours.

The girl was sobbing uncontrollably as I pulled my finger from her pussy and pulled down my pants.  I loved hearing her blubber as I eased my slacks down my thighs.  My dick was so hard it hurt, I could feel the blood racing through my veins and I’d never felt so turned on before in my life.

My hands were shaking as I rolled a condom over my thick shaft.

“It’s time to make you a woman cunt!”  I grabbed for her hips and dug my fingers into her flesh.  I groaned loudly as I slammed my dick in her pussy, she was tight, so incredibly tight, I thought I might blow instantly I was so turned on.  My head was spinning I was so light-headed

“HOLY SHIT!!!”  I grabbed for her long hair and tugged brutally, pulling on her scalp like reins as I pounded my cock into her cunt as hard as I could.  I could feel her vaginal muscles clamping down on my cock involuntarily as I began rutting her.

“This is what you’re made for bitch!”  I arched her head back violently as my hips slammed against her ass, driving her thighs cruelly into the edge of the sofa.  I cruelly pulled on her scalp, making her shriek in pain as I tugged viciously on her hair as I pounded into her, bunny fucking her, taking her like an animal.  I could hear her cries as I kept ramming my cock in her pussy over and over again.  She was a rag-doll, a hole for my cock.

“I’m going to cum bitch!”  She squealed as I grabbed her hips and jerked her body back onto my cock.  I could feel my balls slapping against her pussy as I roared and thrust back my head.  My balls convulsed and I could feel my sperm shooting into her as my prick jerked and pulsed inside her tight slit.

“Holy crap!”  I slapped my hand down hard on her ass as her torso shuddered violently.

“Holy crap that was fucking incredible.”  My balls were still spasming, my whole body was tingling and I felt like I was going to pass out I was on such a high.  My hands were numb as I finally let go of her hips.

“Holy shit that was fucking incredible bitch.”  Allie was sobbing, her legs were shaking uncontrollably as she was bent over the edge of the couch with her breasts crushed against the cushions with me leaning over her.

“God that was incredible cunt!”  I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her off the edge of the sofa, I twisted her head violently so she was looking me in the face.  Tears were still streaming down her cheeks leaving dark streaks of make-up covering her skin.

“You’re just a dirty whore!”  I spit in her face and thick wads of saliva splattered on her forehead.

“I bet you loved that, didn’t you bitch, feeling my cock in your snatch!”  I heard her screech as I dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room and forced her to her knees.  My dick was still hard and bobbed in front of her face.  I gently worked the condom off my cock, making sure not to spill a drop of sperm.

“Don’t make a sound cunt!”  She yelped in pain as I smacked her across the face.  I tugged the tape off her mouth and pulled the rag from between her teeth.

“Here is a treat for you slut.”  I grabbed for her hair again and arched her head back.

“Open up!”  I held the bulging condom to her lips and started pouring the warm cum down her throat.  She was sobbing as the sperm hit her tongue and ran down her throat slowly, the thick goo moved like molasses.

“Don’t swallow till I tell you.”  I stood over the girl, the adrenaline still racing through my veins, her hair still clutched in my hand forcing her head back as tears streaked down her face.

“You are a pretty little bitch, aren’t you.”  Allie’s whole body convulsed as spasms racked her frame.

Her mouth was filled with my milky cum, it pooled on her tongue and her teeth were slimed with the warm sperm.

“Swallow slut!”  Allie sobbed as she closed her eyes and forced herself to gobble down the pecker-snot.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it cunt?  You should be honored that I let you have the pleasure of my cum.”  I laughed out loud as I smacked her hard across the face again.

“Clean me bitch!”  I slapped my prick down on her forehead, then rammed it between her lips without giving her time to react.  I pinched her nostrils shut and jerked my hips forward, burying my cock deep against the back of her throat.  Instantly she started to gag and tried to pull her mouth off my shaft, but with her hands still bound, she couldn’t fight me.

“That’s it bitch, you know this is what you’re made for.”  I loved the way she choked on my cock as I forced it against the back of her throat.

“God that’s incredible.”  Allie gasped desperately as I pulled the head of my cock from between her lips and let her gulp down much needed air.

“Lick me cunt!”  Her whole body was shuddering, trembling with fear as she started lapping her tongue nervously along the length of my shaft, her face was flush as she moved her tongue over my prick.

“That’s fucking incredible bitch.”  She was sobbing so loud it wasn’t even funny as her tongue moved over my dick and balls.

“Time to get you out of those clothes cunt, don’t make a fucking sound, understand me?”  I slapped her across the face again.

“Never mind.”  I laughed as I picked my boxers up off the floor and stuffed them between her lips, they were wet with pre-cum.

“How does that taste slut?”  I grabbed a piece of duct tape and put it over her lips then I spit in her face.  Her eyes jerked shut as the saliva hit her skin.

“Get off your knees cunt.”  I grabbed her by the hair and tugged her to her feet, she squealed as I pulled hard on her hair.

“I want to see that skanky little body of yours.”  I picked the knife from where I dropped it on the floor and brought it to her face.

“I’m going to cut your arms free, and then you’re going to strip for me, understand.”  Allie cried as I put the tip of the blade up under her chin, making her lift her head higher making her stare me in the eyes.

To be continued…

She arrived with her two daughters.  She was taking them for a weekend excursion into the country.  She had some idea of what to expect, but her two daughters did not.

They were all dressed as directed by master.  He wanted them to be very plain, but feminine.  Looped earrings since they all had pierced ears was the only jewelry they were allowed.  They all looked like school girls.  A plain white button down blouse and a decorative skirt.  They were told to be womanly and wear suitable underwear.  They were to wear running shoes but no socks.  Basically comfortable apparel.

Master was delighted when they arrived.  He questioned them if they knew the rules:

He was master, they were to always do as he directed.  They were not to speak unless master gave them permission.  Mater owned them, they did not own anything.  Everything they have belongs to master.  They were not to look at master unless he gave them permission.  They were not to talk to each other unless master gave them permission.  They were to help master if he requested it, even if they disliked what it was master wanted them to do.

They all agreed with master, though he saw some resentment in the face of the youngest daughter.

Master told them all to enter his house and to sit at his kitchen table.  They were all to read out load a contract that they were all to sign.  First mother then each daughter.  Mother was to also sign each daughter’s contract giving master possession and agreeing to his terms.

Mother started reading the contract placed in front of her first.

I give myself and everything I own, including my body and possessions to master.

I will do as directed by master at all times.

I will let master punish me for his and my benefit.

This was short, mother signed, and then each of her daughters read and signed their contracts.  Mother then signed each of her daughter’s papers.

“Now that was not so bad” Master calmly stated.  Let’s go for a walk so I can show you my property.

Master lived in the country, it seamed so secluded.  There was nothing out side except for two barns, and a wooded field.  “Let’s go this way” as master lead them down the path through the wooded area.  “You girls will get some exercise through here, later we will have some races to se who can get down this path the fastest.  Maybe your mom and I will place bets on who will win.”   Both girls crossed their arms in front of them, and continued to follow master through the woods and down a clearing on his property.

On return to the house master told the two girls to relax and sit down on his patio.  He told them to go inside the house and put on their swim suits, they could swim and have some fun in his pool, he had some matters to discuss with their mother.

“Sue, come with me. I have some things I want you to do in the barn”.  This was the first time master called her by name.  She did not say anything and followed master to the barn.

“Sue you have nice daughters, they will make some nice toys”.  Sue responded, “Thank you master”.

The barn was filled with various devices of master.  Some looking normal, like table and chairs, some look odd, Sue could not figure out what they were.

”Sit here in this chair”, master ordered.  Sue sat down where directed.  “From now on you will not look at me.  When you look at your daughters you will only look at their chests, and hope some day they have nice big tits.  Is that clear”.  Sue responded “yes mater”.

With that master rolled a small table in front of Sue.  The table fit tight up to her chest and pressed into her.  “Lift up your tits so I can get my table under them” Master ordered.

With that Sue lifted her breasts as master pushed the table tight to her body.  The small table then locked in place.  “I want to see my tits laying on my table, open up your blouse”.  With that order Sue started unbuttoning her blouse.  She had a hard time with the table pressing into her.  “Here, let me help you” master exclaimed, as he loosened the table.  “Take your blouse off and let me see your bra”.  Sue pulled her blouse up over the table, struggled to get it off because of her position, but managed to and dropped it to the floor.  “Stick them out, model them for me”.  Sue did as told.   “You are such a good mother, you must have breast fed your daughters well.  “Take your bra off.”  Sue did as directed, again struggling but was able to remove the garment.  “Such nice tits, can I squeeze them?” master asked.  Sue responded with a quiet yes.  With that master caressed each white lobe, gently handling and inspecting each.

“Let’s see how hard we can get these nipples”.  With that master lightly squeezed then tugged on each.  He then grabbed each and pulled Sue’s mammaries out as far as he could.  Sue sighed in pain as master started to play with her roughly.  “Such nice toys, I hope your daughters are as nice as yours”.

Master went to a cabinet in the room and came back with what looked like a harness.  “Here Sue I have a new bra for you, I will let you out of the chair and I will help you put this on.”  “You have one instruction, at no time are you to touch or cover your tits when we put this on, or when it is on you unless I give you permission.”

Master released Sue from the chair and told her to follow him to a small rack.

The rack was a small bar that had a chin rest on it, and two hand positions.  When Sue was placed in the rack she had to bend forward, which was its intention to allow her boobs to hang down.  Master then placed the new bra on her.  Each tit went through a loop; a strap went over each shoulder and fastened in the back.  Pretty much like a conventional bra except without cups.

Master then pulled up a chair and sat down in front of the hanging tits.  “Let me adjust this for you”, with that master started to tighten straps of the new bra squeezing each white boob, giving them a nice red color.  When master was done it looked like Sue had two balloons popping out in front of her.  The straps were adjusted to force her two boobs together.  ‘They look so nice, do you think you daughters will like them.”  Sue did not answer; she was not sure what to do.  What is going to happen next?

Sue asked, “Master, I need to go to the bathroom.”  Master replied, “we cannot let your daughters see you this way, can we, go put on your blouse”.  With that Sue went and retrieved her garment from the floor, and put it on.  Her boobs suck out in front of her, holding her blouse out grotesquely.

“Now when we go to the house I want you to smile, I want those tits sticking straight out.  When you get into the bathroom you will strip, except you will keep my nice bra on.  You will stand in front of the toilet and pull your pussy lips wide open so we can see that naughty pee hole of yours.  You will stand there, pussy open, tits out until I get there in a few minutes, understand?”  Sue responded “Yes master”.

“O.K. go to the house, and walk slowly so your daughters get a good look at you”.

Sue slowly left the barn and walked to the house.  She forced a smile on her face, and did not look at her daughters.  When her daughters saw her they greeted her with a “Hi mom”.  Master smiled and looked at the two girls and reminded them of the rules, “Now, now girls, you remember the rules, no talking unless I give you permission”.

When they got to the pool, master told Sue to stop.  He then whispered to her, “Which of your daughters has the firmest tits, I want to shove my fingers into them until they hurt”

Sue lost the smile from her face, a tear rolled down her face, she stated “Jane”.

‘Jane come here”, master called out to the two girls.  Jane crawled out of the pool and walked over to master and her mother.  “Your mother told me you have something I want”, “Sue go to the bathroom and do as told.”  Jane you come with me”.

Sue continued on into the house, ‘Jane I want you to come with me. To the barn”

Sue entered the bathroom and closed the door.  She undressed and spread her pussy lips as told.  She stood there; hoping master would not be to long.

“Jane I want you to stand by this rack”, it was the common X-frame she had seen in movies.  I want you to fasten the strap around each ankle.”  Jane gasped, what was master going to do.  Her mother had her breasts sticking straight out under her blouse, what was I in for.  “Now fasten the belt around your waist”, Jane did as ordered.

“Your mother tells me you have firm tits, show them to me”.  A frown came on Jane’s face.  She belt forward slightly to unfasten the back then slipped her bathing suit top off.  She held her arms in front of her trying to cover up.  “Put you hands over your head and show me those things.  I want to see if your mother is right, or she will be punished for lying to me”.  Jane did as told; master enjoying what he saw, two lovely firm breasts.  ‘May I touch them? master asked.  Jane responded with a quiet “no”.   ‘But Jane you know I own them, they are mine to do as I want, isn’t that true?”  Jane began to cry and grumbled out a yes.  “O.K.  Then I want you to tell me, these are my tits, and not yours, and that I can do what ever I want with them, Ok?”  With that Jane continued to cry and stated, “My breasts are yours to touch”.

Master corrected her, “breasts are for feeding babies, tits are masters toys, you do not have a baby so these are tits, and they are mine to do with what ever I want, now say it right”.  Jane was really crying now but she spoke out, “my tits are yours to do what ever you want with”.  Master corrected her again stating they were not her tits but his.

“O.K. you can put your hands down and put your bathing suit back on.  When your mother comes back you will stand up straight and smile.  You will take off your bathing suit completely, including the bottom.”  Jane’s mouth dropped to the floor when she heard that.  “Yes including your bottom, remember I own you and your body.  You will then stand up straight, hands behind your head, stick out your tits, and tell her that I own them, and can do what ever I want with them, do you understand?”  “Yes”, Jane responded.  Now don’t forget to smile, we want mother to know you’re happy”.  Jane said nothing, and put her top back on.  “Let’s go get your mother”

Master went to the bathroom and had Jane wait outside.  Sue was inside, standing there, slouched down somewhat, holding her pussy lips open.  “Master I need to go real bad”, Sue softly spoke.  “Boy you guys sure do not know how to follow directions, I did not give you permission to talk” master came back with.  Master put the top of the toilet down then sat down on it.  “Come here and show me that thing”.  Sue walked and stood in front of him holding her lips open.  “I can not see your pee hole, pull those lips farther apart and show me that thing”.  Sue did the best she could spreading her virginal lips.  Master then stroked her gently flicking her twat, and gently pinching it to Sue’s disgrace.

Ok, you can go, but keep those legs apart; I want to make sure you were not lying to me”.  She was not lying, she could not wait, she did not care who was watching she had to go so bad.

“Get dressed you slut, lets go play with Jane’s tits” master spoke out.

As they left the bathroom they approached Jane who was standing there, pouting, tears coming down her cheeks.  Sue wondered what had master done.  Master spoke out, “Jane where is that smile”.  Jane looked up and forced a small smile on her face.  Master continued, “Jane don’t you have something to show and tell your mother, lets get going.”

As master and Sue watched, Jane removed the top of her bathing suit then slowly the bottom.  She stated to cry again, holding her legs together as to try to hide her pussy.  She put her hands behind her head then started to proclaim, “these tits are masters to do with what ever he wants”  Tears were now coming down like a faucet, a few tears were even coming out of Sue’s eyes.  “Isn’t that nice Sue, she wants me to play with her tits, you want to come and watch, sure you do.  Lets go to the barn, and let’s take Janet too, I am sure we can find something there for her to do.  Now don’t say anything, get dressed and we will get Janet and go to the barn and have some fun”.

Jane got dressed again, as they left the house master called out to Janet to follow them, they were going to the barn to play some games.

When they entered the barn master told Sue and Jane to go to the attic, he was going to show Janet where to wait.  Janet was taken to a small room that looked more like a living room.  It had a television, and couch along with a table and some chairs.  “You can wait here until we are ready for you.  The remote for the TV is on the table, sit down on the couch relax I will get you when we are ready.”

“OK both of you strip, I want to see those tits staring me in the face”.  Sue took off her blouse skirt and panties that master let her wear.  Master’s bra had Sue’s breasts turning red.  Jane removed her bathing suit and was shocked to see her mother’s tits.  What was master going to do to hers?  “Sue it looks like you better take that thing off before you pop a tit, don’t you think so Jane?”  Sue was delighted to remove the tight harness from around her boobs.

“Now Jane bring my tits over here”.  “Jane I want you to lay down on your back on this table so I can examine my tits”.  Jane laid down on the table as directed.  “Now put your hands over your head and keep them there”.  After that master gently grabbed the young girl’s right breast.  He squeezed and kneaded the soft firm meat.  First one then the other.  Master started out softly then a little rougher.  He played with her nipples to get them hard. “You have better nipples then your mother, Sue make yours hard I want to compare them”.  Master continued to play with Jane as Sue started toying with her own nipples.  “Come over here let me see them Sue”.  Master compared the nipples of the two women.  “You definitely have better nipples then your mother, they are much longer and fatter, I really like them.  I wonder how Janet’s are; we will have to look later.”

“Jane are your tits sore from me playing with them”.  Jane responded, ‘yes”.  “Oh I am sorry I did not mean to play so rough, here let’s do something else.  Get up and come over here”.  Jane was happy to get off the table, at least master did not play with her other privates.  She felt so vulnerable lying on that table.

“Stand here by this rack”, your mother is going to help me place you here, we do not want those tits to run away do we.”  Jane did not know what to think.  She stood there and could only do as she was told.  She was beat; the strain of this ordeal had run her down.  Straps were fastened around her knees and ankles.  Another strap was the placed around her waste.

A bar in back kept her leaning forward slightly; this allowed her boobs to hang down slightly.  A strap was then placed under her chin pulling her head back.  Her arms were extended behind her pulling her shoulders back.  Here was this girl tied with her tits sticking out.  “My tits look beautiful”, master stated,  “Sue do get me a chair”.  Master placed it in front of Jane.  Jane with her head pulled back could not see down, she could only feel what was happening to her.  “Jane let me know if I hurt you, but don’t lie, let me know if it hurts a lot”.  With that master pushed a finger into each tit.  Shoving it in as hard as he could.  It did not take Jane long before she said, “You’re hurting me, please stop.”  Master ignored her cries and continued to force his fingers into her mammeries.  Pushing in a finger and moving it around.  Forcing her tits in and up, to the side and down.  Jane continued to cry “You’re hurting me please stop, I will do what ever you want.”  Master still continued to ignore her and roughly play with her tits.  Master finely stopped; Jane had tears streaming down her face.  “Remember you two I own you and can do what ever I want with you, and you will do what ever I say.”

Master released the crying girl from the rack.  She fell to the floor folding her arms in front of her trying to comfort her own battered mammeries.  “Stand up, do you want me to do it again”, master barked, “I did not tell you you could touch my tits, now put your hands down and let me see them”.  Jane could not handle it any more she broke down in tears and stood there, tits in pain, naked.

One day Sarah came into the bar and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was one of them, but she wouldn’t give in to it or to me.  But she kept coming back anyway.  Deliberately not sitting at the bar, trying to pick up other guys, but always looking back at me.  So tonight I got another bartender to cover, and I walked over to her.  I told the guy she was with that the bitch was mine and I grabbed her by the hair and took her to my van, threw her in the back and chloroformed her and took her home.

Now I sat in my chair looking at her, all tied up like that,  arms stretched up over her head wide apart, legs wide tied to the spikes in the floor.  Tits tied tightly, turning darker and darker as I watched.  As I sat there I thought I can do anything I want to her and my cock jumped.  She was whimpering terribly and I thought about gagging her, but I really wanted to hear her scream and no one could hear her anyway.  Yes now she was whimpering, but soon she would be screaming and I would be smiling.  I wanted to hurt her, hurt her bad.  She deserved it for snubbing me the way she did.  And as I sat there I looked at my table of implements wondering what to use first.

I rose and walked over to her.  First my hands, I needed to touch, to feel, so I felt her hardened tits so beautifully dark, I began to smack them hard first one, then the other then both together and I grabbed them and squeezed them and twisted them and dug my fingernails into them.  And I pulled my nails down make deep scratches even drawing blood and she began to scream making my cock jump.  Now I grabbed her nipples and brought my mouth to her ear, I bit it and whispered.  “this is who you are, what you are good for”  I dug my nails into those nipples “Tell me what you are” “Tell me what you want”  And I took out two heavy duty plastic gridded clamps (certainly not meant for nipples) and I snapped them onto her nipples and as she screamed out I yelled “tell me!”

She screamed “I am Your slave, I belong to you, I am a slut.  I want to belong to You, to suffer for You to please you in any way that You chose”  “Good” I said as I grabbed the clamps and twisted them harshly and she screamed.  Then I took out a flogger I had made just for her.  A 6 tailed cat to which I had secured little metal studs on the ends, 3 on each tail.  I showed it to her, told her to kiss it, to suck on the studs, feel their hardness in her mouth, feel their sharpness in her mouth, let them scratch the insides of her mouth and her tongue.  Then I smiled at her and asked her what I should do with it. She said I should whip her tits with it.  “Beg” I told her.  “Please Sir, Master, please whip my tits with the studded flogger, whip them hard again and again cover every inch of my titmeat, sorry Your titmeat, whip them till they bleed, then whip them more.  Please, Sir,

And I showed no mercy as I whipped them and my cock jumped as she screamed and her tits began to be covered in welts and scratches and deep cuts, so beautiful, her agony.  And I whipped the clamps off so I could aim right at her nipples, and she begged for more.  And I gave her more.  And my cock exploded as I watched the destruction of her tits and listened to her screams. I stopped.  I stopped and untied her and pushed her to the floor and told her to lick up my cum and let me hear how much she enjoyed it. And as she licked I picked up the flogger and kicked her legs apart and began working on her ass and cunt.  When the floor was clean, I pulled her head up by her hair and shoved my cock deep in her mouth thrusting hard way back down her throat, feeling her gag around it, every so often holding her nose so she couldn’t breathe at all until I came again right down her throat and kept her mouth filled with cock until it was all swallowed.  And I followed that by giving her a mouthful of piss to swallow.

I dragged her by the hair to her new cage.  Not big enough for her to stretch out or even to sit comfortably.  She had to curl up like a cat in order to fit.  I locked the cage. I asked her what she had to say.  She said” Thank You Master.” I asked what she wanted to do tomorrow.  She told me she wanted to suffer more for me that I should hurt and humiliate her even more than tonight.  That she loved me and that her body was mine and she only hoped that her suffering would bring me pleasure.  I smiled and told her each day would only bring me pleasure if I could take her further into pain and humiliation, more and more every day.  And she said that that’s what she wanted too.

I said good night, Oh and don’t you dare piss in that cage.  If you do I will have to clamp you up tomorrow night.  Sweet dreams.

her story

From the first time i came to the bar, i knew I’d be back.  There was something about that bartender.  Though i never went up to the bar, i couldn’t stop looking at Him and the way He treated some of the other girls who would go up to the bar. The first night i was there i watched as a very skimpily dressed girl went up to the bar and sat lifting her skirt so her bare ass was on the bar stool.  He served her a drink and smiled at her, and then she unbuttoned her blouse and sat there with her tits almost popping out.  He came back and reached across the bar and played with her tits, even grabbing her nipples it looked like He was squeezing and twisting, and she looked like she was stifling a scream.

Another time i saw a different girl reacting the same way, but when the bartender went on break she disappeared as well.  She came back a while later took the same seat with her skirt lifted, tits hanging our (very reddened in color) also the part of her ass that was visible was very red and her face was covered with what could only be cum.  And she just sat there.  When the bartender came back, He reached to grab her tits, she actually lifted them to him, He grabbed and twisted them and then spit on her face, she opened her mouth and He spit again right into it.  Then He gave her a glass full of a very yellow liquid.  i ambled over to order a drink and sat next to her and could easily smell what the liquid was.  i smiled at the bartender as i ordered my glass of wine, stayed long enough to watch the girl drink down the glass and then walked away with my wine.

The same girl came back the next day.  When she sat you could see several bruises on her ass and tits, once she sat made her tits totally hang out, and then sat them on the counter.  i couldn’t understand why no one said anything; the rest of the crowd just seemed to ignore it.  Ignored it when He smacked those tits after serving someone.  Ignored it when He picked up a smoldering cigarette that someone had left and put it out on her tit.  Ignored it when He handed her a whole lemon and told her to shove it up her ass and keep it there.  Ignored it when she told Him she loved Him and kissed Him passionately while He dug His fingernails into her tits.

I had no idea what i was thinking but it was obvious to me that i found this compelling.  i wanted to be her, but i didn’t understand why.  So i would keep coming back teasing myself up to that bar, eyeing the bartender, especially when there were no other girls, but then laughing and walking away when He said something to me.  But there was no doubt in my mind; i wanted what He was giving.  i kept flirting with the danger, but scared as i was i just kept ignoring His attentions.

Tonight that all changed, for He just came and took me, drugged me and threw me in the back of His van.  When i awoke i was tied up unable to move.  i was in agony, my tits were swollen from being tied, and scratched and bleeding and beaten.  The clamps on my nipples were biting hard and i remember screaming out that i was His, a slut to use as He pleased, His slut.  i remember begging Him to beat me with that wicked flogger, little balls at the end of the flogger tails torturing my tits, ripping off the wicked clamps so hard, i thought they took my nipples with them.  i remember He released me and pushed me to the floor to lick up the cum that had exploded from His cock while i screamed and as i did, He kept flogging me with my legs spread hitting my ass and cunt, crying screaming and devouring His cum. Then He pulled my Head up, and pushed His huge cock deep in my mouth using my Head to control it forcing down my throat, gagging around it hardly able to breath and Him cutting off my air supply totally at points, feeling His cum spurt into my throat, swallowing it, then my mouth filling with His piss, swallowing.  All the time letting Him know i was now His, and begging for the abuse that i deserved.

When He led me to the cage, i could hardly fit in.  i curled up like a cat and told Him something like: i was His and wanted to spend the next day and every day suffering in pain and humiliation for Him, that i loved Him and would do anything for Him.  He said He would make sure it was worse for me, better for Him every day.  Then He told me not to piss and walked away.

To be continued:

His Story:

The first thing I did the next morning was to go down the basement to the cage.  She was awake and whimpering.  I knew she was hurting, but also assumed she had to pee real bad.  There were a few drops on the floor telling me she was trying desperately to hold it in.  I laughed to myself thinking of the punishment I would bestow.  I reached in and grabbed her by the tit pulling her toward me, unleashed my cock and told her to drink, swallow, suck and swallow.  I also told her that meant swallowing every drop.  She really needed a lot of practice taking cock down her throat, so I had to use force to get my cock past that back part of her throat where her gagging felt so good, squeezing me, and the guttural screaming around my cock, oh how I loved it.  After she had swallowed all my cum, I gave her a bucket and told her she could piss.  Then I brought her upstairs naked and told her to make me breakfast.

I watched her as she made me eggs admiring the marks on her body.  I lit a cigarette and walked over to her, grabbed her around and shoved my cock up her tight ass.  “push back get it in all the way” I told her and she did, then I lifted the cigarette and as I started to pump her ass, I kept touching the lit cigarette against her body, anywhere, but mostly on her tits.  And as she jumped and writhed it made my cock feel so good and I exploded up her ass as I pushed the lit cigarette into her right nipple leaving it there until I was spent.  I told her she’d better keep all that cum tight in her ass until I allowed her to expel it.  I sat back down at the table and let her serve me telling her to feed me so I could continue to cause her pain as she did.

As she fed me, I slapped her tits, tummy, thighs and ass paying special attention to those burn spots.  She jumped and writhed and wriggled not only from the pain but also trying to hold that cum in her ass, like a cum enema.  She was losing the battle as I could see some of the cum begin to dribble from her ass.  Since all this was making me hard again anyway, I pushed her over the table and shoved my cock back up her ass again soon giving her another dose of cum.  I told her to hold it and her position and I went and got one of those huge butt plugs which I shoved up her ass to keep the cum inside her.  Then I pulled her up from the table and made her clean me off since it was covered in cum and shit.

Then I served her breakfast.  I took a dog bowl from the cabinet and filled it with dry oats, I pissed into the bowl and put it down on the floor.  “This is all you get to eat today my cunt so “enjoy.  I don’t allow my slaves any pleasures and that includes the taste of food. Eat it all, lick the bowl and thank me for the wonderful meal I allowed you.” She gagged and coughed, but eventually finished it all and thanked me properly.

I brought her back down to the basement, removed the butt plug and allowed her to expel into the bucket.  Only then did I unlock the bathroom in the basement and told her to clean out the bucket.  When she was done, I tied her hands together pulled them up over her head and attached them to a hook in the ceiling, and turned on the hose to clean her off, cold and hard.  I locked her back in the cage and told her I would be back later for more fun and for the punishment she needed for allowing a few drops of piss on the floor.

her Story

i wasn’t able to sleep, but just lied there whimpering.  Every part of my body hurt and i had to pee soooooo bad!  i had even let a few drops of pee escape.  But they were so small i hopedHewouldn’t notice.  He grabbed me by my tit, pulling me hard toward Him digging in to my already mauled meat, pulled out His cock and shoved it in my mouth and pissed, i had to keep swallowing which was hard being gagged with His cock and then when He finished peeing,He just kept it there and told me to suck and shoved it further back forcing it hard into my throat holding my head against His crotch and pumping, i could hardly get any air as He just kept going and i gagged around it until His cum began to fill my mouth trying hard to swallow and not to spill as it spurt into my throat.

When He was done and i had swallowed it all, He gave me a bucket and told me i could pee.  He watched intently with that smirky smile knowing how degrading it was to squat over the bucket and pee.  Then He grabbed me by the hair and led me upstairs and told me to make breakfast.

As i was preparing His eggs, He came up behind me with a cigarette in His hand and i felt His cock at the entrance to my asshole already hard Hejust forced it hard into my ass, telling me to push back into Him and get it in as far as it would go.  And as He did i felt the first kiss of the cigarette on my tit, i screamed and jumped and wriggled as He continued to touch the cigarette tip to my tits and anywhere He could.  i screamed and bucked with each touch and He pumped harder and harder and the cigarette burned me until He was ready and i could feel it getting ready to explode and He brought the cigarette right up against my nipple and crushed it into it as He came hard up my ass and i screamed and though i would pass out.  He told me to hold all that cum in my ass.

He then brought me back to the table and told me to feed Him as i stood there so that He could cause me pain as He ate.  And as i fed Him He slapped me all over but seemed to concentrate on all the spots that He had burned me.  wiggled and screamed and tried hard to hold the cum deposit in my ass, but i knew i was failing.  Suddenly He pushed me hard down over the table and shoved His cock up my ass again pounding me harder than even before,  It felt like He was splitting me apart until He shot into me again.  He told me I’d better hold it, but it was really hard, as if i had gotten an enema, but i struggled until He returned and shoved a big hard fat plug into my ass.   Then He pulled me from the table pushed me down to my knees with His dirty cock in front of my face and made me clean Him off.  The taste was disgusting, i didn’t mind the cum but the shit that had stuck to Him made me gag and want of vomit, but i somehow controlled it.

He dragged me by the hair over to the corner of the kitchen and took out a dog feeding bowl.  He also took a box of oatmeal and poured it into the bowl, then Heput it down on the floor and pissed in it.  He told me that was all i was getting to eat today, that i was a slave and didn’t deserve any pleasure including the taste of food, but that i had to eat whatever was given to me completely.  i couldn’t even stand the smell, let alone the taste, but i tried to eat, gagging and coughing, bits of oatmeal getting stuck in my throat, and cramping terribly from all the cum filling my bowels.  i struggled but eventually i was down to the bottom licking the bowl clean.  i looked up at Him, smiled and said “Thank You Master for giving me such a wonderful meal and allowing me to eat.”

Grabbing my hair again He led me down to the basement removed the plug and pushed me into the cage and told me to expel into the bucket which was a big relief.  He unlocked the bathroom door and told me to clean out the bucket.

Afterwards He tied my hands together and attached them to a hook in the ceiling, picked up a hose and began spraying me hard with cold water.  The spray was so hard it felt like needles were sticking into me all over. The burn spots coming alive again in pain.   He pulled my legs apart so He could make sure to get my cunt and asshole clean. He turned it off, took me down and locked me back up in the cage, told me he’d be back later, that He needed to punish me for allowing piss drops on the floor.  He left and i lied on the cold cement floor, cold, wet and shivering.  Thinking to myself this is who i am, what i was meant to be.

To be continued:

There can be few places as deceptive as Nether Slype.  The churches are well attended and the all children say their prayers.  Such presumably innocent pleasures as the fete, the sack race, and the village pantomime are milestones in its calendar.  There are also summer and winter sports gatherings, though all these events, I later learned, are curiously unique to the village.  There are two pubs, a school, two shops — one with a post office — a tea rooms where the old ladies gossip, and a Saturday market where you can buy anything from a home-made cake to an antique grandfather clock.  The village garage takes forever to fix your car, the mobile bank comes once a week, and the small library boasts the 1974 edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.  The few Saturday-night drunks are harmless; there is no vandalism and no rowdiness, which is as well, because Jack, the village bobby, couldn’t handle more than the mildest altercation.

Nether Slype nestles among wooded hills, and the woods encroach into it.  It is a place of nooks and crannies, green shades, cool shadows, high hedges, privacy, and footways.  There are bridleways where big-bottomed, bouncing-bosomed girls ride their ponies and other things besides — very vigorously.  The long, curling, hedge-rowed lanes are overarched with heavy branches of wimpling leaves.  The river murmurs under the mediaeval bridge, flowing fresh and clean, down from the higher hills on the Welsh borderland.  You’ll see an occasional fly-angler there, standing midstream in his waders, his fly whipping back and forth across the sparkling water; but their numbers are few and they’re all local, for no one comes to Nether Slype to fish; in fact, hardly anyone comes to Nether Slype at all.

Nearly all the villagers marry within the community — and they firmly believe in marriage.  I am aware of the commonly held urban belief that rural folk are interbred, but there is little risk of that in Nether Slype, with its population of twelve hundred, and Long Wallop, two miles up the valley, with a further six hundred, not to mention Threshers Bottom, over the hill, with another five hundred.  Therefore, as I’ve learned, few in this hidden, tucked-away place look beyond the three villages for a mate, which might account for a number of their local quirks.

I found Nether Slype by accident, as you must, for no one goes there by design or drives through it by accident, because the narrow twisting lane that winds six miles from the A road is unsignposted and goes nowhere else, except Long Wallop and Threshers Bottom.  But many years ago, I took a wrong turning.  I drove for miles with no clue where I was going.  Several times, I nearly turned back, but when I had almost given up hope of arriving anywhere other than a dead end in a farmyard, I came to a rise, and looked down through a gap in the birch trees.

It was autumn, and there below me, thrusting up from a tousled leafscape of greens, ambers, and reds, I saw a mediaeval church tower, and on the further hillside, four conical-roofed turrets peered over the trees towards me, as though a watchful castle hid in the forest there.  So I drove for another mile, the trees thinned slightly, and cottages appeared to left and right, peeping slyly from behind high hedges of yew, beech, and blackthorn.

I saw an elderly couple walking arthritically up the lane towards me.  Winding down my window, I leant out and called, “Excuse me.  I’m  lost.  I was wondering—”

With a sprightliness I wouldn’t have thought possible, the old couple recoiled and scuttled behind the nearest hedge.  Their reaction wouldn’t surprise me now, of course — they don’t like talking to strangers in the three villages — but on that day, it perplexed me.

I drove on; the cottages drew closer and became more regular, yet all seemed to hide behind something — hedges, large shrubs, or weeping trees.  Then, suddenly, the vista opened before me and I drove out onto a large village green, with a few shady, monumental oaks and a lilied pond at its centre where ducks quacked and geese honked deafeningly.  Close by stood ancient stocks and whipping post that looked remarkably well maintained.  Dotted all around were ancient cottages, timbered or red-tiled; tumbledown irregular cottages with shutters, nooks, and many corners, cellars, rambling attics, and tall chimneys with weathercocks on them.  I saw a couple of shops with bowed and bulls-eyed windows, and what looked like a moot hall.  Behind it rose the mediaeval church tower, solid and timeless.

Outside a timbered pub, curiously named The Seven Stripes, a group of locals sat on a bench drinking beer.  I drove up, but I was only half way out of the car before they leapt to their feet in alarm and scuttled inside.   I followed them in.  I needed directions and I was also thirsty.  As I walked into the bar, the conversation stopped like the fall of an executioner’s axe.  I looked around to see twelve pairs of dilated eyes swimming at me.  Ahead of me, the landlord, a large florid man with red hair, was wiping the bar.

“What can we do for you, stranger?” he asked in a surly voice that told me he would rather do nothing at all.

“I’m lost,” I said simply.

He gave me a half smile.  “Strangers always are.  Where are you trying to get to?”

I told him.

“Well,” he said.  “You know the road you took to get here?”

“Yes.”

“Take it and drive back out again.”

I stared at him hard.  What he’d said to me sounded like a roundabout way of hoisting two fingers and saying “Fuck off”.  But he read my reaction, unbent a fraction, and shook his head with a wintry smile.

“I’m not being funny, stranger.  There’s only one road out of Nether Slype that goes anywhere much.  That’s the one you came in on.  So wherever you’re going, that’s the one you need to take.”

“Then why did you ask where I was going?”

He shrugged.  “On the off chance you were looking for somewhere close by.”  He smirked.  “But I didn’t think it likely.”

I supposed it sounded fair enough.  I ordered a beer and looked around.  Country pubs are frequently hung with horse brasses and bits of tack, all ersatz, but the décor of The Seven Stripes looked genuine, and appeared to reflect its history as a coaching inn, being an assortment of straps, whips, chains, and what looked like bits and harnesses.  There were also some leg irons and manacles, a scolds’ bridle, and a thumbscrew.  I assumed that convicts had once been transported through the village and kept manacled at The Seven Stripes overnight.

I have never drunk beer in such a tactile silence.  While I consumed my pint — which was outstanding —  the twelve pairs of suspicious eyes never left me, not a word was uttered, not a floorboard creaked, not a glass was lifted other than mine.  I left the pub reflecting that, in remote villages, such a reception must be regarded as part of the local charm, and I soon put it from my mind, for as I drove round the village green, past all the quaint, old-world cottages, and back along the leafy lane, I fell in love with the place — it’s picturesque antiquity, and most of all its remoteness, hidden in its folds of woodland, a precious perfumed relict of an England I had thought lost for ever, and I swore that one day that I would return to live there.

*****

I am a writer by trade.  I have no pretensions so I don’t call it a vocation.  I published my first novel when I was thirty.  It was a middling success, but enough of one to encourage me to pursue my craft.  My reputation gradually grew, and finally I was able to give up the day job and seriously consider moving to the soft, secluded delights of Nether Slype.  I now had adequate means, so I thought it would be easy, but I discovered in the event that it was anything but.

My first problem was finding the local estate agent’s telephone number.  None was listed on the Internet, or in any telephone directory.  I tried to order a local paper from my newsagent but drew a blank there.  None seemed to exist and the nearest town’s local paper made no mention of the village.  None of the main estate-agent chains had a branch there or had even heard of the place.

So I went back there one late summer’s day.  The trees were more deeply in leaf than before and I found myself driving down the lane of yew hedges and set-back cottages before I even realised I had entered the village again.  It being a Saturday, more people were about, but as soon as I started to drive round the green, they all vanished like smoke into doorways, or down side alleys.  It was as though word had gone round that marauding Vikings had arrived to rape and pillage.  I drove round the green until I saw a window with some photographs of properties in it.  As I entered, a grey man sitting at a large, dusty partnership desk looked up at me and goggled, as though I’d sprouted a second head.

“Can I help you?” he enquired in a surly voice, giving the unmistakeable impression that he wasn’t prepared to help me at all.

I told him that I was looking for a cottage in or around the village.

“There aren’t any available,” he said flatly.

“So what are the properties in the window?”

“Not for you.  You’re not from the village, are you!” he asked in a tone of voice that sounded like a deadly accusation.

“Er, no.  But—”

“Nor from Long Wallop or Threshers Bottom either, I’ll be bound!”

“Well, no.  But—”

“Didn’t think so.  I’d have recognised you.   No family here either I presume?”

“None at all.  But why should any of this be relevant?”  I asked sharply, stung by his rude, negative attitude.

“Because all the land and properties round the valley are owned by Lord Shackles.  They’re leased to villagers and no one but villagers.”

My disappointment was crushing.  “Is there no way at all of acquiring one?”  I asked.

“You could petition his lordship.”  The man sniggered unpleasantly.  “But it won’t get you anywhere.”

“Why not?”

He sniggered again.  “Try, and you’ll find out.”

After much remonstrating, I obtained his lordship’s address at Nether Towers, the turreted pile I had seen peeping through the trees on my fondly remembered previous visit.  Back home, I drafted several letters to him, but the estate agent’s comments gave me pause.  If I enquired and he refused, as the estate agent’s manner had suggested probable, then I would have shot my one and only bolt, and that would be that.  So I spoke to Celia, my literary agent, who offered to make some discreet enquiries on my behalf that might hopefully give me some idea of how to proceed.

This too proved fruitless at the outset.  Try Googling Nether Slype, Threshers Bottom, or Long Wallop, and the engine returns “not found”, and this result holds true for any Internet search.  The three villages were like Brigadoon, appearing only when you drove into them from the winding lane through the woods, and then vanishing from the face of the earth when you left.

At last, Celia found a single obscure newspaper reference to a Colonel Gremdyck Flaythm from Nether Slype, who had mysteriously disappeared from the front in the Great War.  No body had ever been found, and no trace of him had emerged since.  He, like the village, had mysteriously vanished.  There were many who vanished like that in the trenches, had deserted or been blown to pieces, and the intelligence at first glance, appeared to be of no use to me.

But then my writer’s imagination took hold and I started to invent a subsequent biography for the colonel, and a possible means of worming my way into Lord Shackles’ good graces.

I thought it best not to imply that Colonel Flaythm had deserted for any reason; Lord Shackles might not like that.  So I decided that he had received a glancing blow to the head from a piece of shrapnel and wandered off, bewildered, into no-man’s land.  He had been captured, but as he was suffering from profound amnesia, his captors could not identify him and advise their British counterparts of who he was.  However, his ardent British blood remained pure (I felt Lord Shackles would like that).  He subsequently escaped from incarceration, still not knowing who he was, and, after many subsequent adventures through Eastern Europe, Siberia, and Tibet, he had finally surfaced in the remote outback of Australia, where he lived out the remainder of his life under the assumed name of Bruce Brown.

Late in life his memory had returned, but being married, and a pillar of his community, he had continued his subterfuge, confiding the truth to his son, my fictional grandfather, only on his deathbed.  Since then, his family had wandered the dissolving Empire, being pushed from colony to colony as it broke up.  Along the way the name had reverted to Flaythm and I, the alleged last of the line, had returned only recently to England in search of my long lost relations and my roots.

Before acquainting Lord Shackles with my new history, I reinvented myself completely, changing my name to Flaythm by deed pole and setting all my affairs in order under that name.  I have always cherished my anonymity — I write under a pen name — and having no family, there was absolutely no emotional or other difficulty in this.  Indeed, I enjoyed the sense of adventure it gave me.  So this done, I wrote a tearful and harrowing account of my Flaythm family’s history since that fateful day in 1915, couched in suitably servile language, and posted it to Lord Shackles.  I then sat back, prepared for a long wait, and the possibility, even now, of a blunt refusal.

So I was overjoyed when, only a few days later, I received a reply, not from his lordship but his wife, Lady Griselda Shackles, telling me how my tale had moved her to tears, and inviting me to attend an interview at Nether Towers.  This invitation I immediately accepted in the most excruciatingly obsequious terms, and a few days later, I was driving up from the village of Nether Slype to the turreted pile on the hillside.

1. Interview

Nether Towers is a castellated, eighteenth-century country mansion of buttresses and Gothic windows, topped with crenulated battlements, pointed turrets, tall twisted chimneys, and dragons, straight out of William Beckford or Ann Radcliffe.  It stands in a charming wooded glade of lush grass and rampant wild flowers ringed with the screen of dense trees that obscures everything in Nether Slype, though the view back along the approach provides a wonderful view across the valley.  It arrested me when I got out of the car — a panorama of wooded, tousled hills, winding lanes, and red-tiled cottage roofs, and beyond, the higher, blue hills of the Welsh borderland.  As I stood there, I prayed as I had never prayed, that my ruse might work, so I could live in this enchanted place.

I rang the bell and the great double-doors were thrown open by a grave butler in a tailcoat, with a bald crown and two wings of iron-grey hair neatly combed back over both ears.  He confirmed that I was expected, and he directed me to wait in the gloomy wainscoted hallway, whose walls were dense with generations of Shackles in oils.  They scowled down at me from aloof heights while I patiently waited for the butler’s return, for he had gone to inform Lady Shackles of my arrival.

As I waited, a piercing scream and a peal of diabolical laughter from the bowels of the mansion shattered the peace.

“Bring me a wench and I’ll flog her fucking arse off!”

I jumped up startled, casting about for the source of this violent outburst.  As I did so, the butler returned and told me that Lady Shackles was ready to receive me.  He made no mention of the outburst, which he must have heard, but merely coughed, and said that her ladyship was waiting in her office.  I asked him to lead the way, but we hadn’t gone more than a dozen steps before a second peal of diabolical laughter rent the air.

“Bring me a wench and I’ll flog her fucking cunt off!”

The butler’s gravity deepened, and he deferentially cleared his throat.  “His lordship, I’m afraid, sir.  You’d might as well know.  He’s, er . . . how can I delicately put it?”

“Suffering some unfortunate mental health problem?”

“Not quite, sir.  To use the exact medical terminology, he’s barking mad, sir.  We’ve been obliged to confine him to the dungeons.”

I do not know whether I was surprised or amused.  “You have dungeons here?”

The butler looked aghast.  “Of course we have dungeons.”

After a few further steps, he tapped his knuckles on an oak-panelled door and opened it.  Beyond, sitting at a large desk was an aloof and horsey looking woman of about forty, typical of her breed, with a large nose, a weak chin, and two prominent teeth that overhung her protruding lower lip.  Her profuse chestnut hair was scraped back into a bun.

The deferential butler cleared his throat once more.  “Mr Owen Flaythm, ma’am.”

She smiled and rose to greet me, and I saw that she was dressed for riding in hacking jacket, jodhpurs, and knee boots.  Her large and apparently firm bust surged through the opening in the jacket like Niagara Falls in the wet season, and she vigorously slapped her thigh with a riding crop as she strode purposefully across the wide room towards me.  As she approached, she extended her free hand, which, I noticed, dripped jewels.

“Mr Flaythm,” she lisped through the gap in her front teeth.  “I’m Griselda Shackles.  Welcome to Nether Towers.”

I almost took the hand and shook it, but somewhere from the depths of my subconscious, a cautionary voice shouted, No!  Therefore, stooping slightly, I took the tips of the gem-encrusted fingers in my own and lightly kissed them.  “A profound honour and a pleasure to meet your ladyship.”

As I straightened, I saw that she was beaming; her riding crop slapped her thigh even more enthusiastically than before.

“I knew it, I knew it,” she gushed, ogling me from head to toe.  “Every inch a Flaythm.  The manners.  The poise.  The easy and natural subservience to the social superior.”  She lurched towards me and seized my arm.  Her grip was like a vice.  “Come!  Come to the window and let me take a good look at you!”

She marched me by the arm into a deep window recess, where I was obliged to pose for inspection while she clucked all round me.  “No question.  No question at all.  You have the Flaythm nose, the Flaythm brow, the deep Flaythm upper lip — you could grow a magnificent moustache.  No doubt of it.  Magnificent!”

I heard the deferential butler cough.  A spasm of annoyance crossed Lady Shackles’ face, and she turned and sniffed.

“What is it, Thwacks?” she demanded coldly.

“I regret to inform you, ma’am, that his lordship seems to be becoming . . . er . . . how shall I put it?  Agitated again.”

Lady Shackles’ slapped her thigh with the riding crop so hard that I flinched.  “Oh very well,” she sighed with clear annoyance.  “Send a girl down!”

It seemed an odd response.  Surely, the poor man needed a physician or nurse, not a girl.  But the impeccable Thwacks merely bowed.  “Immediately, ma’am.”

When the butler had gone about his strange business, Lady Shackles directed me to a deep sofa.  She flung her riding crop onto the desk and surprised me by stripping off her jacket.  As she flexed her muscular shoulder back to slip it off, I couldn’t help noticing that her bust was truly monumental, and jutted with surprising firmness.

“Might as well make ourselves comfortable, Mr Flaythm,” she announced briskly, throwing herself vigorously into the armchair facing me, and smoothing her blouse over her thrusting curves, as if for my appreciation.  “Of course, some said you had to be an imposter,” she confided.  “And I confess I entertained doubts myself.  But now I have met you no doubt remains.  None at all.  You are every inch a Flaythm.  Every inch.  And so you shall remain.”

“I only hope the others concur, your ladyship.”

She swatted the notion waspishly away.  “Peasants, Mr Flaythm!  They don’t count.  I and I alone am mistress here.  My opinion alone matters.  They do as they’re told.”

“Of course, your ladyship.”

“Of course!  Precisely!  You understand.  You’re a Flaythm,” she lisped softly, and I noticed that her eyes were wandering all over me again.  “Now, you said you wished to trace your relations.  I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed there.  Your great grandfather, the colonel, had but one sibling, a brother.  He in turn had only the one child, and that child died without issue.  So I’m afraid you’re the last of the Flaythms.”

I affected deep sadness at the news, but I was secretly relieved.  Living relatives might have been a complication, one I was prepared to deal with, but life would be much simpler without them.

“So you’ll have to find yourself a wife,” said Lady Shackles enthusiastically, throwing one booted leg over her chair arm and showing me the leather crotch of her riding jodhpurs.  “Get busy and produce lots of children.  In the meantime, I shall ensure that you are fully and immediately accepted into the three villages, as is your due.  Otherwise it might take years.”

I was genuinely elated.  “So you’ll allow me to live here, after all, your ladyship?”

“But of course.  The Flaythms have served the Shackles for centuries.  You are one of us, and, as a Flaythm, you will enjoy considerable prestige here . . . so long as you do as you’re told.”

“Of course, Lady Shackles,” I assured her, terrified of putting a foot wrong.  My ruse had succeeded more surely and swiftly than I could have hoped.  “And I’ll happily serve you any capacity you deem appropriate.”

She smirked, slowly regarding me under heavy eyelids.  “Indeed you shall.  Now,” she added, briskly again.  “I assume you have adequate financial means?”

“Yes your ladyship.  As I told you, my grandfather prospered in South Africa and produced a fortune in diamonds.  My father foolishly lost much if it, but enough remains for me to enjoy a substantial private income.”

“Yet, despite that, you still wish to return to Nether Slype?”

I feigned emotion.  “Of course, your ladyship.  It’s . . . it’s  . . . my home.”

Unexpectedly, she leapt out of her chair towards me, perched herself on the arm of my sofa, and placed her hand on my shoulder.  Her encrusted fingers gripped it with remarkable strength.  “Oh Mr Flaythm,” she said as her eyes bore into mine with fierce rapture.  “You are a prodigal returned, and you are more than welcome.  I look forward to our developing a close and fruitful association.  Indeed, a close and fruitful friendship, for I have no doubt that we shall becomes friends . . . very firm friends.”

“You fill me with rapture, your ladyship,” I croaked, biting back my crocodile tears in the way I thought a Flaythm ought, and reflecting that I’d well and truly fallen on my feet.

“Good man!  That’s the spirit!  That’s the Flaythm style!”

She strode back to her chair, flung her leg back over the arm, and her eyes continued to wander all over me.  We talked about where I might live.  To give my pose credence, I had converted all my assets into liquid form, and deposited most in a South African bank.  When I told her ladyship that I could install myself in the village at a few days notice it was the literal truth.  She appeared overjoyed and decided to give me a large, rambling cottage on the village outskirts, as befitted my apparently high status.

“It’s only six bedrooms, but that’ll do for the time being.”

“Time being?”

“Until you find a wife, of course.  That won’t be a problem for you; we have a huge surplus of available women here.  And you’re a Flaythm, so you can take your pick of them.  But I counsel you to choose wisely and not weaken your Flaythm blood.  And then,” she added enthusiastically, “when you’ve found a suitable woman, get down to it with a will and impregnate her, time and time again!  You owe it to your ancestors to perpetuate the Flaythm line.”

I blushed.  “Of course, Lady Shackles.  I’ll follow your generous  advice — naturally.”

While we spoke, I studied the room.  It was the sort of panelled affair you expect to find in such an old country mansion, lined with ancient, dusty books of no possible interest or value, and even duller pictures of horsey looking men and women with large noses, weak chins, and protruding teeth, whom I assumed to be Griselda Shackles’ own ancestors.  One arrested me though: a brutal looking, florid-faced man in the tricorn hat and naval uniform of Napoleonic times.  He was standing proudly in front of what appeared to be a mountain of steak tartare.  Beneath the picture, in a glass exhibition case, lay a heavy cat of nine tails, though it looked more like a cat of fifteen or twenty tails, all knotted at intervals and embellished with vicious hooks, spikes, and other spiteful ironmongery.

Lady Shackles noticed my interest, and she positively glowed.  “Ah!  I see you’ve noticed my great ancestor, Admiral Lord Horatio Shackles!”

“My grandfather spoke of him many times, your ladyship,” I lied fluently, reasoning that he would have done so, had he existed, and hoping that she wasn’t going to test me with awkward questions.

“Of course he would.  We’re so very proud of the admiral.”  Her face flushed with ancestral joy.  “Just think.  The only Royal Navy officer ever to flog his entire crew to death in a single session,” she added with deep relish.  “And he did it with his own hand, you know.  Ripped out their backs in bloody gobbets.  Every last one of them.”

I tried not to blench.  “So I understand, your ladyship.  An outstanding feat of, er . . . seamanship, to be sure.”

“And so efficient!  Amazing!  Truly amazing!  He started work after a late breakfast of oysters and Champagne, you know, and he finished the work well before elevenses.”

“Stupendous,” I simpered.  What else could I say?

“And as you must already know, his second in command, Captain Rickett Flaythm, stepped forward and gallantly offered to hold his coat for him while he administered the punishment.”

“Indeed, your ladyship,” I choked.  “It’s a matter of immense family pride to us.”

“Yes, a superb testimony to the captain’s breeding and the Shackles Patent Flogger’s efficacy.”  She walked across the glass case like a woman in a dream, her face alight with enthusiasm.  I noticed how her well-developed horsewoman’s buttocks heaved and strained like two bound slaves against the tight captivity of her jodhpurs.  “And here it is.”  She gazed down at the grotesque object in the exhibition case.  “The very flogger the admiral used to achieve his stupendous feat.  It’s an inspiration, Mr Flaythm.”

“I’m overawed to be in its presence,” I lied, trying to look away from the hideous thing.

She gazed up at the portrait of the monstrous admiral, her hands clasped in schoolgirl rapture.  “And there he is, standing proudly before the product of his achievement.  Just think — eight hundred men ripped to pieces in less than three hours . . . .  It makes the blood surge.”

I suddenly realised what the steak tartare really was, and my gorge rose.

“Of course, had the spineless Admiralty been wise enough to adopt the Shackles Patent Flogger, there would have been no mutinies at Spithead and the Nore.  The men would have learned the true meaning of the words, discipline, and punishment.”

“Without a doubt, your ladyship,” I dutifully crowed, despite myself.  “A criminal folly.”

“Criminal.  Lamentable.  Softness, Mr Flaythm.  Softness.  That’s the country’s ill.  We seem to have forgotten all about discipline.”

“To our great cost,” I resolutely toadied.  “A national disgrace.”

“Except in Nether Slype, of course,” she said, vigorously marching back to the desk and retrieving her riding crop.  “No silly softness here.  No insolence.  No disobedience.”  As she said this, she slashed her thigh three times, so hard that I winced.  “The three villages are the last stronghold of the firm hand, the disciplinarian, as I’m sure your grandfather told you.”

“Indeed, your ladyship, and thank heaven for it,” I chorused without fully understanding the implications of her tirade — though perhaps I should have twigged by then.  “No weak, watery, namby-pamby shilly-shallying here, thank God.”

“Oh, Mr Flaythm!”  She tossed her riding crop over her shoulder, positively skipped across the room to me, all girlish and gushing.  “This is a true meeting of minds.  A wonderful day for both of us.  Just think!  The Shackles and the Flaythms united again after all this time — mistress and servant.  And friends too.  True friends, I hope.”

“Your deep condescension overwhelms me with joy.”

She took my hands in hers wrung them with unnerving intensity, almost breaking my fingers.  I noticed that her breathing had shortened.  “Oh Mr Flaythm.  Not half so much joy as your return promises to give me.”

I finger of apprehension touched me.  “I don’t think I quite understand your ladyship,” I stammered.

“Don’t you?  Come, come, Mr Flaythm, you’re a man of the world.”  She paused.  “And yet you probably have little idea what it’s like for me here?  This life . . . this cold friendless existence . . . alone and blue-blooded among peasants . . . and other inferiors . . . with a mad, slavering, sexually impotent husband, chained in the dungeons.  No one I can trust . . . no one I can turn to . . . confide in . . . open my heart to.  No one with whom I can . . . can . . . can . . . .”

“Can what, Lady Shackles?”

“Can I be brutally frank with you?  I feel I can talk intimately to you as I could to no other without soiling myself.  Please?”

I swallowed.  “You do me too much honour, your ladyship.”

“Very well.”  She paused, smoothing her blouse and pointing her magnificent bust directly at my nose.  “I must be blunt.  Have you any idea how cold and empty my bed is, Mr Flaythm?”

“Your ladyship?”

“I don’t mean physically cold, of course.  I have countless hot water bottles.  And if I chose, I could summon any well-hung man in the three villages to service me to satisfaction whenever I wished.  But, of course, I cannot.”

I swallowed again.  “Cannot?  But surely—”

“The considerations of class, Mr Flaythm!  How could I allow a dirty peasant to crawl up my nightie, no matter how well equipped he was for the job of sexually gratifying me?”

I hadn’t anticipated this turn in the conversation.  Perhaps I should have.  I cleared my throat.  “Perish the thought, your ladyship.”

“Indeed!”  She paused and looked at me steadily.  “You understand.  Of course you do.”  A slow smile crept furtively across her face.  Her hand slipped surreptitiously to my knee and started working slowly up my thigh, while her eyes smouldered provocatively into mine.  “Yes.  I’m sure you understand — perfectly.”

I suddenly realised what she had meant when she said, not half so much joy as your return promises to give me.  I blushed — I’m sure I did.  Fighting her off would probably ruin my prospects of moving to the village.  On the other hand, I reasoned that giving her what she obviously wanted wouldn’t trouble me at all.  She was a provocatively built woman, despite the teeth, though I felt I’d rather not do it in the presence of the steak tartare and the patent flogger.

In the event, I was rescued by a sudden knocking at the office door.  With a spasm of alarm, Lady Shackles leapt up as though electrocuted, and fled back across the room towards her large desk.

“Enter!” she snapped, when she’d gained some composure.

The door opened and Thwacks the immaculate butler entered and bowed.

“What is it, Thwacks?” Lady Shackles demanded coldly, looking dramatically away from him.

The balls of Thwacks’ fingers and thumbs twitched together, as though he were rubbing fat into delicate pastry.  He cleared his throat, drew himself up to his full height, and addressed the ceiling.  “I regret to inform you, ma’am, that his lordship seems to be becoming . . . er . . . how can I delicately put it?  Agitated again.”

“Again?  But we sent him a girl not one hour ago!”

Thwacks coughed deferentially.  “His lordship seems to have . . .  er . . . finished with that one, ma’am.”

“Already?”

“So it would appear.”

“Very well.  Send down another.  But that’s the last for today — there’s a limit to my indulgence.”

Thwacks bowed.  “Very good, ma’am.”

He started to withdraw backwards at a dignified stoop, but Lady Shackles stopped him.  “Before you do that, you can show Mr Flaythm out.”  She turned to me and extended her hand, smiling warmly, while her eyes again wandered all over me.  “I’d better let you go while I still can, dear Mr Flaythm,” she simpered through her front teeth.  “I’m sure we can pursue any outstanding matters at a more opportune time and place.”

Her meaning was plain, and it certainly suited me to delay payment for her generosity until after I was securely ensconced in my cottage.  I rose, bowed over the jewel-encrusted fingers, and kissed them again.

I turned to leave while Thwacks stood aside for me.  As a walked through the door I distinctly heard Lady Shackles lisp, “Until we meet again . . . Owen” in such a smoky voice that Thwacks’ eyebrows abruptly rose and his eyes popped, though his po-face remained set in stone.

Thwacks and I retraced our steps to the gloomy, wainscoted hall, where generations of Shackles sneered down at me from the shadowy walls as though they, at least, knew me for an impostor.

Suddenly, a shriek of diabolical laughter from the deep bowels of the building rent the air.

“Bring me a wench and I’ll flog her fucking tits off!”

“We’d best hurry if you don’t mind, sir,” urged Thwacks.  “His lordship seems particularly agitated today.  It’s almost—” He looked at me guardedly. “—almost as if he knows you’re here, sir.”  He paused and glanced up nervously at all the ancestors.  “Strange.”

Indeed it was.  I had no idea what he meant and might have asked him, but another thought was uppermost in my mind.

“The girls?”  I asked, as he held one of the great front doors ajar for me and positively thrust me through the opening.  “What do they do down there?”

“Do, sir?”  The balls of Thwacks’ fingers and thumbs rubbed together again, I thought a trifle nervously.

“Yes!  Do!”

“I suppose that you might say that they provide his lordship with the necessary remedial treatment for his condition, sir.”

Enlightenment dawned, or so I thought at the time.  “Ah!  I see.  They’re trained therapists.”

Thwacks cleared his throat yet again, and his face remained impassive.  “I suppose you might say that too, sir,” he murmured, and the door closed.

1. Dark Designs

As I drove back towards London, I reflected that there were advantages and disadvantages to my remarkable progress.  I would soon be installed in a substantial cottage in the village of my dreams, and it was clear that I would be welcomed and given a status I had never expected, and didn’t particularly want — but never mind about that.   I also would also enjoy the close and avid support of Lady Griselda Shackles, provided I played my cards right.

That was a two-edged sword.  There would be obvious advantages to a close relationship with her.  She clearly wanted me to shag her, a small price to pay for the cottage and the lifestyle I was promised to enjoy, and I wondered what other sweeteners and emoluments she might offer if I shagged her to her complete satisfaction.  I entertained no doubt that I would satisfy her, in bed at least.  I am not a braggart by nature but the women I’ve bedded over the years have never expressed disappointment.  Besides, despite her nose and her front teeth, Lady Shackles’ body would be more than acceptable when the light was out.  Once I got to grips, I would have no problem giving her what she wanted — or so I thought.

On the other hand, there would be consequences, perhaps terminal ones, if I ever tried to withdraw from whatever arrangement she decided suited her, or if I disappointed her in other ways.  What if I made other women friends and she became jealous?  What if I fell in love with another woman?  What if Griselda Shackles fell in love with me and demanded more than a good stiff weekly poke?  She had made it perfectly clear that she was totally in charge of everything and everyone in the three villages.  I had no doubt that she could handle her authority, and would be every bit as ruthless as Admiral Shackles if crossed.  Yes, there was no doubt of that at all, and she would be holding all the cards.  And I was less than enthusiastic about her evident love of whips, crops, and patent floggers.  I don’t mind a bit of spanking, provided I’m the one administering it, but I did not intend to be Griselda Shackles’ whip slave.

So did I still want to move to Nether Slype and live in her cottage on her terms, as a sort of glorified sex serf?  I most certainly did.  Or, to say the least, I was prepared to give it my best shot.  I loved the place and had set my heart on living there years before.  I also knew that I was an intelligent and resourceful man; I had no doubt that given time I would be able to forge a more equable and even-handed arrangement with Lady Shackles than she probably had in mind.  Moreover, I assumed that I was far better able than the other villagers to protect myself if she became difficult or spiteful, and that I appreciated better than the other villagers, the differences between her perceptions, and stark reality.  She might think that she was lady of the manor, and the rest of us peasants without rights.  In reality, of course, we did have rights, civil right, tenant’s rights, even human right — which can cover just about anything you want them too, provided you can hire a good lawyer.

And I certainly had the means to do that.  If she ever threatened me, she would have to deal with counter-threats in turn.  At least, I thought so at the time.

*****

They didn’t put the bunting up round the village on the afternoon I arrived, together with the van Lady Shackles had sent to my London address to transport my possessions.  On the other hand, bunting was the only thing missing, apart from the brass band.  A group of local dignitaries greeted me at my front door and immediately whisked me up to Nether Towers for an arrival party in the grounds — where there was a band, a marquee, and bunting by the mile, threaded between the encircling trees.  Despite her ladyship’s deeply held convictions about social class, the entire village appeared to have been invited, and I was introduced to so many people that I became giddy.  Lady Shackles herself took little notice of me beyond formally shaking my hand and making a speech of welcome to a respectfully silent and bareheaded audience.

It wasn’t until about half past six, when the crowd was melting away down the hill towards their homes, that we finally spoke confidentially.  I had looked for her, fearing that it would be impolite to leave without thanking her for her welcome, and I had become lost in a tangle of yew hedges — some sort of maze — when she crept up behind me.

“BOOH!”

I leapt out of my skin, crashed back to earth, and turned to find her standing there, still wearing her riding habit, and vigorously slapping her thighs with her crop as she laughed at her schoolgirl joke.

“If I wasn’t a fit man, you could have given me a heart attack,” I complained, forgetting my manners for a moment.

She became suddenly seriously.  She stepped up to me and slid her hand inside my jacket, where she stroked my flank.  “I hope you are fit, Owen,” she lisped in my ear.  “You’ll be no good to me if you’re not.”

“Fit enough,” I laughed, a little bashfully for a man of my experience, for her meaning was plain.

“And you’ll stay to dinner?”

She couched it as a question, but I knew she meant it as a command.  Oh well, I thought.  Looks like I’m on shagging duty tonight already.  Just so long as she leaves her riding crop downstairs!

Upper-crust dinners can be tedious affairs, especially when there are only two of you, sitting at opposite ends of a table so long that the food can be served piping hot at one end and au froid when it finally reaches the other — though in this case there were two substantial compensations.

She had left me to amuse myself for a while in the library, which was crammed with more leather-backed books and more chinless portraiture, while she went upstairs to change out of her hacking jacket and jodhpurs into “something more suitable for the occasion”.  It certainly was — a figure-hugging, low-cut dress of dark yet iridescent silk, held up by nothing but the incredible firmness of her magnificent breasts, and revealing a yard of cleavage so deep that I longed to plunge into headfirst into it.  We walked to the dining room arm-in-arm, in the time-honoured fashion, but when she turned to take her seat, her buttocks undulated so provocatively under their tight restraint that I struggled to keep my hands off them, reflecting that if Lord Shackles hadn’t been able to produce a rock-hard erection over his wife’s body, he couldn’t produce one over anything.

I no longer noticed the prominent teeth, the weak chin, and the horsey nose as I sat there at the opposite end of the long table undressing her in my mind, taking out those mouth-watering breasts sucking her plump nipples, running my hands over her firm round bottom, parting her legs, and getting stuck in with a will.  She would have no cause to complain of my efforts, not tonight at least, not the way I was feeling.

The conversation over dinner was desultory, as it must be when two serving men are perched on your elbow like carrion crows, outraged ancestors are glaring down at you from the shadowy wainscot, and you feel you are being observed by inscrutable-looking suits of armour, standing like linesmen around the walls.  As I chewed my way manfully through several courses, the silence was punctuated only by the occasional pleasantry, and invitations to take more wine.  I wondered why Thwacks wasn’t hovering at the table, for it is a butler’s duty to pour the drinks.  I assumed he was outside, keeping a sharp ear peeled for the cries of the impotent madman downstairs in the dungeons.

So it transpired.  We had just finished our sherry trifle and were waiting in rigid silence for the coffee to be brought in when there was a discreet knock at the doors and he appeared, sombre as an eminence grise, and walked with sedate steps to Lady Shackles’ end of the table.  He coughed into his cupped hand and waited.

“Well?” she snapped, her face suddenly turned to stone.

Thwacks drew himself solemnly to his full height.  “I regret to inform you, ma’am, that his lordship seems to be becoming . . . er . . . how can I delicately put it at the dinner table?  Agitated again.”

Her eyes flickered, and she slapped her hand onto the tabletop so hard that all the silverware leapt several inches into the air and all the suits of armour hummed like ceremonial gongs.  “No more!  Understood?  No more!  Close all the intervening doors and let him get on with it!  Understood?”

Thwacks’ face was unreadable.  “Very good, ma’am,” he said at length.  “It’s your decision.”

“And keep your impertinent observations to yourself!” she blazed, looking away from him.

Thwacks swelled with forbearance, bowed admonished, and stalked out of the room without a further word.  As soon as the door had closed behind him, Lady Shackles leapt to her feet and flung he napkin onto the dining table.

“We’ll take the coffee in my drawing room!” she barked at no one in particular, and then she also swept from the room, snapping her fingers in my direction for me to follow her.  And so I did, like a poodle.

She had cooled somewhat when we reached her drawing room, after a forced march through labyrinthine passages of many widths, up and down steps, round corners and bends, through arches and doorways.  This suggested to me that the building was much older than I had previously thought, probably mediaeval.  It was certainly cold.  The perpetual draught cut like a razor.  Our footsteps rang on bare stone more often than not, some of the walls were undressed stone, and where they were panelled, the woodwork looked dark and ancient, relieved only by narrow lancet windows, arrow slits, several threadbare tapestries, more armour, and many more generations of outraged ancestors glared at me through the gathering gloom, for the evening had advanced.

So the drawing room, when we finally arrived, pleasantly surprised me: a light, warm, airy room where the panelling sparkled and smelled of beeswax, the sweet-sharp smell of fresh fuchsias spiked the air.  There was a comfortable chintz suite and other elegant pieces of furniture.  The pictures surprised me even more.  Gone were the apoplectic ancestors; instead, the walls were hung with attractive landscapes in watercolour and oils, interspersed with some more modern and abstract pieces; and a large abstract sculpture shaped like a fully erect penis, which surprised me less.

“You furnished this room yourself, didn’t you?” I asked to melt the already softening silence, for I was sure no one else had done it.

“Yes.  Look.  Sorry about the outburst,” she said in a surprisingly small voice, her brow furrowed.  “I didn’t want unpleasantness on your first day here, but I assume you know all about Flavius.”

“Your husband, Lady Shackles?”

“Husband in name.  He’s mad, Mr Flaythm.  Barking mad.  And worse — incapable of producing any sort of erection.”

“So I’d already gathered.”

“Totally incapable of pleasuring a woman, let alone a hot-blooded sexually-demanding one.”  She flung herself down on the sofa pulled me down beside her, and threw her arms possessively round my neck.  “And I’m very highly sexed, you see.  I have needs.  Burning, desperate needs, that can only be quenched by a well-equipped, vigorous, and attentive man from the right sort of social background.  That’s why I get so agitated, you see.”

“Yes, well, I’d already—”

“And I couldn’t help observing, Mr Flaythm, when we first met, the more than satisfactory bulge in your trousers.”

“Well.  As I was saying, I’d already—”

“Let us be frank with each other, as only true friends can.  When I spoke before of friendship, of a meeting of minds, I confess that I was dissembling in part.  I was also thinking of something . . . more physical . . . more urgent, more . . . necessary.”

“My dear Lady Shackles.  That too I’d already—”

Her embrace had tightened; her breathing had become ragged.  She thrust her magnificent bust into my face and started stroking the back of my head with fluttering hands.  “For God’s sake call me Griselda when we’re alone!”

“Of course . . . Griselda.  I’d be—”

Suddenly, her lips were working vigorously on mine; her tongue was in my throat.  She hoisted her dress and straddled me, her powerful horsewoman’s legs tightly gripping my thighs as her crotch started rubbing vigorously into my groin.  The desperate power of her kiss felt as though it was wrenching my tongue out by its roots.  I struggle for air but this only excited her more, her legs tightened, she jerked more feverishly, and her strong arms crushed the breath from me.

“My God, you’re well endowed, Owen!” she gasped.  “A true Flaythm!  How you stimulate me!”

Her crotch now flexed with accelerating vigour for several minutes before she finally groaned, slowed, flopped on top of me, exhausted.  Her grip relaxed and she lay on me panting.

At that moment, a knock at the door interrupted us.  She gasped and leapt up from me like a startled hare, and fled across the room, desperately smoothing her dress.

“Enter!”

This time it was the coffee.

“Leave it!  I’ll pour,” she said to the serving man, more softly than before.  She even managed to sketch a smile as he silently bowed and left backwards, but not before I’d heard a distant maniacal scream echoing through the winding corridors beyond.

“Bring me a wench and I’ll shag her raw.  I’ll stretch her fucking cunt to kingdom come and thrash her arse off with a—”

The closing door mercifully cut off the rest of the sentence.  But it also left a question dangling.

“I thought you said your husband was impotent?” I asked as neutrally as possible.

“So he is.”

“Er . . . he doesn’t sound particularly impotent to me.”

“I told you.  He’s stark staring mad.”

That could account for it, I supposed, but it posed another question that had nagged me since my first visit, and more so because of Thwacks’ evasive comments.

“So what precisely does he do with the girls you send down there?”

“Let’s not talk about him,” she panted, flinging herself back on top of me, her hands exploring my body while her lips worked feverishly all over my mouth, my face, my throat.  “Our time together is too precious to waste on him.  Let’s talk about us.”

“Yes, but—”

“Anyway, I’ll be rid of him within the year,” she added, as though it were a trifle.  “So there’s nothing to talk about really, is there?”

“Rid of him?”

“Yes.  Rid of him!  I’d do it today if I could — now I’ve met you.  But I mustn’t be precipitate.  Appearances are everything.  It must look natural . . . and plausible.  But an opportunity will present itself.  Then, when I’ve disposed of him, I shall be fully available.  Frantic to be pleasured . . . and pleasured . . . and pleasured . . . and pleasured.”

She was positively gnawing my face now, like a ravenous dog trying to tease the last fragment of meat from a stubborn bone.  My manhood, which had been aroused to the point of ejaculation by her twitching crotch, was now deflating rapidly as I digested her alarming ambitions for her poor mad husband.

“But Griselda—”

“Yes, Owen darling,” she lisped as she broke off trying to insert her tongue all the way into my left ear.

“When you talk about disposing of your husband, what exactly—”

“Oh, don’t go on about him, darling,” she pouted, and then tried the other ear.  “So far as we’re concerned, he’s ancient history, isn’t he?”

“Exactly my point.  How precisely—”

“Then, once we’re rid of him, I’ll pull out your gleaming manhood.  I’ll suck it, I’ll eat it, I’ll worship it, I’ll take every glorious inch of it into my every empty, aching hole.  I’ll toss myself up and down on it for hours and hours and hours like a mad woman until the sheets catch fire, won’t I?”

“Fine, but—”

“We’ll get one of those books, and learn how to do it in all sorts of unusual and interesting ways.  We’ll find new ways that no one’s ever tried before.”

“Wonderful, but—”

“Like doing it for hours and hours and hours and hours in a bath full of really thick, sticky custard”

“Yes but—”

“Or warm treacle.”

“What?”

“Treacle, darling.”  She popped a chaste kiss onto the very tip of my nose.  “At least you were listening.”  She dismounted me, glanced at her watch, and, with a look of regret.  “My, my, look at the time.”  She crossed the room and touched the bell pull.  “You’ll have to go for now, for appearance’s sake, or else the low-lifes will start gossiping about us.”

“Go?”

“But of course.”

“So we’re not popping upstairs to . . . er . . . ?”

She giggled like a horse whinnying.  “Not yet, silly!  Not until Flavius is out of the way.  Why do you think I’m so eager to get rid of him?”

I was relieved to a point.  I had passed my peak, largely because of her alarming intentions concerning her husband, and it wouldn’t have done to disappoint her first time.  But I was also worried about what I was getting into.  “Look, Griselda.  About Flavius.  I’m not —”

“Oh, please don’t go on about him, darling.”  She faced me squarely, and her expression was softer now, and more fully mature.  “Look.  We can’t get down to the serious shagging until I’ve dealt with him, if only because if it became known, it would make him far more difficult to dispose of — people might say I had personal motives, mightn’t they?  You must see that.”

“But if we we’re discreet—”

“We couldn’t be — not here, not in Nether Slype where everyone knows everyone else’s comings and goings — especially yours and mine,” she said soberly.  “And a scandal circulating among the peasants would be unspeakably demeaning.  Therefore, much as I lust over you, Owen my darling, we must be content to be friends until I’m permanently rid of Flavius.  Then we can immediately progress to something more athletic and mutually satisfying.  Agreed?”

I admired her control.  In fact, Griselda Shackles’ stature had grown in my estimation, in many ways.  Even her ruthlessness was to be admired.  Nevertheless, but her plans for her husband were clearly serious and they terrified me

“Look, about this disposal business, I—”

The opening door interrupted me.  Thwacks sombrely entered the room, coughed and bowed.

“You took your time!” observed Griselda harshly.

“My apologies, ma’am.  I—”

“Silence!  Mr Flaythm will be leaving in a moment.  Wait outside and then show him out!”

Thwacks bowed.  “Ma’am”.  He withdrew backwards to wait outside.

Griselda’s eyes followed him and she made no effort to hide her dislike of the man.  The door closed; she plucked my arm to draw me close, and her voice was low.  “One word of advice, Owen.  Don’t ever trust that one.”

“Thwacks?”

“Yes.  He’s the main reason I must be prudent and so very careful when I dispose of Flavius.”

“Yes.  About that.  I—”

“Not now!  Listen!  I won’t pester you.  I’ll leave you alone . . . until the deed is done.  So as not to arouse any suspicions.  Understood?”

Of course, but—”

“Hush!  He’s probably listening at the door.”

I dropped my voice to a murmur.  “If he’s such a threat, why do you employ him?”

“Reasons.  But not for long.  Once I’m rid of Flavius I’ll dispose of Thwacks too . . . with very great pleasure.”

I bitterly regretted my words rash words.  “Look, Griselda.  About this disposal business—”

“No time!  No time!  He’ll get suspicious.  Go now!”

*****

I returned to my cottage and spent a sleepless night, despite the sweet, fresh country air wafting in through the open window, and the tawny owls calling each other in the nearby trees.  Keeping Griselda Shackles sexually satisfied would be no hardship, not with that magnificent body, though I was a little daunted by her blithe assumption that we could do it for hours and hours and hours and hours on end, as she had put it.  But her intentions concerning her husband were something I had not anticipated.  I had never met the man, probably never would — unless I got a move on — and cared nothing for him.  But he was still a fellow human being, if a foul-mouthed and barking mad one.

There was no doubt that she intended to murder him.  I reasoned that she was in a strong position to hush the matter — I assumed that the physician who examined him, and the coroner, would both we tenants of hers — but if she were caught and tried, I would be an accessory.  My ambition had been to live in Nether Slype, not to view the world through prison bars for a number of years.  So what should I do?  Flee the village?  Paradise no sooner gained than lost?

I reasoned that doing so wouldn’t help me much.  If she still went ahead and murdered her husband, and my foreknowledge became know, the outcome would be the same.  Should I turn her in?  For what?  I had no proof of anything.  I might find myself accused in turn of being a failed gigolo with a grudge, or a would-be blackmailer — for I had no doubt that Griselda would fight tooth and claw and use any means to refute my allegation.  Then I would lose paradise and my reputation.

Then another, even more horrible, thought struck me.  Would I be the next, after Flavius and Thwacks, for I had little doubt that she intended to murder her butler too?  Had there been others?   Would I become a minor statistic in a long line of murdered lovers?  Was she mad and Flavius sane?  Were they both mad?  Was I too going mad?

As the weeks passed without any developments, these anxieties over Griselda’s intentions abated somewhat, though never entirely.  She had insisted that we appear to be no more than friends until she had disposed of Flavius.  And so it was.  I often saw her trotting round the village — booted and jacketed, hand imperiously on hip.  As she passed the men’s hands would twitch to their forelocks, and the women would sketch a curtsey.  She ignored them all, but when she saw me her face would light up and she would wave.  On a couple of occasions when I walked up the valley to Long Wallop, along the lane loops between the fields that carpet the valley floor in that direction, a big black old Daimler swept past.  I noticed it because there are so few cars in the three villages, and I saw that Thwacks was driving it, and in the back sat Griselda, waving and smiling at me.

The small number of cars is a peculiarity of the three villages, seeing that they are so remote.  I keep my Jaguar, of course, though I scarcely use it, and I suppose that is the reason.  People rarely travel outside their own village, and then only to one of the other two.  There are exceptions, of course: the doctor, the vet, and other professionals.  The local farmers have their Land Rovers.  You see more vans, tractors and lorries than private cars.  For the need to be always dashing here and dashing there is alien to the way of life in Nether Slype, just as it was to our ancestors, who lived with their family, friends, work, and wants within close proximity.

This is not to say that the three villages are without transport amenities.  There are several local taxis, as well as a minibus that circulates the three villages on market day.  Given the lifestyle, using these on occasion works out much cheaper than running your own car.  Not that money is the issue; the villages are prosperous and the standard of living is high.  People work in and around the villages, on the farms and in the woods which they coppice for timber as they have for centuries.  A number of large workshops make handcrafted, top-end hardwood furniture, much of which goes overseas, and others turn out fence panels and the like.  They send top-quality free-range eggs, beef, lamb, game, and poultry to butchers and restaurants countrywide.

No one goes without, no one is neglected, and no one is poor.  The three villages are exemplars of the social, extended-family mode of life that modern society — for all its welfare state, social services, and rights culture — has lost.

*****

Time passed without any developments, and I found it increasingly hard to believe that Griselda Shackles was plotting to murder her husband and her butler too.  There again, it was difficult to believe that she kept her husband chained in a dungeon, and I knew that to be a fact.  However, I suppressed my logical faculty in that respect, hoping, as people do in such situations, that I was somehow mistaken, and all would turn out for the best.

On one occasion, when it was raining, she offered me a lift, but if I’d hoped or feared that she would assault me as she had on the sofa in her drawing room, I would have been wrong.  I suppose the presence of Thwacks in the front seat had a damping effect, but Griselda made no attempt even to extend a discreet finger and stroke my hand with it, and she could have done that easily enough.

Instead, she asked me how I was getting on, if I was making friends, and all the usual things you ask a newcomer.  Warm, cool, interested, friendly.  No more.  There were no sexual innuendos and no allusions to Flavius, no winks, no secret moues, and, more importantly, there was no atmosphere of repression, or unvoiced, shared secrets.  It was as though all her snogging, gnawing, groping and crotch rubbing had been my imagination.

She was either a consummate actress or her interest in me was cooling.  I started to wonder if it had all been a game, but never seriously.  Yet, in that hidden place in my consciousness where ultimate truth dwells, I knew that it hadn’t.  She had said it would be like this, that we would appear to be only friends for a while, and so it was.  I knew deep down that what she said she would do, she did.

And that included Flavius.

1. Quaint village customs

My ‘cottage’ was a glorious rambling seventeenth-century timbered house, standing behind tall yew hedges, far back from the lane at the end of a snaking drive at the village’s edge.  The ridiculously modest rent included a plump little maid, Ginny, who came daily, and a gardener who came twice a week, and it was made clear that a man of my means would be able to hire other domestic help as required, without difficulty.

Once installed, I threw myself into village life with zest, eager to recover years lost in grey suburban modernity.  I joined committees and local societies, and Griselda’s interest ensured that I was welcomed into all of them with alacrity.  I started attending church again, where my exalted position entitled me to use the pew directly behind Griselda’s.  She, of course, occupied the front pew in splendid isolation, her husband being too mad to attend.  I did not attend from any deep religious zeal, but because it was part of my deep rediscovered culture.  I sang hymns I had forgotten since childhood, and the feeling was good.  For some indefinable reason I felt a better person for it, and I assumed that those who sang alongside me were good people too.

They are, as the run of humanity goes, but appearance is deceptive.  In some respects, the world is the same everywhere, no matter how different it might look and feel in a particular place.  During my first few weeks in Nether Slype, I thought I had rediscovered lost innocence, because despite the strange goings on at Nether Towers, the surface seemed so innocent.  However, with time you come to know a place better, as an angler knows his stretch of river.  He knows what lies beneath the placid, smiling face of the water — where the deeps are, where the hungry pike lurk, the subtle currents you can never see but feel tugging at your feet, and precisely where to cast your lure to catch the juiciest fish.

I’ve learned that Nether Slype is like that, benign, idyllic, serene — and deadly.  Deadly, that is, unless you learn to enjoy its darker undercurrents and secret pleasures.  But if you do, then the three villages soar beyond the confines of the humdrum world, and you enter paradise.

I should have twigged some of the dark undercurrent earlier, but I hadn’t.  I had been preoccupied and besides, I had no reason to expect that the three villages were as unusual as I now know them to be.  But it wasn’t long before strange customs started to manifest themselves.

Perhaps there is inbreeding after all.  It is certainly true to say that nearly all the women in the three villages are busty, though not all so much as Griselda.  They also have finely developed and prominent bottoms.  I don’t know what the reason for this is, perhaps the vigorous outdoor life that most adopt, the country diet, or perhaps it’s simply in the genes, but whatever the reason; you’ll hardly ever see a flat-chested or scraggy-arsed woman there.

I noticed this during my first few days — how could any red-blooded man not notice it?  It being late summer, and warm, there were wobbling buttocks and bouncing tits everywhere, and the nipples that poked through the thin summer blouses and bras were fat and perky.  It is difficult for a single man not to gaze at such things, and they drew my gaze as a magnet draws iron filings.

I was leaving the post office one morning, a few weeks after my arrival and stepped aside for a woman whose breasts were truly magnificent, even by Nether Slype standards.  Her blouse was low-cut, her cleavage deep and freckled, and the nipples poking through were the size of my thumbs.  I ogled her, discreetly, I thought.

I felt a tap on my arm and turned to see Ted Foxter, the gamekeeper at Nether Towers.  Griselda had introduced me to him on my arrival and I had already joined him for a few pints at The Seven Stripes.

“You don’t want to go ogling that, Mr Flaythm,” he said with a sage shake of the head.

“Was I?” I said, disingenuously.  I thought I had been discreet and besides, in the outside world, blatant ogling was nothing unusual.

Nevertheless, Ted regarded me coolly.  “You were, Mr Flaythm, and you know it.  No question.  She’s a married woman — see.  Look too interested and you’ll upset the husband.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “I meant nothing — and I didn’t notice she was wearing a ring.”

“Feel your way carefully, Mr Flaythm,” he said in a friendly, philosophical way, and I didn’t mind for I knew his words were kindly meant to a newcomer who didn’t know the ropes yet.  “There are two classes of women in Nether Slype — excepting her ladyship, of course — those that are married or spoken for, and those that aren’t.  You stay well away from the first class, and you can pretty well do what you like with the second — and God knows there’s plenty to choose from.  You’ll come to know who’s who in time.  In the meanwhile, you’d be wise to check your ground before you make a move.”

“And what are the rules if I find an available woman I fancy?”

He threw back his head and laughed.  “Get stuck in, man.”

“Provided she’s agreeable, of course.”

“If she isn’t, then you show her the error of her ways, Mr Flaythm — until she is.”

I didn’t understand him, though I pretended to, replying to his sly wink with one of my own.  I had lived long in the outside world, the world of women’s rights that eschews any sort of sexism or assumption of predatory male domination — or, at least, it pretends to.  I had yet to learn that these notions were alien to the three villages, so for the next few days I consciously avoided looking hungrily at any woman.  It was difficult with ripe temptation is everywhere, and although the women seemed very friendly, I became aware that there might be other local rules of conduct, so I remained wary.

The caution also made me aware of why Griselda was so insistent that Flavius should be ‘disposed of’ before we started shagging.  Clearly, small irregularities were noticed, and if I started frequenting Nether Towers too often, or was too frequently seen in her company, there would be talk as she had said there would be.   Everyone knew everyone else’s comings and goings in a place like this and it was clear to me that certain proprieties had to be seen to be observed — even if a man had to die for it.  I pushed the thought from my mind.  I didn’t want to think about Flavius, or any of the repercussions that might flow from his murder.

The relationship between the sexes started to become apparent a few days later.  There are many shaded footpaths in Nether Slype, and one runs along the bottom of my long rear garden, a path so green and overhung that you would never guess that it lay within yards of a village street unless you knew it.  It provides a short cut to the village centre and I already used it frequently, as it was a quicker route in the fine weather.

I was walking home from the library when I heard an abrupt bark of command beyond a hedge.

“Liz!  Out here!  This instant!”

I smiled, reflecting that few men in the outside world would dare shout at their wives in such a peremptory fashion. I was intrigued to see the outcome, for I naturally assumed that the wife would march out and give her husband a mouthful in return.   I noticed that there was a small chink in the hedge, and my curiosity prompted me to peek through it.  I looked carefully both ways, to make sure that I was not observed, and then applied my face to the chink.

There I saw a long orchard garden, very much like my own.  A thickset middle-aged man was standing there, not far from me, looking furious, his arms tightly folded.  I saw his wife, a blonde, broad hipped woman, come running out of the house towards us looking nervous.  She was wearing a tee shirt and shorts, she had big thighs, and although I couldn’t see it, I knew that her generous bottom would be wobbling delightfully.  She drew up to her husband and he pointed furiously at the grass near his feet.

“You did that, didn’t you!”

To my surprise, instead of folding her arms in turn and saying “so what!” she hung her head and flushed like a schoolchild pulled out before the class.  “Yes husband.  I’m truly sorry, husband,” she said breathlessly.  “Please don’t punish me.”

“What precisely have you done?”

“I’m sorry husband.  I didn’t see them.  Please.”

“What have you done?”

She swallowed and stared intently at her feet.  “I mowed over the cowslips, husband,” she whispered so softly that I could scarcely hear her.  “I know I’ve disobeyed.  Please don’t be severe with me.”  There was a long silence while she remained looking at her feet, and her arms hanging limply at her side.

“So you knew what you’d done,” the husband said at last.

“Yes, husband,” she whispered so softly that I only just caught her words.  “I know I should have confessed, but I was frightened.”

The husband’s face was stone.  He unfolded his arms and started to unbuckle his heavy leather trouser belt.  “Face the tree!” he snapped.

The wife’s shoulders sagged.  Without another word, she turned and stood as directed.  Her back was towards me now and I noticed that she was indeed a plump-bottomed lass.  Meanwhile the heavy belt was off and the husband wrapped it twice round his hand leaving about two feet of it hanging free.

“There’ll be six for mowing down the cowslips and another six for not telling me.”

“I understand, husband.”

“Knickers down!”

The big bottom heaved and strained as she pulled down her tight shorts and then her knickers.  Both fell to her ankles, and I saw her two enormous globes, white above her sunburnt thighs.  My prick stiffened.

“Lean against the tree!”

She shuffled forward a few steps and leaned forward, bracing herself against the trunk.  The muscles in buttocks twitched in anticipation of what was to come.

“Count!”

The husband brought his arm back and the flying belt delivered a resounding blow across his wife’s bare buttocks, and they quivered delightfully at the impact.

“One, husband.”

The arm came back again, followed by a loud cracking retort and the plump bottom wobbled again.

“Two, husband.”

He whipped her with his belt as I’ve seen people whipping a dog with its lead, and I’ve never liked seeing the dumb creature so ill-used.  Yet I felt no such qualm at watching this man ruthlessly spank his wife’s bare bottom.  It was gloriously erotic, and I found that I had unconsciously unzipped my flies and started wanking myself as I watched.  The thrashing continued, and it was only after eight sound strokes that the wife’s count started to labour.  Her thighs were working now and her previously white cheeks displayed a broadening red stripe across them.  But her husband continued remorselessly.

“Ah!  Eight, husband.”

Smack!

“Aaah!  Nine, husband.”

I saw her head go back, and she was gasping and jerking at every stroke.

Smack!

“Aaaaah!  Ten, husband.  I’m so sorry husband.”

He continued relentlessly.  Her thighs were twitching ceaselessly now and she was heaving her big bottom up and down with a steady mechanical rhythm as people do when they’re in pain.  I wanked faster.

Smack!

“Aaaaah!  Ooooh!   Eleven, husband.  Please be merciful.”

I knew she was crying, I knew by the sob in her voice.  Her thighs wriggled and her plump darkening bottom cheeks rotated ever faster.  She was in severe pain now.  My wanking accelerated.

Smack!

“Aaaaaaah!  Aaaaaaah!   Twelve, husband.  No more, I beg you.”

Her whole body jerked, I could hear her crying, but the husband seemed unconcerned.  He slid his belt back through his trouser loops and buckled it.

“I’m finished now,” he said calmly.

The wife collapsed weeping at the foot of the tree, her hands scrabbling and clawing at her soundly-thrashed and deeply reddened buttocks.  I shot my load into the hedge.

But the husband merely turned away and continued surveying his garden.

The experience had aroused and excited me, but it also perplexed me.  I was new to Nether Slype so I initially assumed the husband’s behaviour to be an exception rather than a hallowed rule.  My main interest was in my own response to it.   I had never hit a woman.  I had been tempted to but had always considered it unmanly to use violence against a woman, besides which, it was taboo in the circles I moved in, and any man who beat a woman would have been despised for it.  Yet my prick had stiffened and I had orgasmed.  For me, seeing the wife standing obediently with her knickers round her ankles while her husband soundly whipped her bare bottom had been an erotic sexual experience.  I had indulged in a little mild spanking in bed with consenting women, but that was just slap and tickle, a bit of fun, usually after we’d got a good few drinks on board, but nothing heavy, severe, or serious.

Then I remembered Griselda’s words about discipline and the firm hand, her ever-twitching  riding crop, and her enthusiasm for the patent flogger.  I also recalled Ted Foxter’s words about showing a reluctant woman the error of her ways until she was agreeable.  Enormous possibilities exploded in my mind.  Bloody Hell, I thought.  Is the whole bloody village at it?

I swallowed as I wondered what role Griselda might have in mind for me, before and after we shagged for hours and hours and hours and hours in the thick custard.  Aroused as I was by the performance in the garden, I reflected that I wouldn’t mind giving her magnificent bottom a good spanking.  On the other hand, I was damned if the boot was going to be on the other foot.  But would I have any choice, and what might happen to me if I refused?  Was that where Flavius had stepped out of line?  Might I quickly follow him if I failed to obey?

I shook the thought from my head and said, Ridiculous!  I was aware that my own frustrations were feeding my imagination.  I persuaded myself that a couple of months ago, I would not have responded as I had to the thrashing in the garden.  I was frustrated, no doubt of that, which was probably why I had started to ogle women more blatantly than I ought.

I had never been short of sexual partners, though in recent years none had meant much to me beyond the physical relief.  But since coming to Nether Slype, I hadn’t got my end in once.  I had been told that I would experience no difficulty in this respect.  I had been told that unattached women were openly available, but I’d seen no evidence of it, and I didn’t know how one went about propositioning them in Nether Slype.    Did you simple brush up to one and say, “Hello darling, fancy a shag?” and put her straight over your knee if she said, “Sod off!”  Somehow, I didn’t think so.  And, to be blunt, so crude an approach has never appealed to me.  I am a bit of a romantic at heart, and even a blatant one-night stand has to be more romantic than wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.

As for the spanking, I soon realised that this was indeed the way things were done in Nether Slype.   Only a couple of days later I was in the village shop buying my groceries.

“I can’t see any wholemeal bread,” I said to Meg, the girl who usually serves behind the counter.

I expected her just to say, “it’s here”, “it’s there”, or “we’ve run out”.  But instead, her face fell.  “Of course, Mr Flaythm,” she said in a hushed voice.  “You always buy wholemeal, don’t you!”

“I much prefer it to white,” I said casually.

The girl looked chastened, though I thought I could detect an evil gleam in her eye.  “Then I’ll fetch Mrs Bryce right away, sir.”

“No!  Really!  It doesn’t matter,” I remonstrated.

“I’m afraid I’ve been told I must, sir,” said Meg, though her lips quivered impishly as she made for the back of the shop.

I hovered, feeling embarrassed at the fuss.  I heard Meg’s voice through the open doorway, “Another regular for wholemeal, Mr Bryce” and there was a note of deep, malicious relish as she added, “and Mr Flaythm of all people.  Most put out, he is.”

“No, no!” I called, though no one heard me.

“Right!  That’ll be double,” said a stern male voice beyond the door that I assumed to be Mr Bryce’s.  “Out you go, woman!”

From out the back came Mrs Bryce, a pleasant looking woman with a square face framed by dark-brown curly hair.  She walked up to me looking very contrite and stood before me like a supplicant, wringing her hands, and her eyes never left the floor.

“I’m very sorry about the wholemeal, Mr Flaythm,” she said quickly and breathlessly, as if by rote.  “I forgot it was Friday, Sir, and I didn’t order enough.  Please forgive me.”

“Forgive?”  I laughed.  “Don’t be silly.  It doesn’t matter.  I’ll come back for some tomorrow.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience I’ve put you to, Sir.”

“Forget it, Mrs Bryce.”

“Thank you for being so forgiving, Sir,” she said with a small curtsey, but her eyes remained firmly fixed to the floor.  She turned and walked slowly away towards the back of the shop.  Her hands disappeared round her front and she appeared to be adjusting her clothing; I heard the unmistakable sound of a fly zip.  Her hands reappeared and she hooked her thumbs inside her loosened waistband.  As she walked through the door to the back of the shop, she started to push it down, and I saw her bottom crack and ample buttocks start to emerge.

“Leave the door open!” came the man’s stern voice again.  “I want Mr Flaythm to hear this.   Over the chair back with you!  And get those knickers right down.  Grip the chair!”

Mr Bryce didn’t tell his wife to count the strokes as the man in the garden had, but the sound of leather thrashing a woman’s soft bottom was the same.  I had clearly been mistaken to assume that the corporal disciplining of wives was an occasional and closet aberration in Nether Slype.  I now understood without any shadow of doubt what Griselda and Ted had meant when they spoke of discipline and making women see the error of their ways.

Meg sidled up to me, nodded and winked.  “She’s getting double because it’s you, Mr Flaythm.  Twelve.  I thought you’d like to know.”

“How many others have there been?” I asked, wondering just how many strokes in total Mrs Bryce would receive for forgetting to order extra bread, and what the punishment would be for a genuinely serious offence.

“You’re the seventh to voice disappointment,” said Meg.  “She got six for each of the others.”  She smirked.  “You don’t mind when it’s the boss’s wife, do you, Sir!  And she’s a real cow to me sometimes.”

Out back, Mrs Bryce was grunting like a bull at each stroke.  It was hardly surprising, seeing that she had by now received around forty during the course of the day and her bottom already must be sore, bruised, and swollen from her earlier ordeals.  Finally, the punishment ended, the door closed, and there was silence from the back.  Despite my finer values, I felt my cock stiffening again and I drew my jacket round me to hide the embarrassing bulge from Meg.

“Can I do anything else for you, Mr Flaythm?” she asked slyly.  She was clearly enjoying Mrs Bryce’s ongoing punishment and that might have accounted for the relish in of voice.  But perhaps she had also glanced down and noticed the telltale sign of my enjoyment too.  I wondered whether she was inviting me to enjoy some sexual hanky-panky with her.  I glanced at hr sideways.  She looked the type who enjoyed a good shag.  But she was a good-looking girl and it seemed inconceivable too me that she wasn’t already being regularly seen to.

I remembered Ted Foxter’s warning about staying clear of women who were spoken for, and I thought it highly likely that Meg was.  My problem was that I simply couldn’t be sure, one way or the other, and I wouldn’t be until I got to know these people much better.  So I merely smiled and, “That’s fine for now, Meg.  Thanks all the same.”

But my frustrations deepened.  When I left the shop, I was still stiff and all the stiffer because I knew that if I was wrong about Meg, I might just have passed up an invitation to a very acceptable shag.

My prick was stiff most of the time during those early days in the three villages, what with all the bouncing breasts and bottoms everywhere, and now the extra thrill of what promised to be participation in regular spankings, as an observer or auditor at least.   And I confess it did thrill me; it thrilled me very much, especially the spanking in the shop, which had been applied for my benefit.  A woman had bent over a chair and had her bare bottom spanked, especially severely, for my satisfaction.  The one disappointment was that I wished I were applying a strap to a nice plump bottom myself.  A demon had been awakened in me, yet despite the fact that it was going on all around me, there seemed no immediate prospect of administering a good spanking myself.  I think I still assumed at that time, that a woman’s bare bottom was only available for this sort of enjoyable attention from her husband.

For these reasons, I made no move to either discipline or ravish my maid, despite her short skirt, extremely wobbly bottom, and the come-hither looks she gave me.  There was stimulation and frustration everywhere, but no release, or so I thought.  Yet I was soon to learn that I still hadn’t plumbed the full pleasurable depths of Nether Slype.

1. Initiation

A few evenings later, I stopped by The Seven Stripes as I often do, for a pint or two and a chat with my neighbours.  I had been in the village for about two months, and I liked to think that they were starting to accept me genuinely, and not just because Griselda Shackles had told them to.  Nearly everyone I passed in the course of the day stopped and chatted to me.  I was everywhere welcome, and I found them likable and neighbourly people, despite their seemingly habitual use of the strap.

That evening, when I walked into the pub, the four regulars round the bar all nodded.  I asked Dick Shag the landlord I’d met on my first visit, for my usual pint of the local ale, for they have their own small brewery in Nether Slype.

“A pint of Nelly’s Knockers, please Dick.”

Dick’s face fell.  “Dreadfully sorry, Mr Flaythm.  Nelly’s Knockers are off, sir.”

“Oh, well, what have you got?”

“Freda’s Fanny?  Rachels’s Rump?  Easy Edna?”

“Whichever you recommend,” I said

As Dick started to pour my beer, Ted Foxter sidled up to me and winked.

“Don’t let it go at that, Owen.  You’re entitled to satisfaction when the beer’s off.”

“Satisfaction?”

“Aye, it’s the custom,” chorused the other three regulars at the bar.

“You must demand it,” said Ted impishly, with another wink.

“Don’t egg him on,” cautioned Dick the landlord, pushing my beer across to me.  “He’s still very new here.”

“Nah, he’s one of us,” said Ted emphatically.  “He’s a Flaythm.  And he’s already a regular, so he’s entitled to his satisfaction when the beer’s off.”

The chorus of agreement came again and Dick looked at me hesitantly for a few moments, but in the end, he sighed and shrugged to the inevitable.  Reaching down under the bar he leaned towards me and enquired gently, “Would you like satisfaction, Mr Flaythm, Sir?”

I glanced down to see what he had retrieved from under the bar.  There, in is large fist, peeping discreetly over the rear edge of the counter was the curved handle of a slander bamboo cane.  I blinked and almost demurred, but a chorus of encouragement from the others immediately overwhelmed me.

“Go on, Owen!”

“Show us what you’re made of, Owen!”

“Show us how the Flaythms lay it on, Owen?”

I hesitated, as you so often do when they thing you have dreamed of is offered too readily, or for too low a price.  You ask yourself where the catch is, for you are sure there must be one, and there was.  For I had never done this before, and had no idea of how to go about it.

Much as the idea appealed, I would have preferred to try my hand first in private, but I realised that I was facing a test I couldn’t decline.  Come through it and they would fully accept me as one of the chaps; fail and I would be a laughing stock.  Yet if I refused, I would lose face.  I imagined that here in Nether Slype, backing off from applying corporal discipline might be regarded as tantamount to confessing I was homosexual — and I didn’t want that sort of reputation at any price.   I knew I would have to go through with it, and pray that I made a reasonable job of it.

So I stuck out my chin, I reached across the bar, and Dick pushed the cane into my hand.  It was long, thin, and very whippy, clearly fashioned for the purpose.  I made a few cuts and the cane whistled pleasantly, but what was the point of a cane and no bottom?  I turned enquiringly to Dick.

“Whose?  Which?  Er . . . .”

Dick put his head round the door behind the bar.  “Girls!  Out you come!  Mr Flaythm requires satisfaction.  Move yourselves!”

Immediately I heard the rattle of footsteps on the wooden floor behind and out trooped the three bar and kitchen maids.  They came round the bar, lined up in front of me looking coy.  One of them giggled, nervously, as I later realised.  But at the time, I suspected that they thought me incapable of doing what was required, so I made a few more fearsome looking cuts through thin air

“What do you say to the customer?” said Dick sternly.

“Sorry about Nelly’s Knockers, Mr Flaythm. Would you like satisfaction of our bare and willing bottoms, Sir?” chorused the three maids, parrot fashion.  They had obviously done this many times.  The youngest, Nell, giggled again.

I licked my lips, sure that I was about to make an idiot of myself.  I dimly remembered hearing or reading somewhere that the cane is the aristocrat of corporal-punishment instruments, devastatingly effectively when expertly wielded, but much less so in the hands of an amateur.  I would be mercilessly exposed as a tyro.  “Well, I—”

“Don’t mice words with wenches, lad!” piped up Old Horace, the retired shoe mender, shambling across to me.  “It’s the cane and the strap that talks to a woman.”  He turned to Nell, the youngest barmaid, who had nervously giggled.  “You mind your manners, girl, or I’ll tell your father to give you two dozen of the riding crop next time I see him!”

The girl whitened and hung her head contritely.  “Yes grandfather.  Sorry, Mr Flaythm.”

“That’s better,” said Old Horace.  “Though too little too late, as you’re about to find out, girl.”  He turned to me, all solicitude, and patted me gently on the back.  “Don’t be nervous, lad.  I’ve been whipping women for over fifty years, and I know what I’m about.  I’ll see you through it.”

I must have coloured at being so transparently a novice.

“Right now,” continued Horace, patting my back again, reassuringly.  “The rule here is that every customer who misses a pint of his favourite gives each girl one stroke.  That’s one for each pint.  Now, you’re a three pint man—”

“Two,” insisted Ted from behind the bar.

“Three!” chorused of regulars.

“Come on lads,” pleaded Ted.  “I’ve a dozen or more regulars due later.  I want these girls to be able to stand up and wash glasses come closing time.”

“Then you should have laid on the fucking beer!” snarled Ted.

“Aye,” chorused the others in jolly unison, thumping their beer mugs on the bar top.  “Three!  Three!  Three!  Three!  Three!  Three!  Three—

“Oh very well,” sighed Ted, flinging down his cloth and folding his arms like a long-suffering fishwife.  “Three it is.”

“What do I do now?” I whispered in Horace’s ear.

“What do you think?  Get Nell over a table, yank her knickers down, and give her plump rosy cheeks three of the best.”

“Right.”  I tentatively extended my hand to take Nell gently by the arm, but Horace knocked it aside.

“Nay, lad!  You do it like this.”  With one fluid motion, Horace stepped in front of me, took Nell by the scruff of the neck, summarily marched her across to the nearest table, and pushed her over it.  “Now the knickers, lad.”

“Right.”  I put the cane under one arm and lifted Nell’s full skirt to reveal a bulging pair of navy blue knickers.  I noticed the visible part of her buttocks and the tops of her thighs were already criss-crossed with half-a-dozen or more red welts.  I tentatively took hold of her knicker elastic and started to ease the knickers down.

“Sorry, lad,” said Horace at my ear, gently removing my hand.  “Let me show you once and for all.  When you pull down a woman’s knickers, whether you’re going to feel her up, shag her, or thrash her, you don’t mess around — you do it this way.”  He seized the elastic and whipped it down so fast that Nell’s knickers fairly flew down her bare legs to her ankles, and her bottom, free of its restraint, bulged before me.  I felt my prick start to swell mightily.

“Right, Horace,” I said, taking up the cane again and flexing it self-consciously.  I was aware that five pairs of critical eyes were on me, not counting the other two maids’.  This was make or break for me.

I stepped back, and gave Nell’s bare buttocks a few ranging taps, silently counting the red welts to fifteen and wondering how many more they would receive before closing time.

“Excuse me, lad,” said Horace, interrupting again.  “I take it you haven’t done this before.”

I licked my lips.  “Er — not with a light cane,” I lied sheepishly.

“Then let me show you.  It’s not like a strap, which only requires leverage and power.  With the cane it’s speed and accuracy that counts.  For a start, you’re too tense.  So relax!  Second, you step right back and use the full length of the cane and your arm.  Remember, the tip is travelling fastest under the greatest leverage.  If you apply a cane half way down its length, or bent-armed, you’ll only tap her, no matter how much energy you put into it, and what’s the point of that?  Third.  You don’t aim at her bottom, but at a point six or so inches in front of her pussy.  In other words, you thrash right through the bottom with the extremity of the cane and the arm.  Understood?”

“Yes, Horace,” I said hoarsely.  “Thank you, Horace.”

Horace thrust his hands in his pockets and looked wise.  “Of course, using the full length holds true whether you’re using a strap, belt, riding crop, tawse, whip, or whatever: use the extremity and you can’t go far wrong.  It’s like hammering nails.  When you’re hammering, you use the full length of the hammer shaft.  The same goes for thrashing a woman.  Now, relax, and cut right through, as fast as you can.  Start with the cane held right back behind your neck, and bring it right round in an arc, at an angle of about forty-five degrees, through to that point in front of her pussy.  That way, she’ll know what you’re about.”

“Right, Horace.”

“Here, lad, let me show you.”

Horace retrieved one of his hands from his pockets and took the cane from my hand.  He stepped right back from Nell, tapping her bulging bottom several times with the extremity, his arm fully extended.  Her legs wriggled in anticipation, and I fancied I heard her whimper.

“That’s the range, lad,” continued Horace conversationally.  “Now watch!”  The brought the cane right back behind his neck, froze for a second, then with a brief high whistle, it whipped round.  With a piercing scream, Nell’s bottom leapt off the edge of the table.  There was a murmur of approval from around the bar and I knew that I was in the presence of a master.  “Take note of that, lad?” said Horace with pride.  “Unless she screams and her bottom leaps, you haven’t done your job properly.”

The cane went back behind Horace’s neck again, froze for a second, and then whistled again.  Nell screamed again and her bottom leapt even higher.  I saw that there were two more vicious red welts on it.

“Now, lad,” said Horace with an expert’s gravity, directing my attention, as though it were necessary, to Nell’s writhing bottom.  “Notice my two welts.  Absolutely parallel and about an inch apart.   The art is to lay them on close.  Better still, on top of each other.  Ideally, you want to see one broad stripe developing, not a criss-cross.  Lay on a dozen heavy strokes on top of each other, and you’ll be peeling her off the ceiling before you’re done, and that’s what you’re aiming to do.  Now, I’m going to lay the third one between the other two, extra hard, like so—”

“Please don’t grandfather,” whimpered Nell.

“Quiet, girl!”

The cane whistled, even more shrilly, Nell screamed her heart out, and her bottom leapt so high in the air that she almost dove head-first off the opposite side of the table.  I saw that she was quivering and crying, but that didn’t stop the regulars from giving Horace a round of applause.  He handed me the cane.  “Now, lad, lay three more on top of mine.”

“Oi-oi!” shouted Dick from behind the bar.  “She’s had her three.”

Horace turned on him.  “She’s my granddaughter and I’ll thrash her whenever I like — without your leave.  Now it’s Owen’s turn.”

There was another murmur of approval.  Dick raised his hands in surrender, and then carried on wiping the bar.

I stepped back from Nell.  The girl was sobbing, and that gave me a moment’s pause, but I couldn’t appear callow in front of my audience.  Besides, she had parted her legs slightly and her pink slit was winking at me between a fringe of downy brown hair.  My stiffening prick took over from whatever remained of my conscience: I knew I was going to enjoy hearing her squeal again, and I wanted to watch her wriggling bottom and juicy little slit perform desperate acrobatic feats all over the table.

I brought the cane behind my neck, froze for a second and delivered a stinging swipe right through the red, twitching buttocks, missing Horace’s stripe and catching Nell right across her slit.  She howled, jerked, and her legs writhed like fury.

The crowd round the bar applauded warmly.

“Not bad for starters,” said Horace.  “Across her crack’s as good a place as any.  Teaches her that it’s a man’s property.”

There was a murmur of agreement, then, as I drew the cane behind my neck, I saw a new red wheal across the crease between Nell’s bottom and thighs and right across her slit.  The slit itself was splayed wide open, its lips quivering.  My work! I thought proudly as the last remnants of my conscience deserted me.

The cane whistled more shrilly, Nell screamed and leapt energetically this time.  Her legs wriggled even more and I noted with satisfaction that a second new stripe had appeared just above my first.  The cane came back a third time.  Aiming firmly through the gaping slit I consciously relaxed and then let fly with all my might.

Her scream was piercing.  Her whole body jerked off the table, jack-knifed, and she fell onto the floor, thrashing and clutching her crotch.

“Good shot!” chorused the regulars, and they rushed across to her, pulling her hands away and examining her.

“Three in a row,” shouted one and they turned to give me an extended round of applause.

“Well done, lad,” said Horace, gently patting me on the arm.  “You’ll be on free beer all evening for that.”

The two older girls remained.  Despite Nell’s suffering, they looked remarkably uncontrite.

I chose Ruth, the kitchen maid next.  She was the slimmest and eldest of the three.  She must have been well over thirty and she wore her breasts lower than the other two did.  I’d removed her bra in my imagination several times when I’d drunk at the Stripes, fancying them pendulous, with large dark areolas.  I was pretty certain they’d be dark, for her hair was black, and her eyes and complexion also dark.  In former centuries, they would probably have presumed her a witch, but even Nether Slype isn’t that conservative.  It was a pity, I thought, that I could only thrash her bottom and not her breasts.  For at that time I foolishly assumed that tit whipping was taboo in Nether Slype.

I boldly took Ruth by the scruff of the neck and she came forward without resisting.  I marched her to the table and roughly pushed her across it…  My drinking companions applauded.  Next for her knickers.   I threw up her skirt over her back.  She was wearing black stockings, black suspenders, with black lacy knickers over them.  I almost shot my load straight through my trousers, and all over her.

Eagerly I took the elastic waistband of her black full-cut knickers in my hand and ripped them down.  They fell no further than her knees but I was pleased with the result.  Her bottom was slightly slimmer than Nell’s was, and I noticed that, as well as a welter of vivid red stripes from earlier that night, it was also criss-crossed with small scars, some white, ancient, and faded, others newer and still pink.  She’d certainly been comprehensively whipped in her thirty-something years.  Although her thighs were also slimmer than Nell’s and didn’t quite meet at the top, I couldn’t see her crack because of the forest of thick black hair that sprouted like a huge brush from her crotch and fringed her slit like a heavy beard.

“Fucking Hell, Ruth,” called one of the drinkers.  “When are you going to see a barber?  Nothing can get through that jungle.”

The men laughed.

“Ha.  Ha.  Ha,” quipped Ruth, face down across the table.  “Just because you can’t manage to push your limp prick into a woman’s cunt, Ned Ferris.   It doesn’t mean a man couldn’t.”

“It’s certainly the loosest in Nether Slype,” suggested another, and all the men laughed again.

“Nah!  That was my wee hole you were fucking, Ted Foxter.”

The men roared now.

“Thought I was being shagged by a dead maggot,” Ruth continued.  “Then I looked up and saw Ted Foxter hanging on the other end of it.”

The men fell about laughing.  One even spilled his beer.

“Come on, Owen, lay it on the mouthy bitch!” called Ted, who was less amused than the others were.

Following Horace’s instructions, I aimed for a point six inches in front of Ruth’s luxuriant pussy and laid on my first stroke with a resounding crack.  Nothing happened.

“Come on, Mr Flaythm, sir!” said Ruth, archly coy.  “Start!  I haven’t got all fucking night to lie around here airing my cunt.”

The men roared.  I brought the cane back and, with a shrill whistle, laid another welt just above the first.

“Bloody hell!  Some filthy sod’s trying to tickle my arsehole now.”

By this time, I was laughing myself, so much so that I made a complete mess of the last stroke and merely glanced it off her.

Ruth got up, curtseyed to her audience, and marched triumphantly off towards the kitchen to a great round of applause.

Rosie, the third girl, was by far the most buxom of the three.  She walked up to the table without prompting, dropped her skirt to show all the men she was wearing no knickers at all.  She sat on the edge of the table, leant back, and spread her legs invitingly wide, showing us all her orange pussy and pink open slit.  She flexed her muscles and her cunt winked open and shut for us several times, to a great round of applause.  My prick was so stiff now that I had to turn round quickly, and ease it past the elastic waistband of my underpants.  Meanwhile, Rosie pulled up a chair, knelt on the seat and bent over the table for me, sticking her big plump bottom invitingly in the air.

There were calls of “Lay it on, Owen” and “You couldn’t miss that one if you tried.”

Rosie wriggled her bottom inviting again.  It was pink, with small freckles all over it.  And like the others, it was criss-crossed, with welts, old and new.  It wobbled delightfully, like a strawberry blancmange sprinkled with brown sugar crystals, and in many ways it was as sweet.  I laid on three heavy strokes, but I’d lost my concentration in all the merriment, and although Rosie squealed and her bottom leapt at each of them, I knew that she was performing for the benefit of her audience.

When she’d been caned, she too marched triumphantly back to the kitchen, to a round of good-natured applause.  I received pats on the back for my efforts, and I decided I ought to buy a round of drinks for the entire gathering.  I could easily afford to, though I didn’t make it a habit, considering it rather cheap to try to buy people’s goodwill.  However, tonight I had an excuse.

“Nelly’s Knockers is back on now,” said Dick as he started to pull the first pint.

“I thought you were out of it,” I said.

“No, I forgot to put a fresh barrel on earlier.  It hadn’t quite settled when you came in.”

Now that my desire was cooling, my conscience kicked back in.  The girls had been caned, not for their own negligence but Dick’s.  I didn’t feel bad about Ruth and Rosie, who could handle it and had made an entertainment of it.  But Nell was only about eighteen and it hadn’t been so much fun for her.  I felt suddenly and privately ashamed.

One round followed another and as the evening wore on, I became quite drunk.  My drinking companions slowly left, one after the other and, shortly before closing time, I was sitting alone in a corner, feeling content with the world, and wondering if I could be bothered to get up and take the short walk home.

Something moved at the edge of my consciousness and I looked up to see Ruth the black-haired, dark-eyed kitchen maid glancing at me speculatively.  Our eyes met and she walked across.  She was an attractive woman with a wide, well-shaped mouth, a pert chin and those glorious dark eyes shed dark light on me like pools of liquid night.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, leaning over me so that her long, pendulous breasts swayed mouth-wateringly before my semi-focussed eyes.

“I’ve had too much,” I confessed, wondering whether I had the nerve to reach out and fondle them, and I suppose my voice was slurred.

“Come on,” she said.  “I’m done for the day.  I’ll help you home if you like.”

I almost refused, but then I wondered why I should.  I looked up again, bathed in those glorious dark eyes, and a voice in the back of my reeling brain told me that I might be onto a shag here.  God knows I needed one.

“Yes, I think I might need help,” I confessed.  “But I warn you I’m very drunk.”

She smiled warmly.  “I’m used to it, and I’ve seen worse, besides, the walk home will help sober you.  Come on!”

I hope it sobers me up, I thought.  I won’t be able to shag you unless I do sober up a bit.  And I desperately wanted to get inside a woman’s knickers, and I really fancied running my fingers through Ruth’s glorious pussy before I tried her cunt for size.

She leant down to haul me up, her bodice filled again, and I knew that I desperately wanted to get inside her bra too, and pull out those tantalising breasts.  They brushed against me as she put her arm under mine, and with surprising strength, she pulled me upright.  I staggered, and burped.

“Not going to be sick, are you?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Are you?  Tell me!”

“Don’t think so,” I slurred, staggering again, and the room revolved.  I knew that I probably wouldn’t get home at all without her, and I also knew that I probably wouldn’t be capable of shagging her, even if I did.

“If you feel it welling up, tell me immediately.  I’ll help you.”

“Feel what welling up?  A hard on?” I slurred, sagging against her.

She smiled.  “Not much chance of that tonight.  I meant, if you feel you’re going to be sick.”

“God, I hope not.”

“Just do it!  Tell me!  All right?”

“Yes, miss.”

“And no lip,” she smiled, “or you’ll find your own way home.  Come on!”

She took my weight and helped me to walk unsteadily out of The Seven Stripes.  Outside the air felt cool.  I felt cold sweat on my forehead and scalp, and that was all I remember.  Therefore, I didn’t see the large black Daimler that was parked outside on the green.

1. Ruth

When I woke next morning, warm sunshine was flooding through my bedroom window, my head was still slightly muzzy and I reckoned it would feel more so when I tried to get up.  Apart from my shoes, I was lying fully dressed on my bed, though my collar and trousers were loosened.  I assumed that I had somehow managed to make my way up the stairs and done the necessary.  I suddenly realised that my bladder was bursting.  I flopped out of bed, staggered, and headed for the door, missed it, bounced off the doorframe and somehow found my way along the passage to the bathroom without falling over or wetting myself.  I used the loo and, relieved, I stumbled back the bed, threw myself on it again, and waited for the window to stop orbiting the room.

It was then that I heard movement downstairs.  Immediately sobered, I staggered back to my feet, shambled to the end of the passage, and peered round the corner down the stairs.

Ruth, the dark-haired barmaid, was coming up them.

“Ruth?” I squeaked.

She was carrying a mug of black coffee and she was wearing my dressing gown.  She glanced up, smiled, and accurately read the expression on my face.

“Hope you don’t mind me wearing this, Mr Flaythm, but you needed looking after last night — you were in a terrible state — and I needed to wash my dress.  I don’t want to go back to work smelling stale.  So I put it in your washing machine.  I hope that’s OK.”

“Of course, Ruth.  Help yourself.  And thanks for helping me last night.  Was I really so bad?”

She smiled and put her free hand under my arm to guide me back to the bedroom.  “You were terrible.”

I lowered myself gingerly and sat on the edge of the bed.  “When are you due back at The Seven Stripes?” I asked when everything had finally stopped revolving.

“Couple of hours.”

“What time is it now?”

“Ten.  No hurry.  Come on!  Lie back and drink this.  Then I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“Thanks Ruth.  I owe you.”

As I lay back and propped myself against the headboard, she climbed onto the bed beside me and held both the coffee and me steady while I drank.

I felt her body move against mine, and my prick started stiffening again.

“Last night,” I said.  “We didn’t . . . I didn’t . . . I mean we—”

She put her arm round my shoulder and popped a kiss on my brow.  “Mr Flaythm.  Last night you were in no condition to do anything.  I managed to get you up here and you just sparked out.”

“I just wondered,” I said, taking another mouthful of the hot coffee.

“Why?  What if we had?  Would it have mattered?”

“Yes,” I giggled — it must have been the after-effects of all the booze.  “Because I’d have had no memories to treasure of the experience.”

“No need to be sarcastic!” she said harshly.

“I’m not being.”

“Yes you are.  I’ve seen the way you look at my tits, thinking, bloody hell, look at those horrible saggy old jugs.

“I don’t think that at all,” I protested

She looked unconvinced.  “Oh really?  What then?”

“It’s a bit embarrassing,” I said, hiding my face in my coffee mug and taking another mouthful, my head clearing rapidly.

“Why?  We’re on your bed together; I’m wearing your dressing gown — and not a lot underneath.”

“Really?”  I said, poking my finger in the neck of the dressing gown and trying to open it.

She slapped my hand away, but only payfully.

“If you want to get inside my undies, Mr Flaythm, you’ll have to tell me what you really think about my tits.”

“Will I get inside them then?”

She gave me that dark, speculative look again, and her hand slid slowly and tantalisingly down my stomach, then stopped just short of my prick.  I groaned.

“Let’s say that if I believe what you say, I’ll give you a fuck if you want one.”

“Yes please.”

“And if I like what I hear, and I also believe it, I’ll give you a really slow, tight, extra-quality fuck.  What do you say about that?”

I choked on my coffee.  “Yes please.”

Her hand moved slowly in circles around my groin.  She leaned close and whispered in my ear, her lips brushing it as she whispered in my ear.  “And whatever you might think about my tits and my hairy pussy, you’ll find that I’ve got a very . . . very hot, juicy, and satisfying cunt.  And regardless of what they said about it in the pub last night, I can make it as tight as you want.  That’s a promise.  So what do you say?”

My prick stiffened in jerks now and her fingers trailed lightly across it.

“Yes please.”

“Then tell me the truth, and my cunt’s yours.”

I put my coffee down on the bedside table with a clatter and almost spilled it.

“Well, if you insist on the truth—”

“Go on!  You’re onto a decent fuck, regardless.”

“To be perfectly truthful. I’ve always fancied you have really long breast with big dark aureoles and long nipples.”

She hoisted an eyebrow.  “That turns you off, does it?”

I blinked.  “Hell no!  It turns me on like anything.”

“More than my cunt?”

“I don’t know.  The way you describe it, that sounds pretty fantastic too.”

“Hmmm!  We’d better find out then, hadn’t we?”

She turned towards me, opened the neck of her dressing gown, showing me her generous cleavage and the tops of her black bra cups.  “Like to be turned on some more, mister big prick?” she breathed invitingly as she nuzzled up close to me, a single finger stroking my erection through my trousers.  “Would you like a feel around a bit first?”

“Yes please.”

She undid the dressing-gown cord, it fell open and I felt inside.  She was warm and her skin was wonderfully smooth, like velvet.  I ran my hands over her bottom and between her legs, over her fully cut knickers.

“Come on!” she giggled in my ear.  “You didn’t have any trouble getting them off last night.”

“I thought we were going to show me your tits,” I reminded her.

“Perhaps you’d like to feel round my bra cups first, to be sure you really want me to get them out for you,” she suggested

I moved my hand up to the lacy cups.  He breasts were very soft, and as I ran my fingers over them, I cupped their weight in my palms, and I felt that her nipples were long and very hard.”

“Yes.  Please get them out for me,” I croaked.

She pushed herself off the mattress, straddled me, and slipped off the dressing gown.  Her breasts swung bulky and low against her thin lacy bra cups, and I could see the tantalising shadow of large dark disks round her protruding nipples.  She leant forward to unclip the bra, the breasts swung forward towards me and I saw the full, glorious length of her cleavage.   Kneeling upright again, she held the loosened cups in her hands to ensure that she didn’t yield up her treasure prematurely, and then, ever so slowly, she started to lift.  The white undersides of their mouth-watering cargo slid from the slowly rising cups, half an inch at a time, then, just as it seemed it would slide for ever, I saw the first hint of her large, chocolate brown aureoles.  The bra lifted even more slowly now, tantalisingly so. Suddenly the breasts were falling free; they slapped her stomach, seemed to bounce, and then swayed forwards toward me, ripe and heavy.

Ruth threw the bra across the room with panache.  “I imagine we won’t need that for a bit.”  She crossed her arms behind her back and thrust her breasts towards me.  “Satisfactory?”

I took them in my hands, gently stroking the undersides, and gazed admiringly at the large brown buttons and the long pink nipples dangling tastily before my face.  Ruth leaned forwards more and they brushed the hard teats against my lips, and I put out my tongue to taste them as she swung them slowly back and forth.  She knew how to tease, but I didn’t mind.  She put one hand behind my head, took a breast in the other, stroked it to make sure the nipple was fully up, then slid it slowly and deeply into my mouth.

“How do you like the taste?” she enquired, and her voice was smoky.

“Mmmm.  Wonderful.  Does the other one taste the same?”

“Greedy man!”  She giggled. “You’d better suck it and see.”  She swung the other nipple so that it dangled just in front of my lips.  Reaching down, she put her hand behind my head and lifted my mouth to that one too.

“How’s that?” she asked, lifting it out.  “Tasty as the other one?”

She lifted it out, dangled it, and then slowly lowered it into my gaping mouth again.  “Take your time.  I don’t want you leaving the table hungry.”

Lifting herself to a kneeling position astride me, she slowly unzipped my flies and pulled out my rigid prick.  I gasped as she stroked it with her fingers, and more when she started to stroke it with the crotch of her knickers, luxuriant padded with her abundant pussy hair.  Back and forth, back and forth, she stroked while her long dark nipples swung in and out of my mouth.

“I think you deserve the slow, tight fuck after all.  Would you like that?”

“Yes please,” I gasped.

“Would you like it now?” she enquired huskily.

“Yes please, Ruth.  Now.  Please.”

She got up and I raised my bottom while she slid my trousers and pants off, then deftly unbuttoned my shirt and slid that off too.  Stepping out of her knickers she climbed back on me and straddled me again, wonderfully naked.  Taking my swollen prick in her hand, she started stroking my knob it with her pussy hair, and I could feel the warmth and wetness within.  I smiled.

“Like that?” she asked.

“Oh yes.  Ted Foxter doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I know, and I’ll show you why.”

With a quick stroke of her finger, she parted her hair and ever so slowly slid herself down over me, hot and moist.

“How’s that?”

“Wonderful,” I croaked, hardly able to contain myself now.

She slowly worked her cunt up and down a few times, then, gradually, the sensation started to change.  I felt my prick being squeezed by degrees, as if in a hot, powerful, lubricated fist. As Ruth heaved her body, the tight fist slid up and down the length of my shaft, pulling and pushing it, crushing it in its powerful grip.

“How’s that?” she enquired.

My mouth was dry with ecstasy.  “Unbelievable,” I barely managed to groan.

“Ted Foxter’s never had it like this,” she grinned.  “I only tighten my cunt and give the slow fuck to men I really like.”

“It’s not a cunt, Ruth — it’s paradise,” I moaned.

Indeed it was.  I hadn’t thought my erection could grow more, but it did, painful so against its unyielding constraint;  The more it grew, the tighter she gripped it, until I felt it was being crushed in the awesome depths of a deep, hot, perfumed sea.  Yet if Ruth’s cunt was an instrument of torture, it was a torture I didn’t want ever to end.  Just as I thought my prick would burst, she loosened her hold and I ejaculated long and deep into her.   I shot and shot.  I thought I would shoot for ever.  Then I lay back, feeling blessedly at peace.

“Thank you,” I said.

She leant over me and kissed me with surprising tenderness.  I wrapped her in my arms and kissed her in turn, thanking her from the bottom of my heart for the most wonderful orgasm of my life.

“I can think of only two other men in the village who’ve ever thanked me for a fuck,” she said conversationally, a little later, downstairs in the kitchen where we had shared a late breakfast.

“What?”  I couldn’t believe they were all so ill mannered.  “What do the others say?”

“Nothing.  Your typical Nether Slyper unzips his flied, pulls his pathetic little cock out — shoves it in — jerk, jerk, jerk — squirt — then zips his flies up and walks away again.  Mind you, they don’t get what you just got.  They get it loose.  I make the miserable fuckers work for their bit of fun.  But not you.”  She stroked the back of my hand.

“Because you like me?”

“Yes,” she said, her dark eyes looking frankly into mine.

“Why?”

“Because you laughed at my comments about the limp pricks at the bar, but not theirs about me.”

“How do you know?” I asked dropping my gaze to my hands, because I recalled that she had been bent over the table at the time, waiting for me to cane her.  “You were looking the other way,” I added awkwardly.

She smirked.  “I’ve developed a fine directional ear for a dirty laugh.”

“You were certainly a lot wittier than they were.”

Her eyes widened momentarily.  She leant across the table and kissed me again.  “Carry on like that and I’ll start falling in love with you.”

“Why?  Because I’ve paid you well deserved compliments?”

She grimaced.  “Men in Nether Slype don’t pay compliments.  They just grunt and take.”  She clasped my hand.  “Don’t ever change.  Don’t ever lose that.”  She slipped on the dress she’d washed and ironed and picked up her bag.  “I’d best go.  You can guess what my punishment will be if I’m late.  And Dangling Dick can make even me squeal.”

“And what about Nell?”  I asked, remembering the debauchery of the previous evening.

Ruth shrugged.  “Sore, but she’ll learn.  She’ll have to.”

“Learn what?”

“What Rosie and I know.  Make ‘em laugh and you get off lightly.  Act the poor frightened little wench and you inflame them, and you get it ten times worse.”

“Inflame me, you mean,” I said remembering how I had thrashed Nell with a will, and, now that Ruth had quenched my lust like no woman ever had before, I was ashamed, visibly so.

“I wasn’t your fault,” she said with a curt shake of the head.  “It was that revolting grandfather of hers.  It was the third time that evening he’d given that ghastly demonstration of his prowess.  His own granddaughter too, for pity’s sake, displaying her like a whore, and she’s only eighteen.  Plying the cane is his one skill you see, and, of course, typical of a man, he has to show off his little bit of tawdry prowess to his boozy friends, time and again.  He was a lousy shoe mender, you know.”

“Perhaps, but I did my bit too.”

“You couldn’t have done otherwise, Mr Flaythm.”

“Owen.”

She smiled and gave me the frank glance again.  “You couldn’t have done otherwise, Owen — the way they were egging you on.”

“But I wanted to, Ruth.  I wanted to.  And now I’ve done it I . . . .”

She squeezed my hand again.  “Not to worry.  You’re a nice man deep down.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you are.  You know the old saying: a stiff prick has no conscience?”

“But it ought to, oughtn’t it!”

“Perhaps.  But we all have to conform, Owen, to a certain extent at least.  You’d have been a laughing stock if you’d backed down last night.  Anyway, must go.  And if you want the slow job again, just give me the nod.  I’d rather shag you than any of the others.  Anyway, must dash.”

That was wisdom of a sort too, I thought.  Now I was in Nether Slype, I supposed I had to do what they did.  At least, I had to do it to a degree, but it was a poor excuse.  Moreover, I knew that I would not only do it again, but also enjoy it again, again, and again.  Nevertheless, I vowed that in future, I would spare Nell and any others like her, and I would never be excessive, no matter what.

1. Griselda

“Owen!”

I was walking along the bridle path back from the church when I heard the soft clip-clop of hooves on the sweet-rancid-smelling leaf mould, for it was deep autumn now, and there had been rain.  I turned to see Griselda trotting towards me, in hacking jacket, boots, and jodhpurs, her magnificent bosoms jerking up and down like two pile drivers.

“Hello,” I called.  I hadn’t seen her for weeks, and then only to nod and wave to in passing, and I stepped to one side assuming that she would ride past me.  Instead, she reined up, jumped down and smiled at me dazzlingly while she walked round to the horse’s head and pulled down the bridle to lead it.  At least, her teeth dazzled in the golden autumn light.

“Hello, Griselda,” I said again.  “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

“I know,” she pouted.  “I’m beginning to wonder if you care for me at all.”

“Why?”

“I never see you.”

“Well, I never see you.  You told me you’d leave me alone until . . . until . . . .”  I thought of Flavius and changed my tack.  “You’re in charge, Griselda.”

“Yes, but you could have made an effort.”

I was bemused.  “What sort of effort?”

She kicked glumly at a stone.  “So many times I’ve looked from my bedroom at night, hoping to see you standing below, flushed and rigid with bottle-up lust, looking hopefully up at my window.  But you never are.”

“But you said we must appear to be just friends,” I reasoned.

“Well . . . perhaps.  But I still hoped you might show some interest.”

“But what about all the gossip you were so frightened of.”

“Not frightened!” she furiously kicked up a cloud of dead leaves.  “It would simply have been demeaning.”

“And you said it would make disposing of Flavius more difficult,” I reminded her, realising that standing erect under Griselda’s window might be a way of prolonging the inconvenient man’s life.

But she beamed at me.  “Oh, my poor darling!  Was that the only reason?”

“Well.  Erm . . . .”

She threw the bridle over the horse’s neck and lunged at me with both hands, her lips working feverishly over my face, her strong arms crushing me as she forced me back against a tree.  Her hand snaked down between us to my crotch and she caressed my prick through my trousers, and it inevitably stiffened in response.  “Oh my darling!  You mean you’ve been restraining yourself in the hope that we can be together sooner?”

“Well—”

She groaned and gnawed at my throat.  “Be brave just a little while longer, my stallion.  Just a little while.  Promise?”  And she applied her ravenous lips once more.

“I promise,” I gasped as I struggled for air, promising myself that from now on I would make regular visits by night to Nether Towers and loiter under her window, in the hope of warding off Flavius’s murder.  “I’ll try, Griselda.  But it’s so hard.  I . . . I don’t know if I can keep away for much longer.”

“Ooooh!”  She flung her arms round my neck and kissed me again, as though she believed all this play-acting was real and not a bizarre pantomime.  “Let me take your arm at least.  No one can see us, and after all, we are sort of engaged, aren’t we!”

I jerked as though struck by lightning.  “Engaged?”

“Well, yes.”

Dear God!  “But how can we be?  What about Flavius?”

She stamped her foot.  “Don’t keep on dragging him up, darling!  Let’s forget about him while we’re together.”

She slipped her arm through mine and we walked together like two old and close friends.  Bizarre!

“Perhaps we can see each other more often,” she suggested thoughtfully after we’d walked fifty yards or so in silence.  “Perhaps you were right when you said we could meet discreetly.  But we’d have to be very discreet indeed.”  She glanced up at the red and brown leaves arching overhead, and hugged my arm tightly.  “It’s a pity winter’s coming on.  I was silly.  We could have met in the woods while the weather was still warm.  We could have ripped each other’s clothes off and made naked, savage love in the bracken for hours and hours and hours and hours on end.  Perhaps we still could.”

“In the winter?”

She tugged at my arm.  “Don’t be a bore, darling.  It might be a bit chilly to start with.  But we’ll soon warm up if we’re shagging really hard,” she added brightly.  “Won’t we?”

“I still think it might be a bit—”

She stamped her foot and her eyes flashed.  “I said, won’t we!”

“Yes, Griselda.”

“Darling!”

“I meant darling.”

“Of course you did.”  She pecked my ear and hugged my arm tighter.  “And I doubt anyone will notice us.  Part of my estate is off limits, and I’m out with Phallus in the woods most days and—”

“Who or what is Phallus?” I laughed.  Her nonsense was unfathomable.

She blinked. “My dear horsey, of course.”  She slipped her arm out of mine and turned to the large chestnut stallion who was walking obediently behind us.  She stroked his nose and planted three kisses on the end of it.  I’ll swear the horse looked uneasy.  “I have lots of other horsies, of course, but Phallus is my favourite — though you mustn’t believe the revolting stories they tell in that low, disgusting public house.”

“The Seven Stripes?”

She sniffed.  “I don’t care to know what the ghastly place is called.  Anyway, there’s no truth in them.”

“Of course not,” I assured her, though in truth I wouldn’t have put anything past her.

“I use Bronco for that.”

My eyes must have popped, and Phallus rolled his as if to say, I told you so.  “You mean you . . .  you . . . with a horse?”

“Bronco’s my rocking horse, silly.”  She giggled, slipping her arm back through mine and clinging on as though it were a parachute.  “He’s my surrogate you.   He’s on four powerful springs and there’s a large knobbly dildo bolted upright to his saddle.  So when I’m feeling frussed — as I am most of the time — I go up to my bedroom, strip naked, leap on Bronco, and work him up to a really vigorous canter.  For hours and hours and hours sometimes.  It’s satisfaction of a sort.  The only satisfaction I’ve been able to get with Flavius still around.  But when we’re together, I promise I won’t use him any more — Bronco, that is.  I’ll jump on you instead . . . for hours and hours and hours and hours.”

“In thick custard?”

“Mmmmm!”

We walked on together in a strangely companionable silence.  She hugged my arm and stroked it, just like a normal woman would.  The last of the leaves were falling and the trees clawed at a grey sky with gaunt, black fingers.  The year was almost dead, and that reminded me again of Flavius.

“Look, Griselda, I—”

“Oooh!” She pouted at me so sorrowfully that her two front teeth disappeared behind her lower lip.  “Can’t you at least remember to call me darling when we’re like this?  After all, we’re alone, and we are in love.”

The machinations of a woman’s mind can often be bewildering, but how could she possibly think that we were in love?

“Look, Gris . . . darling, we hardly know each other and—”

“But we went through all that, didn’t we?  If we can’t be in love with each other, then who else can we be in love with?  Not with any of the peasants, surely?”  She sniffed.  “Unless, of course, you think you’re in love with that trollop from the public house.”

“Ruth?”

Her lips twitched.  “Ruth is it?  I don’t bother with names where low-lifes are concerned.  I saw you one evening staggering out of the public house with her, blind drunk, and heading in the direction of your house.  No need to ask whether you ended up in bed with her.  And Thwacks has seen you on other occasions—”

I was angry now.  “You’re having me watched?”

“Just keeping an eye on you, my dear, for your protection, and because I love you.  You know that”

“All I know is that Ruth isn’t a trollop!”  I said harshly, for I didn’t like hearing her called that.

“In other words, you are in love with her!”  Griselda sniffed again, like a wronged wife.  Her eyes latched balefully onto mine and a tear meandered slowly down one cheek.

I sighed.  I couldn’t afford to upset her.  “Look, I’m not in love with her, but all the same—”

“But!  Oh, of course.  But!”  Griselda’s riding crop twitched alarmingly.  “I suppose you call her, darling often enough!”

“I don’t, actually.”

“Don’t lie, Owen,” she said bitterly, with a very unladylike sniff.  “Of course you do!  I bet you say all sorts of things you never say to me . . . when you’re in bed with her!”

“Maybe because I never am in bed with you,” I countered disingenuously.  “I did offer to take you upstairs at the outset, you know.”

“That’s unfair.  You know why I couldn’t.”

“Because you’re a married woman.”

“Heavens, Owen!  Must you keep throwing that excuse for a man in my face?”

“I’m not.  But he’s your husband.”

“But he’s not a husband.  That’s the point.  He’s ten limp inches of useless gristle — that’s not a husband.”

“Even so.”

“Look let’s not have a tiff over him, darling.”  She rubbed my arm vigorously.  “Although I don’t mind us tiffing, because it proves we’re in love.  But not over him.  He’s not worth it, and anyway,” — her eyes narrowed — “he won’t be around much longer.  Then we’ll get rid of the trollop too.  Understood?”

“Dear God!  You’re not planning to murder her too?”

“Murder?” she blanked.  “Whoever said anything about murder?”

“Well, how else are you going to get rid of Flavius, as you put it?  And Thwacks?”

She blinked at me, utterly bewildered.  “Don’t be silly, darling!  You can’t go round murdering people!  Even dregs and peasants — more’s the pity.  No,” she smiled darkly.  “There’s more than one way of skinning a cat, my dear.  We’ll do to him what we always do to those who threaten our way of life, but in Flavius’ case I must find an excuse.”

So I’d been wrong.  My relief was overwhelming, but a mystery remained.  ” So what do you do to people who threaten your way of life?”

“Our way of life.”

“Oh very well!  Our way of life, then.  What do you do with them?”"

“Oh, darling,” she sighed, hugging my arm and laying her head on my shoulder like a wearied and exasperated wife.  “Can’t we talk about something else?”

I couldn’t budge her.  Try as I might, I couldn’t persuade her to tell me what happened to the people who threatened the Nether Slype way of life.  I was relieved, of course.  At least she wasn’t planning to murder anyone, so the threat of prison withdrew, or so I thought.  For it never occurred to me that what did happen to them might be as bad, or even worse, than murder.

We turned off the bridle path and into my lane.  When we emerged from the seclusion of the trees, she dropped my arm for discretion’s sake and walked beside me, leading the horse.  “Tell you what,” she suggested brightly.  “Why don’t you show me your house?”

“But what if you’re seen coming and going?  The neighbours?”

“It’ll only take five minutes.  Besides, your girl will be there.”

“Well . . . yes.  But I warn you, it’s a mess.”

Griselda blanked again, as though she’d just heard me fart in church.  “A mess?  What on earth do you mean, a mess?”

“It just is,” I grinned, and if I’d had my wits about me, I’d have known better.

Griselda marched round my drawing room in disbelief.  “A mess?  This place is a pigsty!”

I looked around.  It didn’t seem so bad to me, but I’m not the tidiest of men.  My workroom usually is a mess, but I hadn’t yet got round to organising a proper one, so at present I was working in the drawing room.

“This is what comes of consorting with trollops,” snapped Griselda, her riding crop twitching ominously.

“It’s got nothing to do with anyone or anything.”  I shrugged.  “I imagine I’ll get round to sorting out a proper workroom come winter.”

“You do it?  You?  A Flaythm?  Do menial work like sorting out rooms?  For heaven’s sake, darling, it’s the girl’s job, not yours.”

“Ginny?  She’s a great help.  She does my washing and ironing and cooks my dinner.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what!”  Griselda cast me a withering and exasperated glare, and making cuts through the air with the riding crop. “You’re clearly not working her hard enough!  Where is she?”

“I the kitchen I think, but—”

“Right!”

“No!  Wait!  Hang on, Griselda!  No!”

I fled after her, remonstrating all the way, as she stamped out of the room, down the passage, and flung the kitchen door open.  Ginny was sitting at the table reading a magazine while she waited for the washing machine to finish.  She glanced up.  Her eyes widened in sudden terror, she leapt to her feet startled, and backed away towards the dresser as Griselda bore down on her, riding crop swishing.

Ginny swallowed and dropped a hurried curtsey.  “Good morning, Lady Shackles.”

“Never mind about that, girl!”  Griselda glared at her, flexing the riding crop before her fearful eyes. “You’ve been slacking.”

Ginny’s lips trembled.  “No, my lady, I—”

“You dare answer me back, girl?”

“No, my lady, I—”

“Insolence!”

Griselda lunged at Ginny like a fury, seized her by the hair a positively flung her across the broad oak kitchen table, just as Old Horace had done in The Seven Stripes.  With a flick of the crop, Ginny’s skirt flew up over her head.  Griselda put her riding in her mouth and ripped down her knickers revealing two plump pink buttocks that wobbled like Rowntree strawberry jellies.

“Please, my lady—”

“Silence!”

“Griselda!” I shouted

“Quiet, Owen!  This girl needs disciplining.”

Griselda took the crop in her hand again and enthusiastically launched into a long sequence of vicious cuts, while Ginny thrashed about on the table, screaming.  I shut my eyes.  Why was I so impotent?  The screaming became shriller and shriller.  Ginny’s fiercely thrashing legs drummed against the table as Griselda delivered stroke after stroke after stroke with gusto and military precision, much as I imagine, Admiral Shackles had.  When at last she stopped, I could hear only sobs.  Griselda walked slowly and triumphantly round the table surveying her handiwork, slapping her own thighs with the crop.  “That’s just a taste, girl, of what you’ll get if I come again and find this place looking like a pigsty.   Understood?”

I opened my coward’s eyes.  Ginny lay on the table writhing and gasping like a fish that had just been pulled from a river, her hands twitching as they clutched at her cruelly lacerated bottom.

“Speak up, girl!  Or I’ll give you another twelve!”

“Y-yes . . . my lady,” sobbed Ginny painfully.

“And stop that irritating noise!”

Ginny sniffed.  “Yes, my lady.”

Griselda then turned to me and eyed me sternly.  “And I’m disappointed in you too, Owen.  You’re obviously not using your whip on the girl.  A fine lapse for a descendant of the man who held Admiral Shackles’ coat.”

“Perhaps I should have held yours,” I said bitterly.

Griselda’s eyes blazed.  “Don’t be flippant!”

“Aren’t you being?  At least Rickett Flaythm was my ancestor.  You talk about the admiral as though he were yours, but actually he was your husband’s?”

“My husbands?” she screamed furiously.  “My wretched — my . . . .”

She stared at me blankly for a few seconds, then, to my surprise, she dissolved into laughter.  She was still laughing when we returned to the drawing room.  She lifted a pile of books unceremoniously out of the sofa, dropped them on the floor with a thump, and then plunged her ample bottom into the vacated space, still shaking.

“I’m the Shackles, Owen dear,” she said when she’d recovered herself.  “My father died when I was twenty-five leaving me as his sole heir, and I immediately realised that I needed a husband — well, I wanted one . . . rather badly in fact . . . for reasons we’ve already discussed.  None of the local men were acceptable on grounds of class, so I put a small ad in one of the more exclusive hunting magazine: wanted for marriage, one blue-blooded eighteen inch penis—”

“Eighteen inches?” I snorted.  “There’s no such thing.”

“So they tell me.  But I worked on the premise that men exaggerate such things.  Anyway, Flavius arrived.  He wasn’t very bright but I didn’t want him for his brains.  So I sent him along to Dr Specter in the village for an examination.  Specter was amazed; he’d never seen anything so long — ten inches flaccid.  Of course, I should have locked Flavius in a room with a cheap tart — like yours from the public house — and made sure he could do the required job.  But I didn’t.  More fool me!  Ten inches flaccid it was, and ten inches flaccid it remained.  What with that and his complete lack of brains, conversation, or any desirable attribute at all — he can’t even ride a horse, for heaven’s sake! — I lost patience with him within a month.  I tried sending him back to his family but they didn’t want him either and they sent him straight back with a curt note telling me he was no longer their concern.  I didn’t blame them either, but all the same, what was I to do with him?  So I decided there was nothing else for it.  I chained him in the dungeon and there he’s remained ever since.”

“So he was already mad when you married him?”

“No darling.  Well, possibly he was.  I don’t know — I didn’t notice.  He was so dull and gormless that you really couldn’t tell one way or the other.  You see, he’s not chained in the dungeon because he’s mad.  He’s mad because he’s spent fourteen years chained in the dungeon.  At least, Thwacks reckons he’s gone mad because of it.  I can’t say I’ve noticed any change myself, but I really can’t be bothered to go down and check, so I take Thwacks’ word for it.”

“But his shouting,” I reasoned.  “He sounds like a slavering sex fiend.”

“Typical man, darling.  All talk and no action, so let’s not waste more time talking about him.  He’s history, or soon will be.”

“So, if you’re not going to murder him, exactly what are you going to do with him?”

She rolled her eyes.  “For pity’s sake, darling, do try to vary your conversation, or I might suspect you’re Flavius’s brother and pop you in the adjacent dungeon.  And I wouldn’t want to do that, at least, not before you’ve given me a good few really hard shaggings.”

While I digested this threat, she picked up the top book from the pile she’d dropped on the floor beside her and read the cover.  “Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook?  What on earth do you want that for?”

“I’m a writer,” I said negligently, and immediately bit my tongue.

She looked at me querulously.  “A writer?  But you said you had a private income?”

“So I do,” I lied.  “I wouldn’t be able to afford to write if I didn’t.  It’s a hobby — well, more than that, a pleasurable occupation.”

A shadow of concern crossed her face.  She got up and started pacing round the room, glancing in a desultory way at the other piles of books and the manuscripts lying everywhere in disordered piles.  “I do hope you’re not writing about Nether Slype,” she said at last, and there was a note of regretful menace in her voice.  “We don’t take kindly to people trying to parade our little ways to the spineless puritan world beyond.”

“I wouldn’t call it puritan,” I scoffed.

“No, but it likes to think it is.  And it’s incredibly nosey.  It likes telling other people what they can and can’t do.  It endlessly questions their morals but not its own.”  She turned towards me and her eyes were creased with worry.  “So watch yourself, darling.  You wouldn’t want to be sent away would you!  And I for one wouldn’t want to see you go.  Truly I wouldn’t.”

On the face of it, she was threatening me with eviction from my house, and as all the properties in the villages were hers, I would be forced to leave.  Yet there was a note in her voice as she spoke the words sent away that sent a small shiver down my spine.  And her obvious regret reinforced it.

“How sent away, Griselda?” I asked.

She turned away and ran her fingers along the bookshelf.  “Never mind,” she murmured.  “I’m sure it won’t be necessary.  You’re an intelligent man, and your life here could be pleasant, especially as my husband.  But being a Nether Slyper requires discretion.  Others have been indiscreet and they’ve been forced to leave.”

“But isn’t that even more dangerous.  Once they’re gone they can blow the whistle with impunity.”

She wrinkled her mouth.  The two prominent teeth vanished then appeared again.  “Not . . . necessarily.”

There it was again, the threat.  And as if that weren’t enough she added quietly, “Don’t ever force me to do something that we’d both regret, my darling.  Duty must come before love.  I wish it didn’t, but it does.”

Dear God.  She really did think she loved me.  Perhaps she did, in her screwy way. However, the other matter was uppermost in my mind.  I wondered whether to pursue it, but caution told me that I had nothing to gain by making her suspicious.  I realised that Nether Slype like all nefarious and illicit pleasures, came at a price, and I was increasingly nervous about what that price might be.  So Flavius and Thwacks were not going to be murdered but sent away, permanently, no doubt.

At least it made sense of a sort.  If people were sent away for transgressions, then her need to find an excuse for ‘disposing’ of Flavius made sense.  But how ere they set away and where?  Where could they go where there was no threat of their blowing the whistle?  Some place of incarceration no doubt, but what could it be?

She was eying me narrowly.  “I don’t want to make threats, darling, really I don’t,” she said soberly.  “You must believe that.  But you must also understand that paradise comes at a price.”

I realised that there was no pointing in trying to question her further.  Instead, I needed to convince her that I was no threat.  Indeed, I had absolutely no intention of becoming one.  Keeping Nether Slype secret and secure was as important to me as it obviously was to her.

“Look,” I assured her.  “I’ve absolutely no intention of writing about Nether Slype.  As you can see from my books, I’m a mediaeval historian, or rather, I write novels about mediaeval times — thrillers and whodunits mostly.  So there’s nothing for you and the village to worry about.  I’ve been working in here, you see, and my workroom’s always a mess when I’m right in the middle of a project.  I’m going to organise an office upstairs, but the present project overtook me.  That’s why I told Ginny not to clean in here.  I didn’t want anything disturbed,” I added pointedly.  “She didn’t deserve the thrashing you gave her, Griselda.”

“Oh, don’t make a fuss about nothing, darling.”  She brushed my objection away with an airy flick of her hand.  “It’s what the peasants are there for.  If you want a peasant girl to work properly, you must keep her whipped, on principle.  I always do.”

“So I notice, but I don’t possess a whip, and I’m not—”

“Owen darling!”  Griselda blinked, her eyes lit up, she skipped across the room to me, suddenly girlish, threw her arms round my neck and planting a big wet kiss on my lips.  “We’re having our second  tiff.”  She kissed me again.  “Isn’t it exciting!  So we really must be I love, mustn’t we!  Tell you what.  I’ll make it up to you.  As soon as I get home, I’ll send someone down with one.  How about that?”

“With what?”

“A whip, of course,” she said gleefully.  “I’ll tie a big red ribbon round it and a card: With all my love, Griselda.  Then you’ll think of me when you’re thrashing the girl with it,” she added, eagerly.  “Or better still, I’ll send you an assortment.  That’ll be romantic, won’t it?”  She kissed me on the nose, just like she’d kissed Phallus, and I felt as bemused as the horse had looked, like a dog being given a chocolate drop.  “Anyway, must dash.   Phallus has been tethered out there for a while and people will talk if he’s there much longer.  See me to the door, darling!”

I dutifully walked her out into the hall, but as I put my hand to the door to open it, she seized me and gnawed at my face again for a moment.  “It won’t always be like this darling.   Soon we’ll be together, naked in our bed, strenuously shagging as only desperate lovers can — for hours and hours and hours and hours on end.”

She kissed me again, softly and passionately, and gave me a last caress.  Then she was off down the drive.  I watched her climb on her horse.  She waved.  “Toodle pip!”  And she was off.   Her kisses and caresses were becoming more tender, and I realised that the dotty and dangerous woman wasn’t playing a game at all; she really was falling in love with me, or thought she was, which was just as alarming.  Worse, she seemed convinced that I was in love with her.

Poor Flavius.

1. Celia

Next day, just after breakfast, I was at work on my new novel when the doorbell rang.  Ginny was out shopping, so I opened it myself to an attractive dark-haired girl of about twenty holding a large brown-paper parcel.  She was wearing the grey dress and apron of a maid from Nether Towers.

“With her ladyship’s compliments, sir,” he said breathlessly, and bobbed.

I took the parcel.  Through the paper, I could feel that it contained several long, flexible objects.  “Er . . . thank you.”

I made to close the door but the maid slipped deftly past me into the hall.  I looked at her perplexed and she bobbed again.  “I’m Heather, sir,” she said, still breathlessly.  “Her ladyship said you were to use me as you wished. Rigorously and repeatedly, sir.”

“Rigorously?  Repeatedly?  How?”

“Any way to like, sir.  Any time of the day . . . or night.”  She gave me the coyest of blushes.  “If you see what I mean, sir?”

How could I not see?  But I’d been with Ruth overnight and I was full of my new book.  I simply wasn’t in the mood for sex games.  And it seemed odd that Griselda should profess love for me and then send such a girl.  Perhaps she was testing me.

“Look,” I said as coldly as I could.  “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and wait for Ginny to return?  She’ll tell you what needs doing.”

“Don’t you want to inspect my credentials first, sir?” said the girl, smoothing her dress and apron provocatively over her ample bust, her coy smile now edged with wantonness.  She began to unbutton the bodice of her dress.  “I think you’ll find them more than satisfactory, sir.”

I’ve never been susceptible to the brazen approach, and never less than at that moment.  “Not now,” I said, even more coldly.  “I’m busy.  Go and see what Ginny wants you to do.”

Her eyes flared at the put down.  I thought for a moment that she was going to slap my face.  But the struggle was only brief.  Her eyes fell to the floor and she bobbed again.  “Very good, sir.”

Back in my workroom I opened the parcel.  The only surprise was the variety of whips Griselda had sent me, ranging from straps and tawses with ornately sculpted handles, several plaited jobs of varying lengths and weights, and a particularly vicious one with three knotted tails — a sort of cadet version of the Shackles Patent Flogger.  I took them into my drawing room come workroom.  As I dropped them on the coffee table, something fluttered out.  I bent to pick it up and found that it was a card written with black ink in a schooled masculine-looking hand.

Enjoy, my darling,  and think of me.  With desperate love, Griselda.

With desperate love!  She could produce a nice turn of phrase.  I couldn’t help smiling at her screwy earnestness, and an evil thought entered my mind, that perhaps I’d baptize her gift on her own bare bottom.  She certainly needed a good spanking — with a bottom like hers clad in those tight jodhpurs, she was positively begging for one — and I assumed no one was giving her one.

Some while later, Ginny returned and came in with my tea.  She usually put it on my desk and left quietly, being sensible enough not to disturb me at my work, for which I was grateful.  She was an excellent girl for me: quiet, unobtrusive, and intelligent. But today she hovered at my elbow, waiting.  I had ignored her since Griselda’s tirade.  She had not deserved the punishment, which was anyway excessive, but I was embarrassed, feeling that I had lost control of a situation.  I, as the man of the house, should have been in control.

“Sorry about yesterday, Ginny,” I said softly, looking especially hard at my computer screen.

“That’s all right, sir.”

“No it’s not all right.  I should have been firmer with Lady Shackles.  I should have stood up to her.  I should have stopped her.  I’m sorry.”

There was a brief silence, then, “So will you still be wanting me any longer, sir?”

I looked up at her in surprise.  “What do you mean?”

She swallowed.  “Well, sir, I’m obviously not giving satisfaction, and her ladyship has sent a replacement, and—”

“Not a replacement, Ginny,” I assured her.  “I’m more than happy with you—”

“It’s just that the new one’s trained, sir.  Properly trained to work, trained to pleasure, trained to the whip—”

“Trained to it?”

Ginny seemed surprised.  “Why yes, sir.  She’s one of them as has been to Mrs Birch’s Academy for Naughty Wicked Girls in Long Wallop, and she passed out top of her class — or so she says.  Loves it, she does, sir.   And she’s already told me what a tight, juicy cunt she’s got, sir, and all the tricks she’s been taught to play with it.”

“She fancies herself.  That’s for sure,” I murmured.

“That’s as maybe, sir.  But as you’ve never seen fit to sample my cunt—”

I turned and looked at her in alarm.  “But you’ve got a boyfriend, Ginny,” I exclaimed.

“Perhaps, sir, but I’m not properly spoken for as yet.  And as my employer, you’re entitled to take your pleasure of me if you wish.  A girl expects to be tried out at least once, sir.  But you’ve never shown interest, so I’ve been thinking maybe you’re dissatisfied with me and—”

“I’m perfectly satisfied, Ginny,” I assured her.  “More than satisfied and very pleased with you.  Look, I can’t offend Lady Shackles by sending the other girl back right away.  So let’s make use of her.  Set her to work.  Get her scrubbing and cleaning.  She can sort out all those unused upstairs rooms.  Then you can send her down and clean out the cellar — thoroughly.  You’re in charge, Ginny.  If she gives you any lip — any lip at all — come to me and we’ll find out how trained to the whip she really is — both of us.”

I noticed an evil glint in Ginny’s eye.  For the first time ever, she bobbed.  “Yes, sir.”  To my surprise, she leaned over me and kissed me chastely on the cheek.  “Thank you, sir.  I’ll make the bitch work all right.”

I gave her a hug for that — nothing sexual, you understand; no groping; just a hug.  She was a nice girl and I liked her.  “Your job’s perfectly safe with me, Ginny.”

*****

I was in a good mood when I entered The Seven Stripes for a lunchtime pint, where I spent half an hour in amiable conversation with a couple of my neighbours.  But as I was leaving, a hand touched my arm and I turned to see Ruth.  She cocked her head meaningfully towards a discreet corner so I followed her into it.

“There was someone asking for you last night, Owen,” she said in an undertone, once she was sure no one could overhear us.

“Asking for me?  Asking whom?”

“Me thankfully.  It was a stranger.  A woman.  She marched in, looked around and made a beeline for me.  She was trying to find out your address.”

“What did she look like?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, for an awful premonition had struck me.

“Quite tall, thin as a rake, long blonde hair . . . oh, and she was smoking a cigarette with a gold filter end.”

I swallowed.  I knew who the woman was, Celia my literary agent.  I’d given her detailed instructions for contacting me, and they hadn’t included walking into The Seven Stripes, bold as brass, and asking for my address.

“Did you give it to her the address?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . .” Ruth looked around the bar to make sure that no one was prying, and then she pulled me further into the corner and lowered her voice.  “She asked first for a Peter Jenkins.”

That had been my name before I changed it to Owen Flaythm.  I swallowed.  “Go on.”

“Then she asked for a Rupert Butler.  I said I’d never heard of either of them.  So then, as if it was just a final, spur-of-the-moment thought, she asked if I’d heard of the name Flaythm.  She said she thought someone of that name had just moved in.”

“And you said?”

“I told her I’d heard of none of them.”

But Celia had dug up Colonel Flaythm for me, and she knew I’d moved here. She’d have put two and two together and strongly suspected that Ruth was lying.  Knowing Celia, that would set her devious mind working overtime.  Damn!  “Who else heard this?”

“No one.”

“You’re sure!”

“Yes.  She walked straight out again, got in her car, and I watched her drive round the green and back down the lane out of the village.”

Perhaps, but Celia wouldn’t take no as a permanent answer if her curiosity was aroused.  I knew I should have sacked her before I came to Nether Slype.  I should have sacked her before I announced my intention of living there.  I should have hired less of a go-getter to take her place, someone who could be trusted to protect my anonymity.  Fool!

Ruth was eyeing me with sharp now.  She clutched my arm and drew me towards her.  “What’s going on, Owen?”

“Going on?”

“Who’s Rupert Butler?”

“Oh, that’s easy.  I was a historical novelist — am a historical novelist.  Rupert Butler is the name I write under.”

Her eyes popped with surprise and she smiled.  “Oh!  They’ve got one of yours in the library.  I’ve read it.  It’s ever so good.”

“I know they have,” I grimaced.  It was the worst thing I’d ever written.  Nevertheless, I thanked Ruth for her compliment.  “I don’t advertise the fact,” I said, “but Lady Shackles knows about it.  She knows I’ll be discreet.”

“You’d better be.  And who’s Peter Jenkins?”

“Ah!  He’s . . . he’s . . . .  O bloody hell!”

She was looking at me earnestly now, and her eyes were bigger, darker, and more beautiful than they’d ever been.  She also looked scared — for my sake.  “Look, Owen, you can trust me,” she said softly, and I knew it to be the simple truth.  “I am your friend, you know.”

I gently squeezed her hand.  “Perhaps the only true friend I have here — and the only one I want to have.”

Half an hour later, we sat out on the green, on a remote but open seat where we could talk without risk of being overheard.  We must have looked a strange pair, sitting in the cold slanting rain, me in my thorn proof jacket and Ruth in her raincoat and hat.

“So, who is he?” Ruth asked again.  “Or perhaps I should say, who are you?”

I licked my lips.  “Why do you ask that?”

“Because I’ve slept with you quite a few times.  You’ve muttered one or two strange things in your sleep. Most men do that, of course, but there have been other times, when we’ve talked, and I’ve formed the impression you’re being very careful with your words, and thinking before you speak.  I think you’re a man with a secret, my dear.  A man with a history.”

“Who have you told of this?” I asked, perhaps a little shortly.

“No one!” she countered fiercely.  “I’m your friend, Owen . . . or should I say Peter?”

I blew a long breath.  Well, I thought.  I’m not surprised she’s worked it out.  If a man has two names, why not three?  “Best stick to Owen for all our sakes,” I confessed.

I told her my story then, about discovering Nether Slype and loving the place, the apparent impossibility of living here.  The subterfuge.  It was good to tell someone, though I worried that I might be compromising Ruth and that was last thing I wanted to do.

“So you’re not spying on us?”

“No!  Good heavens no.  I’ve told you the absolute truth, all of it.  I just came because I loved the place — a precious surviving piece of the old England I write about, and I had no idea at all of your local peculiarities before I moved in.”

She savoured that for a moment. “Of course, to us, they’re not peculiar.  It’s the outside that’s strange.”

She wasn’t far wrong either.  “In some ways I suppose it’s better out there in the big bad world,” I said.  “Women have more legal protection and higher status, though I’m sure that’s not all it’s cracked up to be.  It’s a world of illusion, pretence, image, gloss, and little substance.  It can be a grubby, murky place — at least I think so — and in many ways, its far worse than anything you’ll find here.  I came here because I was searching for something cleaner.  And I still think I found it, despite your little foibles.”

She digested that.  “And the woman who came questioning?   Who’s she?”

“Celia, my literary agent.  She knew I was coming here, of course.  She had to.  But I told her to leave me alone, the nosey bitch.”

“So why hasn’t she?”

“That’s what worries me.”

“Could she be trouble?”

“Oh yes,” I sighed deeply.  “Most certainly.”

*****

And so it came to pass.

A few days later, an hour after sunset, there was another knock on my door.   The new girl, who appeared to assume she was a live-in, came into the workroom and bobbed.  “A lady to see you, sir.”

I thought it might be Ruth, or even Griselda, but my face fell when the workroom door opened again, and Celia was standing in the threshold.  She marched in with a triumphant smirk on her face that I knew spelt trouble.  Without thinking, I took her through to my workroom come sitting room and shut the door, forgetting what was still lying on the coffee table.

“You’re a hard man to find, Peter,” she said provocatively, helping herself to my sofa.  It sounded strange being called Peter after months as Owen.

“What do you want?” I asked bluntly, and pointlessly, for I’d already thought through all the likely reasons.

“That’s not a nice way to greet me, darling.”

“How did you find me?”

“I asked some drab in the pub.  I assumed you’d know all the local pub sluts.”

“Watch your tongue!”

Celia giggled.  “So you are shagging her!  Thought she looked your type.  Her knickers were positively round her ankles, and as for that bra she was wearing. . . .”

I fought to control my temper.  “Never mind that.  She told you nothing.  Did she!”

“No.  But I reckoned she’d come running to tell you I was looking.  She obviously did — which proves you’re shagging her.  So I came back tonight and played the poor lost little female.  I found some ghastly old man out in the street somewhere and wiped my fanny round him.  He looked as though he’d never seen a woman like me—”

“I imagine he hadn’t,” I snorted.

“Meow, darling!   I almost had to go down on my knees and suck his cock to get the address.  Almost, thank God.”

“So now you’re here, what do you want?”

By way of reply, she looked curiously at the paper parcel in the coffee table before her and I regretted more than ever not keeping my workroom tidy.  She’d always been a nosey cow, so she lifted the edge and looked inside.  Her fiercely pencilled eyebrows rose.

“Kinky!”

“Nothing of the sort,” I lied, fighting the obviously guilty temptation to snatch the parcel and move it out of her reach.  “They’re research items for my latest novel.”

“Hmmm.  Sounds a sight more interesting than your last.”  She picked up the card and smirked.  “Who’s Griselda?  You whip slut?  Sounds more like a dominatrix to me — high boots and riding crop.”  Celia, for all her irritating ways, had a habit of hitting the nail on the head.

I snatch the card out of her hand.  “This was attached to something else entirely,” I lied.  “You know how untidy I am.”

“Hmmm.  So she’s not the drab from the pub then?”

I gritted my teeth.  “No!  And my personal life is none of your damned business.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong there,” she said triumphantly.  “And as for your kinky BDSM gear, it bears out my other discoveries.”

“Discoveries?”

“Whispers, darling and a few juicy little piccies.  Things that would have the women’s-rights commandos besieging this place with gelding knives.”

“Since when did you care about women’s rights?”

“Don’t be silly, darling.  I don’t give a toss about them.  But I’ll become a fully-paid-up sister if it’s to my advantage.”

That was typical of the bitch.  I knew she was telling the truth.  “And?”

She got up and walked round the room with that infuriatingly smug look on her face that I’d seen before when she knew she held all the cards.  So often, when she’s been acting in my interest, negotiating for me, it had been an infallible sign that we’d just won a nice, fat, remunerative point or were about to.  And Celia knew all about remuneration.  Cash and cheques were her sole interest in life.  Her avarice had done wonders for my bank balance, and hers of course.  Even so, I’d never liked it, or her.  And she wasn’t acting in my interest now, but her own, — and something cold trickled in the pit of my stomach.

“Nice place you have here.  Must be worth a bit.”

“What have you come for, Celia?  I didn’t invite you.”

“I was concerned for you, darling, and—”

“Cut the shoddy crap!  The only thing about me that’s ever concerned you is the commission I pay you and how you can extend it.”

“The commission I deduct, darling.”

“Don’t chop words!  Why are you here?”

She smiled smugly at me again, and the ice trickled once more.  Without asking permission, she produced her silver cigarette case, took out a cigarette, knocked it on the lid, and lit it.  “Got an ashtray, darling?”

I went into the kitchen and found a saucer.  When I returned, she was lying full length on the sofa, her expensively stockinged legs were crossed at the ankles, the cigarette hung of the corner of her mouth, and she was idly reading my latest manuscript — of pretending to.

“That’ll be ready in about three months,” I said, pulling it out of her hand.  “If you’re interested.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, knocking out ash into the saucer.  “Perhaps not.  I’m onto something far bigger than a measly commission.  I might cut you in, but only for a small share.”

“What?  Why?”

“Because you’re compromised, so you can’t bargain.  But as you might prove useful, so I’m throwing you a bone.”

She smiled a smile that says, I’ve got you by the nuts, and if you don’t jump when I say so, I’ll pop them into the mincer.

I knew I had to tough it out as best I could.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.  “How compromised?”

“The same way every other man in Nether Slype is compromised, darling.  They, of course, were born here.  But you . . . oh, well, you came looking for it.”  She stretched out and nudged the parcel of whips with her foot.  “You can’t very well claim ignorance.  Now can you?”  She let the point sink in, and then continued.  “I wondered why you were so keen on this piss-hole of a place.  I heard your tale about driving through here and falling in love with it . . . blah  — blah — blah.  But I was curious.  After all, there are so many quiet, dull little villages in England.  Why jump through such fantastic hoops to move to this one?”

“It happened to be the truth,” I said patiently.

“Yes, yes of course, darling.  And I foolishly believed for a very short while that the architecture, the oldie-worldie charm, and the woods had captivated you.”

“They had,” I protested.

“Quite.  But that wasn’t all, was it!”  She exhaled smoke extravagantly, as she so often did before delivering the deathblow.  “I never realised you were a bottom freak.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said too hurriedly, and the shrewd glance that slanted at me through the thin blue smoke told me that she knew I was lying.

She took a photograph out of her handbag, put it on the coffee table, and slid it across to me.  I looked at it and cringed.  The vicar was there with his colleagues from the adjacent villages.  They were sitting side-by-side in one of the vicarage gardens having tea.  Their wives were there too.  One was carrying a tray, painfully suspended from nipple clamps.  The second was bent over the table holding a cane between her clenched buttocks — clearly waiting for punishment.   The third was on her knees servicing the three vicars’ cocks, sucking the middle one and wanking the other two.  The three women were all naked.  Their bottoms were clearly visible, and all three bore multiple strap welts.

I cleared my throat and tried to affect an unimpressed shrug.  “Three kinky clergymen in a domestic setting.  What of it?”

“Yes, I thought you’d say something like that.  There are others, too, though this is the best so far.  I’ve been skulking up on the hill over the village with my telephoto lens.  Vicars and bottoms — hardly word news, though it’s still grist to the Sunday rags’ mill.”

“You despise the Sunday rags.”

“I used to, darling, but they’ve become prospective milsch cows, so I’ve become enthusiastic about their crusading moral zeal.  I mean, they will be absolutely appalled by this, won’t they!  And their dull-brained readers will be so horrified they’ll have to rush out and buy the story in instalments.  I think I feel an undisclosed six-figure payment coming on.”

“For one dodgy photo?  The Internet’s dripping with them.”

“Yes, but there’s more than that, to dig for,” she said with maddening certainty.   “When I came here, I thought only to enlist your help with my story, however—”

“Your story?” I sneered.  “Since when could you write a story?”

“But when I saw your kinky bondage whips I knew—”

“I haven’t used them, for God’s sake,” I insisted, and it was the literal truth.

She shrugged.  “Perhaps, perhaps not.  I don’t care one way of the other.  But I have other photos — not as good, nor as clear as the three kinky vicars, but enough to show that this place is a hotbed of sexual perversion.  And I really think that the outside world, with its high moral values, should know about it.”

Dear God, what a mess!  I thought of what it would do the people here.  I considered that not every man in the village was a vicious wife beater.  What would become of them, the poor sods?  They’d go through life hearing: so you lived in Nether Slype did you?  Nudge-nudge, wink-wink.  I thought of the lives ruined.  And what of the women?  How would they cope out there in the big bad world?  They’d be assumed easy meat by the sort of men who’d knock their teeth out, or worse, which the men in Nether Slype definitely didn’t do.  What sort of interests would home in on them, prowl round, and snap them up?  How many would end up on street corners, on drugs — which were nowhere to be found here?  How many might end up in brothels?  How many would turn to drink, which was not abused here.  How many would be able to deal with debt, which was endemic outside?  How many would be able to deal with the deep dishonesty of so many enterprises and advertisements?  They would believe what they were told and they would suffer for it.  For all its faults, Nether Slype was an honest and uncomplicated place, free of cynicism.  No.  They could never deal with the ‘freedoms’ and stresses of Celia’s bright, clean, tacky world.

Nether Slype had its flaws — no doubt of that — its illicit delights, and its injustices, but so did the outside world.  That was why the Sunday rags went hunting for dirt — to persuade their readers that the world they thrived in was not as grubby dishonest, cynical, nasty, dirty, pernicious, and downright dangerous, as I knew it to be.

“Don’t do it Celia,” I asked.

“Why ever not, darling?”

“Just don’t do it.”

“Well, I’m sure I’d be most happy to oblige you, but money’s money and one never quite has enough of it.”

“No matter how much damage you do?  How many lives you wreck?”

“Not my life; not my problem.”

And that attitude irritated me beyond endurance.  It was so typical of the times, one of the things I had run away from when I came to Nether Slype.  I have never been averse to money, cleanly and honestly made.  I’ve made a good deal of it myself, but only because people wanted to buy my books, none of which were written for the purpose of making an obscene or dishonest fortune.  In Nether Slype, those who prospered were those who worked, cleanly and honestly, and they did work too.  Despite their quirks, they were honest and industrious in the old-fashioned way.  There was no dirty money here — the sort of money Celia was after — the way money could made outside, where even as dead child had a market value — called compensation.  That struck me as the true obscenity, and whatever went on in Nether Slype was venial by comparison.

“It’s all right, darling,” said Celia, looking at me with big mocking eyes, knowing that I was helpless.  “Play ball and I’ll protect your blessed good name.”

“How?  Why?”

“Well, I might believe that you didn’t know everything that’s going on here when you arrived.”

“I didn’t.”

“Quite.  So tell me, what’s the really juicy stuff — gay orgies in the church at midnight?”

“Nothing like that?”

“What about kids?  I bet there’s plenty of child abuse.”

“For pity’s sake!  None at all.  Nothing like that.  It’s all straight, and kids are brought up a damned site cleaner here than most are outside.”

She pouted.  “A pity.  There’d certainly be money in that.  Child abuse is a real headline grabber.  Never mind, you can always drop some hints.  A few pregnant hints are much more marketable than one miserable fact.  All you have to do is drop the question:  If that’s what the parents get up to, what about the kids?  Nudge-nudge.  Wink-wink.  See what I mean?”

“What do you mean — all I’ll have to do?”

She furiously stubbed out her cigarette in the saucer and lit another.  “Didn’t I say?  That’s where you come in useful.  You write the piece.  You do the sleuthing.  You dig out all the lovely lucrative dirt — let’s say twenty-thousand words, broken down into handy two-thousand-word chunks for the Sunday rags.  After all, the morons who read them have no attention span.  I’ll market it.  I’ll make sure your name — whichever you’re masquerading under at present — is kept out of it.  Then we’ll split the haul — seventy-thirty.”

“And who gets the seventy?” I asked, my mind racing for a means of stalling her.

“Me, of course.  You’re hardly in a position to negotiate.”

“Fifty-fifty.”

“You’re not listening, darling.  I said—”

I rounded on her.  “Fifty-fifty or go to hell!  Think of it Celia.  You can go running to the papers with your feeble half-cock yarn, but if Rupert Butler then steps forward with the whole story, claiming to have been working on an under-cover expose which you tried to pre-empt, breaking your confidentiality contract, and offering the real juicy dirt, I’ll be the hero and you’ll crawl away looking pretty bloody fifth rate.  So it’s fifty-fifty, and no argument.”

She screwed out her second cigarette with fury and lit a third.  I was gratified to see that my bluff had rattled her.  Her hand shook slightly with stress of seeing all that easy money slipping through her viciously manicured fingers.  “No need to make threats, darling,” she simpered.

“Who’s making threats?  I’m just telling you where you stand, just as you were pathetically trying to tell me a while ago.  You’re a clerk, Celia.  You’re the sort of drudge creative people like me get to do their boring menial chores.  That’s what I pay you for.  You’re the vermin that crawls around talent licking up the dirty crumbs off the floor.  I’ll pay you fifty-percent to do all the newspaper legwork, fill in the forms, attend the tedious meetings, the bloody lot, and you’ll keep my name out of it.  But the copyright remains mine, as per our standing contract.  Break that contract in any shape or form and I’ll sue.  Then you and your tawdry fucking partners will be the pariahs of the book trade for the rest of your miserable lives.  Don’t forget, Celia, a compromised high-profile author can make enormous money, but a crooked agent is dead meat.  So you’ll do as your bloody well told!”

She looked really scared now, and I enjoyed that.  It had been a strong bluff before I realised it wasn’t a bluff at all.  She was my agent.  What she had threatened to do would constitute a breach of agent confidentiality.  Even if I couldn’t press it, she knew as well as I did that once the story was out, no self-respecting author would touch her.  Now it was time to close for today and think what to do next.

“So I’ll write your piece.  You’ll return for it in fourteen days, and you’ll return discreetly, like tonight.  Until then, sod off!”

She blinked.

“Are you deaf or brain damaged, you gutter slag?  I told you to fuck off!”

She fucked off all right, tail between her legs, and it gave me deep satisfaction to see her crawl away like that.  One thing was sure; when this was over, I’d drop the evil cow and use another agent for my future novels.  I’d also put the word around that she’d tried to strong-arm me.  That would properly finish her.

But deeper down, I was less elated.  The story was out.  Nothing could stop Celia whispering.  And whispers beget rumours, rumours beget scandals, and scandals can beget deep trouble.

“Shit!  Shit!  Shit!” I yelled at the top of my voice once I’d heard the front door slam.  I picked up a couple of books and hurled them across the room, and then kicked furniture in my anger and frustration.  “Shit!”

I heard my workroom door open again and turned to see the new girl, Heather, leaning in the doorway.  She was completely naked, her firm young breast thrust at me almost accusingly, and her eyes smouldered.

“You called for your piece of wanton pleasure shit, sir?”

She walked brazenly towards me, lithe and loose hipped, her triangle of pussy swaying and the fat nipples on her pert breasts nodding as though they were on elastic.  She was mesmerising, but I was angry and not in the mood for sex.

“Fuck off!”

She still approached, smiling.  “Heather would love you to fuck her, sir.”

“I said, fuck OFF!”

“Heather would love you to toss her off, sir.”

I rarely get uncontrollably angry, but this girl was tipping me over the edge.  “Don’t you understand English, girl?” I yelled at her.

She stood right before me, challenging me, her eyes dancing with delight.  Her hand slid to my fly and I stood, stunned as she slowly unzipped it.  Her finger slipped inside and she started to expertly stroke my cock.  All the while, her eyes smouldered into mine and the tip of her tongue slicked between her wet lips.

“Heather only understands the whip, master.”

Despite my stiffening cock, something in me snapped.  Slapping her twitching hand away, I seized her by the hair and flung her to the ground, where she lay squirming, and a slow, unfathomable smile suffused her face.

“That’s it, master,” she murmured with ill-suppressed excitement…  “Use your whip!  Enjoy yourself!”

In blind fury, I reached for Griselda’s parcel and grabbed the first whip that came to hand.  I’d show the bitch what a real whipping felt like — not the feeble crap they obviously dished out at Mrs Birch’s Academy for Naughty Wicked Girls but the real thing.  I seized the big whip with the three knotted tails, but I didn’t care.  Standing astride Heather’s naked body I started lashing her with all my strength.  She writhed and thrashed under a dozen merciless strokes — three tails each, but every time she twisted, she glanced up at me and her face was alight with pleasure.

“That’s it, master!  Pleasure yourself!”

Still I slashed at her, her shoulders, her back, her buttocks, her thighs; all quivered under my merciless tirade, slender red wheels and cuts criss-crossing them.  She juddered; I still plied the whip with all my strength.  Still she smiled, turning herself onto her back and offering me her breasts and stomach.  Her legs were open, her back arched; she was thrusting her pussy towards me for punishment, still smiling.

“Don’t forget to whip my cunt, master.”

On an on I lashed in a frenzy I’d never experienced before.  I didn’t care how much I hurt her, I needed to hurt her.  I lashed everything she offered me while she writhed, smiling still, her face flushed with some indescribable ecstasy that drove me ever onwards.

She rolled back onto her stomach, rose to her hands and knees, and started to crawl, but not towards the door.  I felt her hands sliding softly and slowly up my legs.  Still she smiled up at me, her mouth open, panting in her wild pleasure.  I lashed all the harder now; the leather tails slapped sliced into her soft flesh with pistol-shot retorts.

Still the hands slid slowly upwards, up my thighs, towards my cock.  She rose to her knees, seemingly oblivious of the new vertical stripes the whip was cutting into her back and bottom.  Her hands reached my open flies; her fingers slid inside, and with well-practised deftness, found my rigid cock and pulled it out.

“You’re so angry, master,” she breathed.

And then she was sucking, powerfully, frantically.  I felt her throat moving round my knob, her tongue wriggling like a snake all round my rigid shaft, her firm lips circling it moving succulently back and forth.

“Shit!”

I was blazingly angry now.  I flung down my whip, pulled her off by my cock the hair, grasped her wrists, and hauled her to her feet.  Then I slammed her across the desk, pinning her down by the shoulders.  Still she didn’t stop teasing me.  Her hand reached down stroking my swollen cock, her legs wrapped themselves round me, she slid her whipped crotch towards me and her cunt enveloped my manhood like molten lava.  Her vaginal muscles tightened round it, and she flexed her cunt this way and that, toying with my swollen cock.

“Enjoy yourself, master,” she purred.  Her legs wrapped round me more tightly, pushing her tight, juicy hole right over me, down to my balls.

I was thrusting now, uncontrollably, thrusting deep inside her despite my anger, jerking her body rhythmically across the desk with each gigantic heave.  Thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust.

Then my anger was gone, I was shooting my load right up her, long and thick.  The release was heavenly.  I flopped across her, and as my gasping breath eased, I relaxed, and my conscience kicked back in…

“God, I’m, sorry,” I groaned, knowing that it was weak and inadequate.  “Why did you provoke me, you stupid girl?  I was so bloody angry.”

She smiled up at me and her voice was gentle, controlled, and warm.  She kissed me on the nose and then softly on the lips.

“Not to worry, master.  That’s what Heather’s here for.  Lady Shackles thought you might need a release, so she sent me to you.”

1. Confession

But relief and respite of the type Heather gave me is brief.  I awoke next morning to find her curled round me.  Her perfume was heavy and it started to arouse me, but as I ran my hands over her body, I felt the raised welts, and remembered.  Not only did my shame return, but also the reason for my fearful tirade.  Celia.  Now that the anger had gone, and only the fear of what she might do remained, none of Heather’s wiles and arts could distract me from it.  So I gruffly sent her downstairs to make my breakfast while I wondered what I could do.

I could simply turn and run with my tail between my legs — return to the world of monotonous grey, relentless health warnings, free credit checks, shoddy ethics, and increasingly perverse human rights.  Alternatively, I could fall in with Celia’s shabby little scheme — but I wasn’t prepared to give her that satisfaction.  I don’t think it was courage that decided me to remain and tough it out, nor stubbornness — though I’m a stubborn sod when I’m crossed.    Neither could I entirely persuade myself that I meant to do it for the sake of the villages.  If I’m honest, I did it for myself.  I liked living in Nether Slype, and I was damned if some dirty little moneygrubber was going to spoil it for me.

Therefore, I fled to the one person whom I could trust and who already knew the truth.

“So early in the morning?” quipped Ruth with a grin as she opened her cottage door.

“I’m not after that, Ruth.”

Her smile vanished.  Her perceptive eyes read the trouble in my face.  “Celia?”

“Celia.”

“You’d better come in.”

While she made me coffee, I told her all about my confrontation with Celia.

“Sounds as though you managed to get rid of her, though,” she said as she placed my steaming mug before me on the scrubbed kitchen table.

“But not for long, Ruth.  I made a lot of threats, and they have some substance to them.  As my agent, she’s contractually bound not to compromise my interests.  I could make a lot of trouble for her if she did.  I could sue her for very substantial damages, and she’d never work again in the book trade.  But she’d a devious and resourceful bitch, and she has friends of the same type.  Next thing you know, some grubby reporter will be skulking around after dark taking pictures through windows.  Celia will find an indirect way of making her point and her dirty money, and I won’t be able to stop her.”

“And you say she’s coming back in a fortnight?”

“So she says.  I’ve promised her a story.  I’m pretty sure she’ll be back for it, though I’ll fancy she’s come a day or two late, to rattle me, then try to start horse trading again.”

“But I thought you’d reached an agreement.”

I laughed.  “Celia’s agreements are like European Union referenda.  She keeps revisiting and revising them until she get’s the result she wants.  Once that happens the subject is closed for ever.  Still,” I added more soberly.  “On this occasion I can’t criticise because the sole purpose of my bargain was to stall her.  I’ve no intention of keeping to it either.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to stop her, by fair means or foul.”

“How?”

“That’s why I’m talking to you.”

“Owen, we’re not all stupid,” said Ruth a little later, as we walked along the rain-sodden bridle path towards The Seven Stripes.  All the leaves were gone now, it would be Christmas soon, and I wondered what Nether Slype would be like in the snow come January and February.  “The villages cannot stay as they are forever.  Some are already saying that we must moderate, before there’s a terrible commotion and drastic change is forced on us.”

I snorted.  She didn’t know the half of it.  “Along with prosecutions, mass counselling, mental health workers crawling over you like lice, single-issue storm troopers manning every street corner, and God knows what else?  If Celia can’t be stopped, you’ll have all that and plenty more besides coming down on you from a great height before the year’s out.  Then the moneymen will take over and turn the three villages into a theme park.  A rural counterpart of the London Dungeon where we’ll all be portrayed in wax effigy, wielding thumbscrews, branding irons, and whips.  Even before that happens, we’ll be on the front pages of every newspaper in the land for months.  There will be books, television documentaries, even a shoddy drama or two, assuming Hollywood doesn’t buy up the right first.

“The villages will be overrun with sightseers and sex tourists.  Every third-rate politician and has-been celebrity will have to be photographed in front of The Seven Stripes looking suitably aghast.  All the children will be taken into care, and the adults who escape prison will find themselves performing seals in a tawdry zoo.  We’ll all be caricatured on mugs, tee shirts, mouse mats, ball pens and Christ knows what other trash.  You’ve no idea what a dirty, squalid, money-grubbing thing the public outrage is out there beyond the three villages.   And if you dig down through all the ordure, you’ll find Celia at the bottom of it.”

Ruth’s eyes were bright with horror.  She was an intelligent woman and she clearly had some idea of what the world was like outside the three villages, but even she hadn’t grasped the full grotesque hypocrisy of modern moral Puritanism.   “Surely it won’t be quite as bad as that!”

“Worse, Ruth.  Much, much worse.”

“So,” she said after a pause.  “You’ll have to steel yourself, my dear.”

I swallowed; I wasn’t quite sure what she was suggesting, but it sounded bloody ominous.  She took my arm and stroked it gently while she spoke.

“I’ll give you all the help and support I can, though I don’t know how much use it will be.  But you have no option.  You’ll have to go to Griselda Shackles.  You’ll have to tell her everything.”

I was sweating now.  “And what will she do?”

“To you?  That depends if the rumours are right.  They say she’s in love with you.”

I snorted.  “I think she likes to play a game of being in love with me,” and yet I knew that that wasn’t true.  Somewhere within her fanciful and bizarre mind, I was sure Griselda really did think she loved me.  But she’d also told me that she would put duty first.

“I hope it’s more than that.”  Ruth squeezed my arm more tightly.  “Throw yourself on her mercy.  Tell her you’re on her side.”

“And Celia?”

“I’m sure Lady Shackles can handle her. There have been other occurrences, you see.  Not many, but I can remember a handful of disappearances.”

I too remembered.  I remembered Griselda using the term sent away.  Flavius was going to be sent away, and I distinctly recalled her saying, you wouldn’t want to be sent away would you!  And I wouldn’t want to see you go.  But sent away where?  I had asked her but, as usual, she had adroitly sidestepped the question, and that sent a trickle of fear down my spine.

“Were they all sent away, Ruth?” I asked.  “The other disappearances?  Were they sent away?”

She sighed.  “That’s the term I’ve heard used.  Whispered.  No one talks of it openly.”

“Is there fear here?  Are people here afraid of being sent away?”

She put her head on one side and cogitated awhile.  “I wouldn’t say afraid.  We’re aware that we have to behave ourselves.  But so does everyone  — outside too, I imagine.”

Oh yes.  Heaven help anyone outside who spoke or wrote a word that might be construed, however incorrectly as sexist, or racist.  They could be persecuted, their careers ruined, for the slightest breach.  But they weren’t sent away, though many might have preferred to be.

Ruth was right.  I knew that despite the retribution that might lie in store for me, I would have to go and confess everything to Griselda.  She had already made the threat.  The question was: would she carry it out?  It would be bad enough to leave this place, strange as it was, and return to the grey puritanical world, but I feared that being sent away meant something much worse.

“Do they ever come back, Ruth?”  I asked.  “The ones who’ve been sent away?”

Her large dark eyes found mine, and they melted.  “No.  Never.”

She hugged kissed me when she left me to go into The Seven Stripes.  She had asked me if I wanted to her come with me, to hold my hand, but that would compromise us both, so I refused point blank.  I wanted to keep her out of it if I could.  Her eyes melted over me again, as though I were a soldier going of to war, and we might be parting for the last time.  I had seen newsreels of such partings, and now I knew what they felt like — the soldier going to the front; the woman waving and smiling bravely while tears flooded down her face.  I turned and started to retrace my steps home with heavy heart, meaning to collect my thoughts and my words before making my way up to the hall.

*****

“Owen!”

I turned, and to my surprise, I saw Griselda on Phallus, following me down the bridle path.  Her smile was sunny and she slowed to a walk when she drew level.  Clearly, she hadn’t seen me with Ruth.

“Sorry, but I couldn’t shout out darling, in case someone heard,” she said in a stage whisper, leaning down towards me from the high saddle.  “But I shall soon, shan’t I?”

She hugged herself eagerly and giggled at the thought while I tried to raise a smile, and miserably failed.  Then her brows creased a moment and she jumped down.

“Anything the matter, darling?” she enquired, looking right and left before taking my arm.  “You look so glum.”

I stirred dead leaves with my toe.  “Well . . . .”

Her look of concern deepened.  “Don’t tell me you didn’t like my present!”

“I liked it very much,” I mumbled, trying to persuade myself that it was the thought that counted, and I had to admit to myself that I’d enjoyed whipping Heather, and shagging her afterwards, though Ruth was still more to my taste.  But my eyes were sliding over Griselda now, over her large heaving bust that was pushing open the neck of her hacking jacket, her finely developed horsewoman’s bottom, even the two teeth slightly overhanging her pouting lower lip.  I fancied her much more than I ever had before. I didn’t just want to whip her fine muscular bottom and make it wriggle.  I didn’t just want to shag her, take charge of her, and master her.  There was more to it than that.  For, eccentric as she undoubtedly was, I realised that compared with all the Celias of the world, and even the Heathers, she was a treasure.  I realised that however screwy she was, she was real, and genuine in her affections, she believed what she said, no matter how strangely she expressed it.

“And you won’t fall in love with the girl, will you!” she warned me archly.  “Because I’ll be very cross if you do.  She’s meant for your relaxation, nothing more.”

“What?  Heather?  No!  I’ve always preferred the more mature woman myself.”

“Really?”  She put her hand on her heart and gasped.  “You haven’t gone off me then?  I’d die if you went off me.  Really I would.”

“No, Griselda.  I haven’t gone off you,” I said, wondering why a woman so desperate to win my affection should send me another as a casual gift.  And how would her affection weather the tale I had to tell her.  Would love conquer all, or would she, like so many of the old school she was a relict of, put duty before all, as she had already indicated she would?  Now that I had reached my Rubicon, and I stood on the brink of perhaps losing everything, my freedom, perhaps even my life, my desire to get inside Griselda’s knickers overwhelmed me.

It occurred to me that one way out of my problem would be to master her, dominate her utterly, and dictate terms, as perhaps only I, her chosen lover, could.  Yet I knew there was no certainty of succeeding.  Hidden beneath that gushing, goofy surface was steel.  This was the woman who’d incarcerated her husband, for God’s sake.  This was the woman who had thrashed Ginny, the woman who sent people away.  I was still unclear as to precisely what that meant, but reason told me that it wasn’t pleasant.

“What then, darling?” she was asking, her eyes bright and watery with concern.  “Look.  I’m sorry I whipped your girl, but I was so cross.  Please forgive me.”  She glanced right and left again, and popped a wet kiss onto the tip of my nose.  “Please?”

It tickled and I almost laughed, despite myself.  After all, how could I criticise her for whipping Ginny?  Hadn’t I whipped Heather in the same fashion, because I too was angry?  That was where Nether Slype was different.  The people there weren’t monsters, or deviants.  They were just allowed to follow inclinations that so many outside shared, but were obliged to deny.

“Something’s the matter,” Griselda was saying, hugging me close.  “It doesn’t matter.  You can tell me.  I do love you, you know.  Really I do.”

How could she?  How could she truly love me?  And yet . . . .  “Can I come up to the hall later, and we’ll talk?” I asked hesitantly.

“Of course you can, darling.”  Something of her old coquettishness glimmered through the anxiety; she brushed my lapel with her hands.  “But you must promise to behave yourself and not take advantage of me.  Remember, we’re not married yet.”

Nor ever will be, I thought, unless you really do love me, and can forgive my grievous fault.  For the first time I prayed that she did love me.

*****

“Look, Griselda,” I said later, when we were ensconced on the sofa in her office, before a roaring fire.  This was the room where I had first met her, first masqueraded before her as Owen Flaythm, and a small voice told me — I don’t know why — that she had decided that we would talk here, rather than in her drawing room, for a reason.

I looked down at my hands and they trembled.  “I’m afraid I have a terrible confession to make, and a warning to give you.”

“Make your confession first, darling,” she said, sliding close and threading her hand through my arm.  “That way, I can forgive you first, and then you can warn me about whatever it is you want to warn me about.”  She smiled eagerly.  “So why don’t you make your confession?  After all, I already know what it is . . . Owen.  Or should I say, Peter?”

My mouth fell open and I stared at her like a loon.

“I knew you were an imposter from the outset,” she said still sitting close, with her hand threaded confidingly through my arm.  “The council didn’t.  They were just unsure, so they insisted that they keep an eye on you for a while.  That wasn’t my doing, but entirely theirs.  But I knew for sure that you weren’t Owen Flaythm, though I never said so, and I always trusted you.”

I looked at her and blinked.  Had she built a charade of love to counter my charade?  But why?

“How did you know?” I asked, dry mouthed.

“Oh, easy.  For a start, you looked nothing like any of your alleged Flaythm ancestors — we have whole corridors of portraits here — though you might have taken after your mother, of course.

“But you also answered the description of a man who enquired of Gripes, my land agent, if he might buy a cottage.  Gripes is a miserable cuss who knows how to keep the inquisitive away, but this man was uniquely insistent and asked for Lord Shackles’ address.  You might not remember, but when Gripes asked you if you had any family here, you replied with an emphatic No.”

I didn’t know where to put my face.  I couldn’t recall the estate agent asking the question, but I had no doubt that he had done so.

Griselda squeezed my hand.  “Then, low and behold, a few weeks later, up popped Owen Flaythm, either the man who’d made the earlier enquiry, or his double.”

I smiled sheepishly.  I had thought I was so clever, fooling her.

“Then, of course,” she added gently, “there was your mistake over Captain Rickett Flaythm.”  She giggled and popped a kiss on my burning neck.  “That was my little trick, I’m afraid.  You see, the admirable captain never held Admiral Shackles’ coat, but was in irons for opposing the admiral’s use of the patent flogger.  As captain of the ship, he was within his rights too.  At the subsequent court martial, he was exonerated, and the admiral was cashiered in disgrace.  It took fifty years for the bad feeling between the Shackles and the Flaythms to heal.  A Flaythm, who’d heard his family history from his grandfather, would have known that.”

“Not necessarily,” I countered weakly.

She merely snorted at the idea and jumped up.  She was a magnificently athletic woman, I noticed.

“Do you want to know what a Flaythm looks like?” she asked.

I was in a maze.  “What?”

She swept her arm round, indicating the rows of chinless ancestors all round the walls.

My mouth fell open.  “But they’re yours.”

“So they are, but they’d have been yours too.  You see, after the Rickett Flaythm incident the families fell out, so badly that they couldn’t meet without cutting each other dead.  And so it persisted until my great-great-great-grandfather Beowulf Shackles married Ernestina Flaythm in 1851.  So, you see, my darling, that it is I who has the Flaythm chin, the Flaythm nose, the Flaythm deep upper lip.”

“And could grow a magnificent moustache,” I murmured absently up at Admiral Shackles and his monstrous pile of steak tartare, hanging above me on the wainscot.  “What about him?  Do you really admire him so much?”

“Ah!”  She flung herself down next to me again and started stroking my inner thigh.  “You see, being a descendant of both Admiral Shackles and Captain Flaythm, I can take a disinterested stance.  I am not partisan, but I have to confess that I greatly respect the captain’s courage.  I admire courage above all things, Owen.”

“And the Admiralty’s spinelessness?”

She laughed.  “Your face was a picture when I extolled the virtues of the patent flogger.  I almost gave myself away. “

“But you’re not averse to whips, Griselda,” I countered carefully.

“Perhaps not, but I’ve never flogged anyone to death, nor would I.  But consider: If every captain had been as ruthless as Admiral Shackles had, there would have been no navy left within a very short while.  No one to work the ships, at least. “

“So why do you keep the picture by your desk, and that awful flogger?”

“To remind me of the price of excess.  Drastic measures are sometimes necessary and one should not baulk employing them when they are.  That’s a lesson so many outside have forgotten: pragmatism before all.”

I looked at her anew.  Even her horsiness and goofiness was part of the old England I had sought to recapture.  And with it came the old pragmatism.  They hanged and flogged in old England, but within the bounds of pragmatism.

“As if reading my thoughts, she added.  “We do what we must, my darling, but only what we must.”

“Including thrashing wives and whipping girls like Ginny and Heather?” I asked, for her justifications did not seem to entirely stack up.

“Nothing is without its price.  There are greater evils outside than here.  We have had no murder for two hundred years, no suicide for three hundred, no muggings or burglaries.  We have no loneliness or despair, no alcoholics or drug addicts, very few broken families, no homeless children, no unemployment, and our old people are well looked after within their families and the greater community family.  We have our quirks, our faults, and many outside would consider us dangerously odd.  We practise the old disciplines, perhaps to excess.  Life here is far from perfect, but it has great blessings too.  And if we gave up the quirks, and the occasional injustices, I fear we would lose the blessings with them.  That is my fear and my justification.”

We sat together in companionable silence for a couple of minutes.  She had stopped groping my thigh now, and we were holding hands.  I felt closer to her for that.

“Did I make any other mistakes?” I asked at last.

She shrugged.  “Not a mistake exactly, but once I knew you were Rupert Butler, I checked up on him and found that his real name was Peter Jenkins, published by Littlegood through his agents Merridew and Trollope.  He’s been resident in the UK all his life, and he’s very reclusive, but his few shadowy public-domain photographs bear a startling resemblance to you, my darling.”

Indeed, telling her I was Rupert Butler had been a mistake, but the big question remained.  “Then why did you allow me to come?  Why didn’t you just send me away?”

“Oh, that’s easy.”  She smiled directly into my startled eyes and blushed.  “Because I fell in love with you at first sight, silly.  Chemistry.  At least, that’s what they call it.  I knew you didn’t love me, of course — how could you?  But I hoped you might grow to.  And I believed your reasons for wanting to live here were deep and genuine.  At least the man who’d visited Gripes seemed desperate to live here.

“I knew you might be dangerous, but I was prepared to take the risk.  I behaved foolishly when we first met.  I’m a terribly frustrated woman, you see, and you drove me right over the edge — I couldn’t contain myself.  Were I a beautiful woman, you’d have lapped it up.  I’m not, so I kept my distance for a while, hoping to start again, more sensibly.  But every time I met you, I lost control again.  I kept reverting to an oversexed teenage girl.  You press my button, Owen, like no one else ever has.”

“Peter.  My name’s Peter.”

She emphatically shook her head.  “No!  It’s Owen.  You are Owen Flaythm now, and will be for so long as you behave yourself and remain.”  She hugged me more closely.  “That’s not my threat, my dear.  I don’t make the rules here, though I have influence.  The council makes them.  A few years ago, I had hoped that a new generation of councillors might realise that we had to moderate our lifestyle here, that we couldn’t go on as we do forever without consequences.  But the reverse has happened.  They’ve dug their heads into the sand as small minds do when threatened with inevitability.  They’ve even reversed some of the moderating decisions their fathers made.  So I need allies, Owen.  I need allies if we’re going to salvage anything here.”

She looked deeply into my eyes, and I saw she was pleading.  “But that’s not the only reason I want you to stay.  I’m desperately in love with you.  I know you’re not in love with me but—”

“I’m becoming very fond of you, Griselda

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I know, but . . . .”

I had meant to play up to her, make preposterous overture to her on the mistaken assumption that she was essentially silly and believed her own nonsense.  But I now realised that would be a mistake.  Griselda was no one’s fool, and moreover, I realised that I liked her, despite her violent streak and her love of whips.  And the better I knew her the more I liked her.  I would miss Ruth if I went away, but for some strange unfathomable reason, I would miss Griselda more.  But I knew I would have to be honest with her and not overplay my hand, the hand that was now stealing its way round her shoulder and drawing her closer.

“You’re a one-off, Griselda,” I said.  “I’ve known a lot of women and I’ve bedded a fair number — and some very attractive ones at that.  But I’ve never met one quite like you.  Added to which, you have a magnificent bust.”

She kissed my ear and giggled.  “That was honest at least. Would you like to feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“My magnificent bust.  I know you’ve always liked it.  You ogled it when we first met.  But you can only put your hand inside my blouse.  You’ll have to give me greater assurances before you get inside my bra?”

“What about your knickers?”

“Greater assurances still.  I’m prepared to give you everything I have, my darling — but not for nothing.  You won’t get a one night stand out of me.”

“You’re a sensible and intelligent woman too,” I said unbuttoning her blouse and sliding my hand across her bra cup until I found her nipple and rolled it between finger and thumb.

“So,” she said, purring as her nipple hardened, and stroking my inner thigh so that I hardened too.  “What’s this warning you have to give me?”

I told Griselda all about Celia.  Every detail.  At the outset, I tried to play down Ruth’s part in it, but it soon became clear that Griselda believed Ruth had handled the situation well.  We agreed to meet again several days hence, the three of us, and formulate a plan.  It was clear that we would have to ambush and apprehend Celia.  It was also clear that we would have to find out whom else she might have apprised of her fraud, and where she might have concealed evidence.

“Once we know,” said Griselda crisply, “we have agencies who can deal with it.”

“The same agencies that take people away?”

She looked away.  “Their close cousins, at least.”

“And where do they go, Griselda?  The people who are sent away?”

She shrugged, and immediately, I felt a distance grow between us.  “Far away,” she said at last. “Where no one will ever find them.  I don’t know on an instance-by-instance basis — I’d rather not.  Even Flavius has his price, you know.  You’ve no idea how much some Arabs will pay for an English milord — even a limp-pricked wonder like Flavius.  I’ve wanted to be rid of him for years.  All I need is an excuse to be rid of him, and this Celia might provide the expedient I’ve been looking for.  I wouldn’t want to give them the real reason why he so disgusts me.”

“Which is?”

She pulled a face.  “It’s too disgusting for words.”

“Go on.  I assume it has something to do with the girls you send down there.”

“Yes but it’s not what you think.  He doesn’t whip them.  That’s just talk.    Flavius likes urine and scat, dear.  He likes to use the girls as his toilet, and when he’s suitably anointed them, and smeared it all over them, he likes them to fellate him.  It’s the only thing that gives him an erection, you see.  On our first night be told me his requirements.  I refused.  So he whipped me, tied me spread-eagled on the bed, and used me as his lavatory.  That gave him an erection, which he promptly stuck down my throat — all twelve inches of it — and almost asphyxiated me.  He went to the dungeon next morning, and he’s stayed there ever since.”

My stomach churned.  “And is that what he does to the girls?”

“Not quite.  He’s chained.  He can’t overpower them or ram his thing down their throats as he did to me.  We have a few girls who aren’t too fussy what he smears on them, and they’re happy to suck him off provided they’re well paid — and I do pay them well.  But Flavius is an animal.  I’m desperate to be shot of him.”

I could see her point of view.

She warned me that extracting the information from Celia might prove unpleasant — and I knew that unpleasant by Nether Slype standards would be very unpleasant indeed — but she claimed there was no choice in the matter and I couldn’t demur.  I knew what she meant.  I knew that the methods used to extract information would be extreme if Celia didn’t cooperate.  But I had few qualms about that.  Celia was prepared to destroy any number for her dirty money, besides, I’ve always believed that whatever comeuppance blackmailers, extortionists and their like receive, is their just deserts.  Even so, Celia’s punishment, when it came, was draconian by any standard.

1. Celia’s ordeal

I threw myself into my work, but the calendar was always in the corner of my eye.  The days dragged but, even so, the fortnight gradually ran its inevitable course.

But Celia didn’t come to my door when the time had finally expired.  The days dripped past, like a slow irritating tap: fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and I began to wonder if she would come at all.  I hoped that she had maybe decided to shelve her money-spinner, but I wasn’t sanguine about that.  More likely she’d found some other way and even now she was out there in the dark, with a new accomplice, probably some shabby reporter, photographing, making notes.  We had men staked out in the woods all round the village, more men at both ends of my lane, and others round the back in the footpath and the bridle path, but the type of creature Celia would use would have a nose for that sort of surveillance.  I wondered whether we shouldn’t simply have placed men in the house to apprehend her when she arrived, assuming she did come.  It was seventeen days now.

I tried to concentrate on my work.  As we’d agreed, I left lights on in my working room only, and the curtains were slightly parted so anyone spying on the house would see me working alone.  Somehow I didn’t imagine Celia would stand out in the lane, looking in.  She would be more subtle; she would take me by surprise.

There was a harsh rapping at the front door.  I jumped up.  I had expected her to creep round the back.  When I opened it, it was to one of Griselda’s senior foresters.

“We’ve got her, Mr Flaythm, sir.  She’s on her way to the hall now.  You’re to follow.”

I took a deep breath.  It was a relief in a way, but I knew it would also be a trial.  I stuck my chin out.

“Right.  Let’s go.”

They had taken her downstairs, not to the dungeons, I was told, but to the cellars where they had a room equipped for interrogation.  We descended stone steps, and walked purposefully along a narrow, stone-walled and stone-flagged passage with heavy studded doors on either side of us.  It was like a scene from a Spanish Inquisition film I had seen years before.

The interrogation room did nothing to dispel the memory of the film.  I noticed immediately that there were some manacles attached to a wall, and several suspension chains on pulleys hung from the ceiling, though at present the ends of these were gathered neatly in wall rings.  In the centre of the room stood a large table, heavily built like a carpenter’s bench, with restraint straps fixed to the four corners.  It was December now, and a fire roared in the huge fireplace.  I noticed that several irons were thrust into the flames.  For effect surely.

As I entered, I saw Celia sitting in a chair with a heavy guard on either side of her.  Thwacks was busying himself with a decanter of sherry and some glasses.  Griselda stood by the fire, clad in boots, jodhpurs and hacking jacket, her back to Celia.  As I watched, she stooped and withdrew one of the irons.  Its tip glowed red.  She spat on it and it hissed for a brief second.

“You’ll answer our questions one way or the other,” she was saying calmly, as if in a dream.  “Be sensible and make it easy on yourself.  Once we start extracting answers, we won’t stop until we’re completely satisfied with them, and then we’ll carry on a while longer . . . just to be absolutely sure.  You won’t like that, Celia.  Really you won’t.”

Celia snorted.  “What’s this — the village pantomime?  You bumpkins really don’t think you can frighten me, do you!”

Griselda replaced the iron and walked slowly back to Celia’s chair, when she stooped over her, her hands firmly placed on its arms.  “Stupid woman!  What can I do to make you understand the gravity of your predicament?”

Celia laughed now.  She had clearly not been abused in any way — not yet.  She was in a tweed skirt and thorn proof jacket, all elegantly tailored by the look of them.  Nothing was scuffed, torn, or muddied, except for her boots.  Her makeup was unsmeared, not a hair of her head was out of place.  Perhaps they should have knocked her about a bit when they were bringing her here, I thought.  That would have stripped away some of her cockiness.

“Get over yourself you horse-faced bitch,” she laughed directly into Griselda’s face.  “I already have you for assault and false imprisonment.  I’ll sue you for every penny you’ve got.  I’ll have this crumbling dump, your poxy village, the lot and turn it into a theme park, and I’ll hire all your dumb yokels to perform for the crowds.  I’ll make millions.”

“Yes, fine,” replied Griselda wearily, standing and walking away.  “In the meantime we want the names of anyone you’ve divulged your discoveries to.  The locations of any relevant documents and photographs—”

“Go toss yourself on your dildo, horsey!”

“Complete with access passwords—”

Celia sighed.  “Oh, fuck off, you plummy cunt!”

Griselda stepped forwards, stooped, and placed her hands once more on the arms of Celia’s chair.  She leaned right forward into her prisoner, so that their faces almost touched.

“You’ve had your say, lady.  Now I’ll have mine.  We’re not interested in your career and your fortune, but only with protecting our way of life, which you have threatened for your own pecuniary ends.  Owen cautioned you not to proceed—”

“Owen!” scoffed Celia, but Griselda took no notice.

“Owen cautioned you not to proceed, but your greed was unstoppable.  You have been arrested in the act of commissioning a crime against us that we deem unforgivable.  Whatever you might think of us, we have done you no harm.”

“No,” sneered Celia — she had guts for sure.  “But what about the beaten women, the—”

“Save your sermonising for the gutter press!” scathed Griselda.  “Your pious morals run no deeper than your greasy pocket or the bubble celebrity you hoped to achieve.  You’d sell any man, woman, or child if the price was right, and we both know it, so for God’s sake don’t bore us with your infantile preaching.    You would have destroyed us for gain, paltry gain, and you leave us with no choice but to destroy you instead.   We have laws that have stood for centuries. You will be tried, but before you are, your confession will be required.  If you’re wise, you’ll write your confession now, and sign it.  If you’re a fool, you’ll try our patience and we’ll extract the confession the hard way.  I’ll give you one opportunity to answer.  Which is it to be?”

“Stupid, pony cunt!” sneered Celia.  “Go shag your fucking horse!” Then she hawked and spat in Griselda’s face.  Griselda recoiled backwards as if she’d been struck across the face.  She hovered above her prisoner for a moment, wiping away the spittle with a small lace handkerchief. Then she turned to the men and her face was stone.

“Strip her!”

I stood impotently and watched as the men do it.  They did it the easy way.  One pinioned her while the other took a large pair of what looked like sheep-shears and cut up the front of her skirt and through her belt, and then up the front of the jacket.  The skirt fell away and the jacket hung open from her shoulders.  He then ripped off her tights and knickers in two seconds, so ruthlessly that her legs left the ground.  Taking the neck of her sweater, he ripped that down over her shoulders with such force that it tore down the sternum.  Feeling inside for her bra and wrenched it out so that it snapped in the middle.  The other man pushed her forwards and pulled away the tattered remains of her jacket, sweater and bra.  Despite her frantic struggles, she was naked in less than fifteen seconds.  She tried to cover her pussy and tits with her hands, but these were pulled away and forced behind her back.

All the while, she screamed obscenities.  As a writer, I’ve always loathed the descent into verbal obscenity, not from prudishness, but because of its sheer stultifying monotony.

“You fucking cunts!” she screamed.  “You fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking cunts!  Let me go you cunts!  You fucking cunts!”  And so on and so on, though it was amusing to see how easily the veneer of urbane sophistication was stripped from Celia, along with her clothes.

“Strap her on the table!” snapped Griselda, as soon as Celia was naked.

One man seized her thrashing ankles, the other held her arms pinioned, and they swung her up onto the table.  She fought like a fury but they were far too strong for her.  One held her ankles hard down on the bench top while the other restrained her wrists with two straps that were already fastened to the wood near the corners.  Then they took an ankle each and strapped those to the bench corners too, leaving her spread-eagled.

“You can go!” said Griselda imperiously, looking away.  The men nodded towards her and obediently left, leaving Celia naked and writhing impotently on the bench top.

I noticed that her blonde pubic hair was cut in a Brazilian.  I remember being mildly surprised.  I’d assumed that she shaved it, though I hadn’t thought of it much — I’d never fancied the bitch.  Nevertheless, I couldn’t resist wandering across to the table and stroking it, not for any sexual pleasure, for I felt none, but because of the power it gave me over her helplessness.  She tried to spit at me too, but her mouth was dry.  I saw from here eyes that she was terrified now.

“How the hell are you going to get away with this you demented fucking throwbacks!” she was screaming, squirming, trying and failing again to spit in my face.  “God, I’ll sue you for this you fucking cunts.  I’ll fucking sue for fucking millions I will, you fucking cunts.”

Meanwhile, I heard a deferential cough at my elbow.

“Sherry, sir — er, before we start.”

I turned to see Thwacks at my elbow, proffering a silver tray on which stood two glasses.

I took mine and he offered the other to Griselda, who threw it back with one gulp and then stared hard at it, as though it were the useless end of a broken lifeline.  Then she looked up into my face and here own was ashen.

From outside my fiend of vision, Thwacks coughed again, not deferentially this time but insistently.  Griselda shivered and seemed momentarily paralysed.  She seemed to have shrunk, and I realised her true position here.  She was not in charge, but merely a figurehead, acting as the council expected her too, according to the laws the council had passed.  She had been acting on those laws when she took steps to apprehend and arrest Celia.  And whatever she did now, she would do under those same orders.

I gently took the empty glass from her hand and replaced it with my own full one.

“Here,” I said gently.  “Drink this too.”

She looked at the glass, and then at me once more, and I saw that she realised I understood.  It seemed to bring her back to life.

“Thanks, Owen.”

She knocked back the drink and blew.  “Carry on, Thwacks!” she barked, much as I imagined Admiral Lord Shackles would have done.  But instead of looking on, she turned abruptly away…

Thwacks laid down the tray and took a long wooden box from one of the shelves.  Carrying it across to the bench, he laid it on between Celia’s struggling feet.  He opened it and retrieved a long needle, like a knitting needle, highly burnished with a slender, tapering point.  I imagined that it was not only viciously sharp, but also incredible strong.  He walked to the head of the bench and held the thing before Celia’s horrified eyes.

“No!” she screamed.  “No!”

Her breasts were quite small, but well-shaped and firm, standing up like two conical hillocks crowned with brown autumnal trees.  With his free hand, Thwacks seized the left one by the nipple and pulled it vertically so it stretched, as you stretch a balloon before inflating it.

“Get off my tits you randy fucking cunt!” yelled Celia.

Thwacks ignored her.  With the precision and detachment of a man decanting port, he inserted the long needle into Celia’s left breast, through the aureole, just behind the nipple.  She screamed.

“AAAAAAARGH!”

While she screamed and writhed pointlessly against her restraint, I watched the punctured breast with fascination.  The skin on the nearer side of her aureole started to pucker and erupt to a blunt point.  Then, with a piercing scream from Celia, it burst and the needle emerged from it.  Celia left breast was pierced right through, now.  Still she thrashed and screamed.

“AAAAAAARGH!  AAAAAAARGH!  AAAAAAARGH!  Pull it out you sadistic fucking cunt!  AAAAAAARGH!  AAAAAAARGH!”

Thwacks ignored her utterly.  With slow deliberation, he walked round the head of the table, seized Celia’s right breast by the nipple and stretched it vertically too.  Slowly and precisely he inserted the needle through the right aureole, also just behind the nipple.  Celia was shrieking like a mad thing now, her whole body thrashing against her restraints.

Foolishly, I thought that was the end of the softening up and Griselda would now start the interrogation.  I watched her as she stood like a statue, her back to the table, her arms folded tight, as if she was cast in bronze and unable to move.  Surely, she would step forward now and start bawling questions.  But Celia’s torment was only starting.

Thwacks went back to the box.  He took out two pierced rings with wing nuts.  One he attached to the sharp end of the needle, above the tapering point, so that Celia’s punctured and quivering breasts couldn’t slip off the sharp end.  The other, I noticed, was slotted.  He snapped it onto the very centre of the needle, equidistant between the two swelling nipples and turned the wing nut, locking it tight.  Walking slowly to the wall, he freed one the suspension chains from its tether and attached the end of it to the ring at the needle’s centre.  Reaching out, he grasped a pulley rope and pulled.

Celia’s back spasmed and arched as the pulley stretched her punctured breasts skywards.

“AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGH!”

Tethered to the corers of the bench, her spread-eagled hands and feet scrabbled desperately to gain a purchase on the smooth wooden surface.   She wasn’t screaming now; her head was thrown back, her mouth was open like a landed fish’s, her lips reaching, as if for air, and she was breathing in low moaning gasps.

Thwacks now returned to his box and withdrew another, much smaller box of black plastic with some leads and plugs attached.  He inserted a small plug into the needle’s blunt, bulbous end, and the other he plugged into the wall socket.  He snapped a switch on the black box.

I expected to see a violent, jerking reaction as electric current surged through Celia’s breasts, but there was no immediate change.  Seconds ticked by.  Celia twitched and whimpered, her back arched, her hands and feet pitifully scrabbling to relieve her mutilated breasts of their cruel tension.  Then, as I watched, the panting became more bovine, Celia’s hands and feet scrabbled ever more frantically at the wooden surface, as if for life itself, and I saw that the needle’s bright slender surface was growing dull.  Bloody hell, I thought.  It’s heating up.  Celia’s stomach muscles flexed now with a grisly gyrating rhythm, her whole abdomen rolling like an expert belly dancer, only belly dancers don’t pant and scream so.

“AAAAAAGH — AAAAAAGH — AAAAAAGH — AAAAAAGH!”

For with the heat she had found her voice again.  Much as I loathed the bitch, I had to grit my teeth to endure that terrible screaming.

Still her heels drummed on  the bench top as she strained to spread her thighs wide as she could, as if giving birth, trying desperately to bend her knees and get some purchase on the table with her feet — anything to take some weight from her stretched and burning breasts.  It seemed she couldn’t spread her legs wide enough.  She jerked her wide-open vulva into the air like a shameless, desperate whore, only whores don’t scream like that, even when they’re getting a thrashing.  But if I expected to see her breasts sizzling on the red-hot poker, I was to be disappointed for a moment.

“Switch it off!  Let her down!” snapped Griselda, jerking round, as if from a trance.

Without a single facial muscle twitching, Thwacks bowed deeply.  He walked slowly to the black box and snapped the switch, and grasping the suspension chain, he lowered Celia to the bench top, where she lay gasping and groaning.

Griselda looked down at her dispassionately, but I could see that her face was grey.

“Let her recover her breath and her wits,” she said.  “In the meantime, we’ll have another drink.  God knows I need one.”

We didn’t speak as we drank our sherry; in fact, we avoided each other’s eyes now.  I’ve since learned since that in this situation you do.  There can be no small talk in a torture chamber while the necessary work is being done, not unless you’re completely hardened to it.  Griselda wasn’t.  I could see that from her stony expression, and I noticed that her hand shook.  It was a necessary duty for her and the sherry was a comfort for her, not a ghoulish embellishment.  She had the stomach for Celia’s torture — just about, but she derived no relish from it.  I suppose, if I’m honest, I enjoyed seeing Celia squirm, at the outset at least.  How I loathed the evil bitch!  And for that reason too I couldn’t meet Griselda’s eye.  This was different from the sort of spanking and whipping that was common currency in nether Slype; this was brutal, mediaeval.  Yet from small acorns do great oak trees grow.  If you spank your wife for mowing over the cowslips, what do you do to serious and dangerous offenders?  I remembered thinking that as I watched the man in the garden, relentlessly strapping his wife’s bare and quivering bottom.  Now I was finding out.

Griselda finished her sherry and walked across to the bench like a woman in a dream.  She stood there for a moment gazing down at her victim with pity.

“Look,” she said in as reasonable a voice as she could muster, though it wobbled all the same.  “Agree to tell us what we want to know and the pain will stop.  Understand?  This can stop now if you see sense.  Refuse, and it will get worse.  Believe me, it can get a lot worse, and you will tell us in the end.  You must see that resistance is useless.  Well?”

Celia’s eyes rotated glassily, her mouth worked but no sound came.  I had no idea what was going on in her reeling mind.

“Take your time,” said Griselda.  “I don’t want to hurt you more than I must.  Just give me some sign that you will cooperate.”

Celia’s mouth worked as though trying to summon spittle, but she had none to spit.  So she clenched her teeth for a mighty effort.

“FUCKING, FUCKING, FUCKING CUNT!”

She was mad.  The torture had driven her mad.   I knew she was stubborn but this was lunacy.  Griselda turned to me, and I could see from the pain in her eyes that she wanted the torture to stop but couldn’t stop it until Celia talked.

I too stepped up to the bench and stood beside her.  “For God’s sake, Celia,” I muttered, despite myself.  “Do yourself a favour.  Talk.  Resistance is useless.”

“HORSEFUCKING CUNTS!”

I sighed; Griselda sighed and seemed to crumble.  Whatever was done to Celia now, she’d well and truly brought it on herself.

Griselda turned away, and poured her own sherry now, her back to the bench, and downed it with a noisy slurp.

“Carry on, Thwacks!” she said woodenly.

Yet if Griselda loathed what she had to do, Thwacks didn’t.  He remained every inch the butler, and his face was impassive, but I glanced at his eyes.  They glinted with relish and the tip of his tongue slicked across his dry-as-dust lips, moistening them.

“Ma’am,” he bowed.

He returned to his box and withdrew another shorter and more slender needle. Griselda and I were standing at the foot of the table and we clearly saw him reach down into Celia’s crotch, push his finger into the vulva and stroke up her clitoris.  Griselda flinched and turned away.  Celia groaned, though whether from pleasure, pain, or ghastly anticipation, I’m not sure, but she shrieked like a banshee as he took her clitoris between his fingernails and inserted the needle behind it.

“If we sell her to the Arabs, ma’am,” he observed casually.  “It will at least save them the trouble of circumcising her.”

Griselda visibly shuddered.  “For pity’s sake just do it!” she snapped.  “Get it over with!”

Thwacks remained inscrutable but his eyes glinted again.  “Ma’am.”

I knew that the bastard was loving every minute of it.  Was this why Griselda hated him so?  I watched the deliberate slowness with which he plugged the lead attached to the shorter needle into the small box, the way he lingered before seizing the pulley, stretching Celia’s breasts towards the ceiling again, and clicking the switch.

This time, we didn’t have long to wait before the terrible screaming tore the air.  As Celia writhed, her arched body twisting in mid air, the needles canted this way and that, like rowboat tossed in a storm, her elastic smouldering breasts twisted and stretched as though she was desperately trying to rip them off their slender burning shaft, and lower down her crotch gyrated and pulled at the shorter needle in the same way — anything to be rid of the agony.   Small coils of smoke started to rise, and with them the savoury smell of roasting meat.  Never before had that smell of cooking so sickened me.

While she thrashed and screamed, the needles started to glow red.  Thwacks turned to us and inquired discreetly.  “More sherry, ma’am, sir?”

Griselda flinched away from him, gritting her teeth.  “For pity’s sake!”

I too declined, but unlike Griselda’s, my eyes were riveted to the obscene contorting thing on the bench.  Celia twisted impossibly in air like a pitchforked serpent as she danced her obscene limbo dance on the bench top. She’d had screamed herself hoarse.  Now she was bellowing like a stag, but no stag ever bellowed like Celia did.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

“How long does this go on for?” I asked Thwacks, unable to tear my tear my eyes away from the horror.

“Until the good lady decides to be reasonable, sir,” he answered impeccably, and without emotion, as a butler ought, and he dusted a mote of dust from his black tailcoat sleeve.  “But if I may say so, sir, I don’t think she’ll inconvenience you for very much longer.”

Celia evacuated her bladder now.  Such were her contortions that the golden rain showered and fell all over the bench and the floor.  Griselda fled to a far corner of the room and I followed, but Thwacks, the fastidious butler, pulled a distressed face, set down the sherry bottle, donned pair of yellow rubber gloves, and started to mop it up with a large sponge.  The screaming became unbearable, the stench became unbearable, and every time Celia drew breath, I could hear her breasts sizzling horrible.  I felt sick.  Griselda covered her ears and sagged against the wall for support.  I put out my hand to support her but she irritably knocked it away.

“Not now, Owen!”

Meanwhile, Thwacks drew close and coughed.   We could only just hear his voice above the inhuman screaming and the hiss of burning flesh.  “Excuse my interrupting, ma’am, sir, but I think the lady is trying to tell us that she’s ready to cooperate now.”

Griselda shut her eyes with immense relief and drew her hand across her eyes.  “Yes, yes, for pity’s sake.  Switch the wretched thing off and let her down.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

The men came back in and took Celia off the table.  She hung between them like a doll, her face expressionless, as if the woman had already fled elsewhere, and only the charred throbbing flesh remained.  Her nipples and aureoles were scarred, black, and swollen right out of shape, and her crotch still quivered uncontrollably and she struggled to keep her thighs as wide as possible, for she could not bear the pain of closing her legs.

“You understand, madam,” said Thwacks a little later, after they had lashed Celia to a St Andrew’s cross, “that your ordeal so far has been contrived simply to make certain parts of your body receptive to persuasion.  For example . . . . “

He reached down between her legs.  I saw his fingers go up into her crotch as she whimpered and struggled.  Suddenly, the fingers gave a tremendous jerk.  Celia leapt against her bonds and screamed her lungs out.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

I felt Griselda flinch at my side, but she said nothing.  Thwacks turned to us.  “I think the lady has regained her voice and is receptive to persuasion, ma’am, sir.”

Griselda put down her riding crop and when she addressed Celia, I could see that her face was drained of colour.  “Now!  Let’s get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.”  She swallowed and her lips trembled.  “You know by now what we are prepared to do.  If you refuse to satisfactorily answer out questions, I shall order the men to put you back on the bench again.  So in your own best interests, cooperate.  Please cooperate.  Understood.”

Celia groaned, her hanging mouth gaped, her eyes were dead and glazed, her chest laboured, and her breasts, recently so ripe and shapely, hung limp like dead, blackened meat about her lower ribs.  She was scarcely recognisable as the cocky woman who had strutted into my house with demands two-and-a-half weeks previously.

“Now,” said Griselda briskly.  “We need the names of any other person you have told about your discoveries here.

“Peter.”  The word was only just recognisable.

“You mean Owen.”

“Yes, yes. Whatever.”  She whimpered.  “Please stop the pain.”

Griselda licked her lips.  “All in good time.  Who else?”

“No one.  Please.”

“I said, who else!”

“No one, I swear.  Please.  I swear.  Pleeeease!”

Thwacks stepped forward again.  When she saw him approaching her, Celia started to struggle against the bonds.  Griselda turned away and her face was ghastly.  Celia screamed even before Thwacks touched her, but when her reached down into her crotch, took her swollen clitoris between his finger and thumb, and squeezed, she howled like a woman possessed.

“AAAAAAAA—AAAAAAAA—AAAAAAA—AAAAARGH!”

He stepped away again.

“Who else?” asked Griselda, still looking away.

“No one.  Please, please , don’t let him hurt me again,” sobbed Celia, so pitifully that I almost felt sorry for her.  “Please.  I’ll tell you anything.  Please . . .  please . . . please . . .”

“And where have you stored the photographs?”

“In my car, on my laptop.  Nowhere else.  Please believe me.  Please.  Please!  Pleeeease!”

She howled and leapt again as Thwacks’ fingers went to work once more on her swollen clitoris.

“PLEEEEASE!  PLEEEEASE!  PLEEEEASE!”

Thwacks’ fingers went to work again.

“Where else?”

“Nowhere.  PLEEEEASE!  PLEEEEASE!  PLEEEEASE!”

“Where on your Internet backup?”

“Nowhere.  OH PLEEEEASE!”

“On which flash drive?”

“None.  PLEEEEASE!”

Thwacks was still pinching and manipulating her clitoris, clearly enjoying it, though like all true sadists, he looked ever regretful, thought I noticed how he lingered at his work.  Celia thrashed, pleaded, and screamed incessantly.

“AAAAARGH. No. Pleeeease.  I’ve told you everything!  PLEEEEASE.”

“Perhaps,” said Griselda patiently.  “Let’s just go through it again to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.

Celia’s face hung grey and haggard.  She shuddered and her hips began to eave in a grisly rotating dance as Thwacks’ fingers delved back into her crotch.

“PLEEEASE.  No!  PLEEEASE!”  she whimpered.  “Not more.  No more.  I can’t stand any more.  PLEEEASE! “

The merciless fingers jerked and pinched.  Celia leapt and bellowed her lungs out.

“PLEEEEASE!  PLEEEEASE!  PLEEEEASE!  I’ve told you everything!  Mercy!   MERCY!  Pleeeease, I beg you!”  And her voice trailed away to a sob.

Griselda turned enquiringly to me.  Her face was as grey as Celia’s.  I too must have looked shaky.  I felt sick, and my legs trembled.  Griselda and I stared at each other like cold ashes.

“Well, Owen?”

“She’d tell us if she knew,” I whispered hoarsely.

“I agree.”

“I know she’s telling the truth,” I said, not because I felt for Celia, but because I believed it to be so.  “She cares for no one; she’d hold out for no one.  And she’d have kept her little scam to herself for as long as possible, hoping to maximise the proceeds.  It’s the way the bitch works.”

“Well,” Griselda demanded of the grey haggard wretch on the cross, for that’s all she was now.  “Have you told us everything?”

Thwacks’ eager fingers delved again.

“Yes, yes, YES.  Oh, for God’s sake!  Pleeeease stop the terrible pain!  MERCY!  PLEEEASE!”

Griselda considered for a moment and then nodded at no one in particular.  She turned to Thwacks.  “It’s finished!”

But Thwacks’ fingers still hovered close to Celia’s crotch.  I saw the spasm of disappointment flicker across his rigid countenance.  The fingers twitched and moved minutely back towards Celia.  Griselda snatched up her riding crop, stamped across, and cut him viciously across the wrist.  He yelped and sprang back, nursing his injured wrist and glaring fury like a cornered beast.

“Are you deaf?” Griselda screamed at him, and her face was terrible to behold.  “I told you it was over.  Clean her up!  Give her something for the pain!  Call the council for tomorrow morning!  Move yourself!”

Thwacks fought to control himself.  His visible anger flickered, and then slowly faded behind his inscrutable countenance.  He bowed stiffly.  “Very good ma’am.”

*****

The woodsman drove me back home in the Land Rover.  He’d been one of those who had stripped Celia, and strapped her to the bench and the St Andrew’s cross.  We said nothing on the way to the village.  Such procedures breed reticence.  I studied him.  He looked an ordinary and decent enough type.  I had always supposed I was too.  Imperative breeds brutality.

1. Trial and retribution

He picked me up again and drove me back to Nether Towers next morning. I had noticed how quiet Ginny was at breakfast.  She usually prattled, sometimes irritatingly so, but that morning she was as quiet as a mouse.  I noticed how heads turned and stares followed us as we drove round the green and took the hill road to the Towers.   It seemed that everyone knew something terrible was happening, though not what and why, but terrible all the same.  Even inside the Land Rover, I could feel the atmosphere.

The tribunal was held in the mansion’s great hall.  It was a harsh affair and I wondered why they bothered with it.  But people seem to feel better when the ceremony of law is observed, no matter how bizarrely.  In the event, horror descended into farce, and I’ve sometimes wondered since if the farce was, in its way, worse than the horror.

The council of ten sat across the bench.  According to the rule, if their decision was hung, Griselda would decide the outcome, but that wouldn’t happen today as Ned Grackley had died the previous month and not yet been replaced, so there were only nine of them.

The chairman read the charge.  The prisoner wasn’t asked to plead because guilt was assumed.  Like all English trials back in the seventeenth century and earlier, it was merely a demonstration of guilt, not an enquiry into it.  Celia was asked to affirm her confession of the night before.  She was still naked and would remain naked now until she left Nether Slype.  This was symbolic and deeply traditional, though to me unnecessary.  But to the Nether Slypers, she was no longer a person, and as such, she possessed nothing, not even a stitch of clothing. She would take nothing away with her, least of all dignity, so not even the smallest pair of knickers was required protect the modesty she could no longer possess.

But Celia cared no longer for modesty or dignity, even if she had been allowed any.  She dangled before the council, her face grey and haggard like an old woman’s, a man holding her up on either side, her private parts exposed for inspection.  Everyone could see the punctures near the swollen, blistered, blue-black tips of her abused breasts, and you didn’t have to look hard to see the scorch marks in her pubic hair, or where her mutilated and distended clitoris poked out like a bloody chancre between the misshapen lips of her pudenda.  And, of course, she couldn’t close her legs.  The way her guards held her, shoulders back, they splayed apart and her whole crotch was displayed to casual view, as if she was offering her tortured sex to the council for their pleasure.

But these clear marks of excruciating torture earned her no pity.

“The prisoner will stand forward!”

Her two guards jerked her forwards, her mutilated breasts swung against each other and she gasped.

“The prisoner will affirm that her confession was freely and frankly given.”

Celia seemed not to hear what she was told; she was in a daze or another world entirely.  She hung between her guards like damp washing, open mouthed, dead eyed, and uncomprehending.

Thwacks stepped up to her.  “The word is yes, madam.”

Her eyes rotated towards him her mouth lolled.  “Wha?”  She couldn’t even articulate the word.

“You say yes to the judges, madam.”

“Wha?  No . . . I . . . thy . . . .”

Thwacks turned to the bench and coughed apologetically.  The nine councillors gazed intently at their table top while he gently took hold of the tips Celia’s mutilated breasts and started rubbing her nipples with his thumbs.  She gasped and gurgled, her body twitching, but in a half-hearted sort of way, her head lolling back as she struggled pointlessly against the men holding her, who also looked away.

“The word we’re looking for is yes, madam.”

“Wha?  No  . . .  I—”

Thwacks viciously twisted the blue-back swellings.  Celia’s legs thrashed in the air and she screamed a jagged, blood-chilling scream.

“AAAAAAAARGH!  YES!  YES!  YES!”

“The record will state that the prisoner confessed of her own free will,” said the chairman, white faced, but otherwise unmoved as he stared hard at his fingernails.  “And without undue duress.”  He swallowed and turned obsequiously to Griselda.  “I believe, your ladyship, that you have evidence to give?”

Griselda took a deep breath and rose. “Only insofar as it links the woman to the man.  Her guilt is plain.”

The chairman simpered.  “As your ladyship says.” He turned to the court and bellowed.  “Bring the man forward.”

I noted that the council never used the prisoners’ names, I supposed this was because the prisoners, no longer being recognised as people, had none.  This was the most refined indignity.

Meanwhile, the man who had been Flavius was dragged forward also naked.  I had never seen him before and he appeared much older than I expected, though that might have been the result of madness and years in a dungeon.  He was short and grey haired, with a distended paunch and a flaccid penis that hung down to his knees.  His lower lip drooped like a simpleton’s.

“Has the man confessed?”

Thwacks stepped forward again, lifted Flavius’s penis revealing a distended but very full testicle sack.  Taking hold of the testicles in his hand, he jerked and squeezed.  Flavius jolted, his eyes popped, and he shrieked like a woman.

“It sounded to like yes to me, sir,” commented Thwacks with impeccable gravity.

“I heard it quite distinctly,” agreed the chairman, staring hard at the tabletop in front of him. “The record will state that the prisoner confessed of his own free will, without undue duress.”  He then turned obsequiously to Griselda.  “In your own time, your ladyship.”

Griselda rehearsed the story she, Ruth, and I had concocted, though I’m being overmodest putting it like that.  Primarily, it was my tale.

She said that Celia was a freelance reporter — the confession she’d signed with an unrecognisable squiggle said as much — hoping to sell a story about Nether Slype to the Sunday press.  We’d recovered pictures from her laptop, left in her car a mile back up the lane from the village.  These we showed to the council as ‘proof’ of the allegation.

Somehow — we weren’t sure how, perhaps through his family — she had discovered, or suspected, that Griselda’s husband was being kept under restraint at the Towers.  Her proposed coup was not only to publish her scurrilous account, but to produce Flavius as living proof.  The two had conferred and agreed to this, their confessions confirmed it.

“But, excuse me, you ladyship,” queried the chairman deferentially.  “How did they do this?  My understanding is that your husband has been incarcerated in the dungeons for years, on account of his — er — dangerous propensities.”

“She knew the times when Thwacks and I would be out and about the estates,” lied Griselda with remarkable steadiness.  “And when there are few servants left in and around the Towers.  It was not difficult for her to gain access, hide in one of the unused rooms, and make her way down to the dungeons when the coast was clear.”

“You must improve your security, your ladyship,” simpered the chairman, wagging an indulgent finger at her.

Griselda bridled at his insolence, and then fought to calm herself.  “It’s already in hand,” she said neutrally.  “Meanwhile, we have learned how the woman knew so much about us and our movements.”

“How, your ladyship?”

I stepped forward now and slapped down on the bench a component I had removed from an old laptop of my own the night before.

“Phone bug,” I said.

They all looked at it amazed.  Clearly, none of them had seen one before, which was as well.

“I had suspected as much,” I said blandly.  “My family used to mine diamonds in South Africa.  At one time, there were attempts to intercept our randomly timed and routed shipments.  We called the police, they checked security, and found bugs attached to several of our own phones.  They looked remarkably like this.”

It was the merest moonshine, but it convinced the council, as it was intended to.  The logic was simple: if a bug was there, it was there for a reason and a purpose.  This was obviously the purpose alleged because no other was known.  Therefore the allegation was proved.

Ruth gave the fiction further substance with a slightly revised version of Celia’s arrival at the pub.

“She started asking me questions about her ladyship’s husband, and Mr Flaythm.”

“And what did you do?” asked the chairman.

“Gave non-committal answers and immediately informed Mr Flaythm.”

“And I immediately informed her ladyship,” I said.  “We expected the woman to return, so we deployed men to trap her.  We had a couple of near misses.  She was seen lurking near here watching the Towers one Sunday morning when her ladyship and most of her staff were at church in the village.  I thought I saw her on another occasion, lurking near my house when I arrived home.  But on those occasions both I and the man who spotted her prowling round the Towers hung back.  Neither of us was in a position to make a clean capture, and a bungled attempt might have scared her off and caused her to make some precipitate disclosure to the press.”

“You both behaved very wisely,” said the chairman, and the rest of the council rumbled agreement.

“However, yesterday we managed to make a clean capture.”

“We are in your debt,” said the chairman.  “Indeed, we’re obliged to everyone involved.”

“Hear!  Hear!” cheered the other councillors.

The case for the prosecution was complete — there was no defence.  The councillors huddled for only a few perfunctory seconds before reaching their verdict.

“We find the case against both prisoners proved beyond question,” said the chairman.  “Their confessions are proof alone, and these have been corroborated by the three witnesses, and this nasty little gadget.”  He pointed gingerly at my laptop component.   “We assume that when the female prisoner was loitering round your house, Mr Flaythm, that she intended to place another device in your own phone.”

I’d never thought of that, but I wasn’t going to admit it.  “That was my suspicion too, Mr Chairman.  I’ve checked my phone and it’s clean, as are all the phones here at the Towers, which have also been checked.”

“Much obliged for your thoroughness, Mr Flaythm.  The sentence of the court is the both prisoners be banished, having each first received one-hundred lashes at the public whipping post.”

“Mr Chairman!”  Griselda jumped up.  “I plead we dispense with the public lashing, given the identity of the male prisoner.”

The council huddled again.

“Agreed.  We have no wish to embarrass your ladyship.  The sentence is banishment.  Your ladyship has our leave to make the appropriate arrangements.”

“And my marriage, Mr Chairman?”

“Dissolved as an inevitable consequence, your ladyship.  Your quondam husband no longer exists as far as this community is concerned.  It shall be cried throughout the three villages.”

Griselda bowed.  “I’m obliged to the council.”

“I hope that never happens again,” said Griselda, as we walked through the December woods above the Towers, for we both needed fresh air.  “I know it’s theatrical but it’s the way they like it.”

“Not good enough, Griselda,” I countered.  “We must make sure that it doesn’t.”

“But how do we do that?”

“We just do it.  The trial was a farce.”

“Complaining?”

“No.  I can’t exactly do that, but—”

“It’s the way it’s always been done here, darling.  And you cannot always save just part of the thing you cherish.  You must take it whole or leave it whole.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, you say you came here because you loved the place — part of an old England you thought dead.  But can we save that without also perpetuating what we’ve just attended?  That was the Old-England way too.  Remember?  They tortured people, their executions were horrible; hunger, want, injustice, brutality, and horrible prejudices were all rife in this never-never England you wanted to rediscover and live in.  My father and my grandfather knew that if you want to preserve part, you must preserve all.  We have a choice they said.  Perpetuate it all for as long as we can, or lose all.  An environment is not an a-la-carte menu, my father would say.  You can’t choose to keep the bits you want and jettison the bits you don’t.”

“So we must either keep the torture and the trials, or we loose everything?”

“I think we have to, don’t you?” she asked soberly.  “Loose it, I mean?”

“Yes,” I agreed.  “It’s too high a price to pay.  But we’ll do it on our terms.  Perhaps we can save something, and this place will still be special.”

“We?”

“Well,” I said more gruffly than I meant.  “You can marry me now — if you still want to.”

She slipped her arm back through mine.  “You still want to marry me, after what I did?”

“What we did.  And what we’ll never do again.”

1. Aftermath

But we didn’t marry straight away.  After the interrogation and the trial, an embarrassed coolness developed between Griselda and me.  She invited me up Nether Towers for Christmas and I went, but there was none of the old canoodling in corners.  I found that I missed it.  I missed it a lot.  I missed it more in February when Ruth let me know that she had a new boyfriend and was close to being spoken for.

“There’s no future for you and me,” she said.  “You’re Griselda’s, whether you like it or not.  It’s best we act accordingly.”

Her lot had risen in the village since the arrest and trial.  She was something of a heroine among the women, and Mrs Brittles had offered her a partnership at the village tearooms.  She snapped it up.  Who wouldn’t have done so in her place?  As a result, men regarded her as a more attractive and respectable proposition than a pub kitchen maid any man in the village could spank for the price of a beer.

We remained friends, we still are friends, but she no longer came to my bed with those delicious long breasts.  I missed her warmth, and I missed Griselda’s too.  In fact, in a way I missed Griselda’s more.  Despite my early suspicions of her plans for Flavius, she had been funny.  She had brought sunshine and amusement into my life from the outset, and I knew she had a lot of warmth and love to offer too.  But still the distance remained, and the gulf seemed somehow unbridgeable.

I followed the police investigation of Celia’s disappearance.  They never came anywhere near Nether Slype.  Her compulsive secrecy frustrated them.  She had left no clue to what she was doing or where she was going, other than the files on her laptop, and we had incinerated that.  We had incinerated that.  In the end, they assumed that she had fallen foul of one of her many estranged lovers.  I pitied their taste in women.  Griselda and I never discussed the case.  For a while, we discussed nothing at all.

Then, out of the blue, I received another invitation from her.  There had been another death on the council of ten, and I had been elected to it.  More surprisingly, Ruth had too, the first even woman member, apart from Griselda herself.  We had to attend monthly meetings up at Nether Towers, but on this occasion, Griselda invited us all for dinner instead, with wives and partners invited.  Ruth’s new boyfriend was with her, and Griselda and I found ourselves paired.  We played our parts sociably enough yet the awkwardness remained between us.

But at one point in the evening Griselda sidled up to me and whispered in my ear.  “Owen, will you stay for a while when they’ve gone?”

“Why especially?”

“We need to talk.  Don’t we!”

“I want to,” I said, wishing that the courage to make the first move had been mine.  “I miss you, Griselda.”

She briefly squeezed my arm.  “Later.”  And she drifted off.

Later we sat by her large open fire kin her comfortable drawing room, watching flames consume a log the size of a small tree trunk.  Neither of us had spoken for several minutes.  We’d just sat together and watched the flames.

“I’ve retired Thwacks,” she said suddenly.

Then it struck me that I hadn’t seen him all evening.

“Why especially?”

“I couldn’t stand being in the same room with him.  Every time he said, sherry, ma’am, I remembered that awful interrogation and wanted to run outside screaming.  The man is such a sadist.  He didn’t do what he did to that woman because he had to, as you and I did, but because he loved doing it.  One of the maids told me that she heard screams from the cellars later, and saw him coming up from them in the early hours.  He’d been down there again to enjoy himself, hours after I’d told him that it was finished.  Sadist!”

“But aren’t we all?”

She sighed.  “Yes.  We all like inflicting and receiving a little pain now and then, Owen, but there are degrees.  The woman had told us all she knew.  It was over.  I had told him it so.”

“So what was your objection, his sadism or his disobedience?”

“Both.  The sadism for obvious reason, but the disobedience too.  Obedience at such times is essential.  Excessive measures must always be disciplined and subject to rules and reasons.”

“It must.  And that’s what’s come between us, isn’t it?  The awful responsibility we share.  The fact that we obeyed the rules despite our horror of them.”

She bowed her head.  “Yes, it has, and I wish it hadn’t.”

“Me too.”

She stared into the fire.  “Look, I know we’re strange here, but we have our limits — usually.  Wives can divorce their husbands, you know, and appeal to the council for protection.  A real brute can be restrained.  It’s basically consensual.”

“Not always,” I said.

“You mean your girl, Ginny.”  She bit her lip.  “Yes, I’m sorry about that.  I thought she was letting you down and I so wanted to make everything right for you and me that I lost my temper.  It wasn’t my place to whip her, but yours.”

“It wasn’t mine either, or to whip Heather.  At least, most outside the three villages would say so.”

“Perhaps they would, but they weren’t born here.  We are isolated, Owen, and we have stood still  while the world outside changed.  They would say they progressed, but I would demur.  I’ve been to London many times, and I haven’t seen much social progress.  But mostly I think it’s because a certain lifestyle is in our blood, our genes.  We have to do it, give it or receive it.  It’s the way we’re made.  It’s our culture.”

I laughed grimly and she looked at me nervously.  “I think I might have Flaythm blood, after all.  I did rather hold you jacket while Celia was being interrogated.  Not physically perhaps, but you know what I mean.”

“And you have to admit, Owen, that you derived far more satisfaction from it than I did.”

“At the start perhaps.  But not for long.”

But I knew that she was right to a point.  I had wanted to see Celia taken down because I had loathed the bitch, and what she had threatened to do to us all.  Griselda had acted solely from duty.

“Shall I put on some music?” She asked suddenly.

“Music?”

“I want to get that noise out of my head.  It still haunts me.  Now Thwacks has gone it will be easier.  He had to go.  He had a way of half-smiling.  Every time he did so, I heard that woman scream again.  I’ve heard many girls scream when they’re getting the strap or whatever, but never like that — nothing at all like that.”  She hugged herself and looked ashen.

I reached across and squeezed her hand.  “At least we can talk about it now, Griselda.”

She walked across to her hi-fi, a surprisingly up-to-date one I thought, for I had half expected her to crank a handle and put on a crackly seventy-eight.  She selected a CD, inserted it into the slot, and a few seconds later I heard the opening bars of Vaughan Williams’ fifth symphony, which I have loved since I was an adolescent.  It seemed almost obscene to hear such serene beauty after what had gone on downstairs, and yet, as the sound washed over me the screaming subsided to the back of my mind.

“I’ve loved this since I was a teenager,” I said.

“Mmmm!  Me too.  I often hear it in my head when I look down the approach road and see the distant Welsh hills.  It’s what I fight for, you see.  But look” — she took a deep juddering breath — “that was only the third time Thwacks had used the needles since my father died.  The other two were men — both from the three villages.  One had tried to corrupt a child and the other had done something similar to what woman Celia wanted to do.  Thwacks put the needles in different places, of course, but the result was the same.  Not pleasant.”

I don’t know why — it must have been delayed shock — but I laughed.

Griselda’s eyes turned on me, large, and somehow vulnerable.  “What’s so funny about it?”

“It’s the first time I’ve ever heard you use an understatement.”

“I know,” she said at last. “I was bloody ghastly, wasn’t it?   Hideous.  Almost unbearable.  But it’s the way it’s always been here.”

“Then we’ll have to change it,” I suggested softly, as I had after the trial.

“And put our way of life at risk?”

“If we don’t do it on our terms, Griselda, someone else will, and we’ll surely lose it all one day.”

“But we shall anyway, if we start to change.  Remember what my father said.  He was right, you know.”

“But the loss will be slower, smoother and, in the end, not missed so much.  You can’t keep history in chains, Griselda, much as you might wish to.  And hopefully we’ll be able to retain something, if we all want to.  Nether Slype will still be special.”

There was a long silence, then she walked slowly across and sat on the arm of my chair, very close, like she had to a few seconds on the day I met her, but this time she lingered and her hand found mine.

“Will you help me?”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Owen, even if you don’t want to marry me — especially after this.   I feel perhaps you don’t, but duty had to come first you see, even though I knew it would break my heart if you left.”

“Would it?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing to worry about then,” I said huskily.  I drew her off the chair arm, and onto my lap, and hugged her properly for the first time ever.  Then I kissed her for the first time too.  Till then, she had always kissed me. Then we sat in silence together, listening to the heavenly music.

We didn’t jump straight into bed together, though I’d eagerly have taken her upstairs there and then.  For now that the awkwardness between us was dissolved and we could talk about necessary things, I was desperate to make up for lost time.  But Griselda had to do things properly. The bans were read three times and during that period there was no hanky panky, though she resumed pushing me up against trees, walls, doors and just about anything vertical she could conveniently prop me against while she devoured my face.  But that was as far as it went.

One good work I did was to find Ginny another position with an elderly widowed lady, who thought the world of her and provided her with her own little cottage next door, so that she and her boyfriend would have somewhere to live when they married, which Ginny told me, they were planning to do.

Griselda and I married in early April, just as the trees were staring to leaf, and I was amazed to think that I had been in the village for less than a year.  But during that time, my world had changed utterly.  For worse, and also for better.  When the day arrived, the church was packed and the churchyard was full of people who couldn’t get inside for the crush.  I waited by the altar with Ted Foxter, praying that Griselda wouldn’t change her mind at the last minute.  When she did arrive, wearing a white dress — not a wedding dress but a simple thing of sheer white — her hand continually twitched as though she were slapping her thigh with a riding crop, even though she’d left it at home for once.  She marched up to the front, grabbed hold of me, looked round to make sure everyone was there, and barked.  “Right!  Let’s get on with it!”

I think horsewomen develop large nipples from all that jogging up and down.  Their nipples must be perpetually rubbed.  When I went into our bedroom that night, Griselda was sitting up in bed wearing a cotton nightdress with a low neck.  Her cleavage was deep and delightfully freckled.  Her nipples, I noticed were long and poked through her thin nightdress like twin naval guns under covers.  My mouth watered. I’d get to grips with all that in a minute.  In the meantime, I had an important point to make, so I marched up to the bed and tore the covers down.

“We’re going to start as we mean to go on, Griselda,” I said sternly.

“Whatever you say, husband.”

“Nightdress off!”

“Yes husband.”

She lifted the nightdress, her magnificent tits splayed out into full view and I salivated.  Lying back, she opened her legs.  Her pussy was carpeted with luxuriant chestnut curls and her pink crack was open, waiting for me.  I’d get round to that in a minute too.

“You do understand that you’re no longer in charge here, don’t you Griselda?”

“Of course.  You’re my husband and master now.”

“Just so.”

So I unbuckled my trouser belt and pulled it out of the loops, wrapping it round my hand twice, as I’d seen the man in the garden do.  Griselda’s eyes were like plates.

“Are you going to spank me before you’ve shagged me, husband?” she asked eagerly.  “Or afterwards?”

“I’m going to do it now.  You’re going to be severely strapped for what you did to Ginny.   Very severely strapped indeed.  You’ve had it coming”

“Yes, husband, I know I have.  That was very naughty and I deserve it.  You’re right to punish me severely.”

“On your stomach!”

“Yes husband.”

She rolled over on her stomach and her magnificently developed horsewoman’s bottom can into view.  I almost burst my fly zip.

“This is exciting isn’t it!” she said eagerly.  “I haven’t been spanked since my father gave me thirty of the riding crop on my twenty-first birthday.  I’ll feel like a real woman now”

“Silence!  Grip the headboard rails!  Count!”

I raised my arm and the flying belt delivered a resounding blow across Griselda’s big bare buttocks.  They quivered elastically and ecstatically.

“One, husband.  Isn’t this exciting!”

“Quiet!”  I lifted my arm again.  There was a loud and the plump bottom quivered again.

“Two, husband.”

I whipped her with a will now, laying it on as hard as I could.  She had given it and now she would have to take it back.  One thing I was very sure of; she would know who her husband was and which of us was in charge.  She could forget all about sending me to the dungeons as she had sent Flavius, and I felt no qualms.  She had defended the custom and now she would live by it, and if she ever stepped out of line, I would thrash her until she stepped back into line again.

The thrashing continued and it was only after ten sound strokes that she started to labour.  Her strong horsewoman’s thighs were working now and her beautifully sculpted white cheeks displayed a broadening red stripe across them.  I continued remorselessly.

“Ah!  Ten, husband.”

Smack!

“Aaah!  Eleven, husband.”

I saw her head go back, and she was gasping and jerking at every stroke.

Smack!

“Aaaaah!  Twelve, husband.  I’m so sorry husband.”

I continued remorselessly.  Her thighs were twitching ceaselessly now and she was heaving her bottom up and down with a steady mechanical rhythm as people do when they’re in pain.

Smack!

“Aaaaah!  Ooooh!   Thirteen, husband.  I’m so, so sorry.  Please be merciful.”

She was crying into her pillow, I heard the sob in her voice.  Her thighs wriggled and her plump darkening bottom cheeks twitched ever faster.  She was in severe pain now.  The point was sinking in.

Smack!

“Aaaaaaah!  Aaaaaaah!   Fourteen, husband.  No more, I beg you.”

Her whole body twitched, I could hear her crying, but I couldn’t let that soften me, any more than Ginny’s screams had softened Griselda.

“I’ll decide when you’ve been strapped severely enough, Griselda.  And you haven’t been strapped nearly enough get.”

“Of course, husband.  Please forgive my impertinence.  Please strap me to your heart’s content.”

Smack!

“Aaaaaaah!  Aaaaaaah!   Fifteen, husband.”

Smack!

“Aaaaaaah!  Aaaaaaah!   Sixteen, husband.”

Smack!

“Aaaaaaah!  Aaaaaaah!   Aaaaaaah!   Seventeen, husband.  Mercy!”

Smack!

“Aaaaaaah!  Aaaaaaah!   Aaaaaaah   Eighteen, husband.  Mercy!  I beg you!”

I’d made my point, and I’d enjoyed it.  “I’m finished now,” I said calmly.  “Back under the covers!  On your back!  Legs open!  Crack open!”

“Yes husband.”

I undressed while she wiped her eyes and composed herself.

“I’m sorry, Griselda,” I said, “but you’ve given enough of it, so now you’ll have to take it back.”

“Yes, husband.  You’re right to correct my faults.”

“Of course I am.  I’m your husband.”

“Yes, husband.”

I undressed, climbed on the bed, and onto Griselda.  I rubbed my cock gently but pleasurably on her pussy hair.

“And now, my dear,” I whispered in her ear.  “At long last, I’m going to take my rightful possession of your cunt.”

“Yes husband,” she said, wrapping her legs right round me.  “It’s waiting to pleasure you.  But please be gentle with it.”

“Gentle?”  I laughed.  “It’s been bouncing up and down on Bronco for God knows how many years.  It surely doesn’t need gentleness!”

She swallowed.  “Bronco’s in the corner, husband, next to the wardrobe.”

I squirmed over and looked where she directed.  There, standing in the corner of the room was a very small, old, and tatty child’s rocking horse.”

“Where’s the big, knobbly dildo?”

I felt her blush.  “There never was one.  I just loved talking about sexy things with you, hoping that talking about them would make them real.  No girl in the three villages wants to admit she’s a virgin.”

“You’re a virgin?” I asked incredulously.

She bit her lip.  “I’m sorry I lied to you, darling.  Shall I fetch your strap for my further punishment?”

“Don’t be silly,” I whispered and kissed her as I slid my prick into her hot, tight, and responsive cunt.  “Oh!  That’s better.  That’s much better.”

She hugged me tightly and gasped with pleasure.  “Enjoy it to your heart’s content, my lord and master.”

More than half an hour had passed since the last of her daughter’s whimpering had subsided which was an hour after her screams were at their fiercest. I finally permitted her mother, Nora,  to stand outside the unlocked bathroom door where Kitty hid inside. Hid inside from any further abuse from me, their kidnapper   and her earlier tormentor.

Nora knocked ever so softly.

‘Kitty. Kitty, it’s your mother. I want you to come out.’

There was complete silence as we both waited for a response, me in heightened anticipation. Such mother daughter moments were precious and irreplaceable.

Nora knocked slightly louder and faster.

‘Kitty, please come out. Come out or I’ll come in instead.’

Kitty objected quickly.

‘No, Mom, no. Don’t come in.’

‘Why?  Why not sweetheart? Why?’

‘Please Mom, please, because, because I don’t want you to see me. Not this way. Is he still out there? Is he out there with you? I don’t want you to see what he did to me.’

Nora directed her mother’s instinctive fury my way.

‘You bastard. What did you do to my daughter? How did you make her scream? You filthy bastard. What did you do to her? Why doesn’t she want me to see her?’

I was prepared for her anger, for her resistance, in that I had my trusty twenty-two pistol in hand, the one I’d used to kidnap them with several hours earlier and two hundred miles removed. I’d grabbed them in the underground parking garage of a swanky hotel where they were attending a benefit for Lymphoma, a form of cancer with a high survival rate, and they were dressed to the nines in their finest finery. I kept the gun pointed in Nora’s general direction, often aiming at her pussy area.

‘Nothing she can’t live with or without for that matter, and the same goes for you.’ I responded to Nora’s outrage.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you talking about?’

‘Get together with your daughter and you’ll see, you’ll find out.’

‘Kitty. Kitty if you don’t come out I’m coming in, so please sweetheart, please honey..’

Page 2.

After ten seconds we heard a rustle at the door knob as it turned ever so slowly. The door opened at an even greater snail’s pace and finally, at last, Kitty emerged from her hidey hole.

Most immediately evident, she was naked from the waist up, her party dress resting all bunched up on her hips and she had her slender arms crossed tightly across her flat chested front. Her delicate shoulders were rounded forward and she was trembling. Her hair was disheveled and many tears stained her cheeks.

Her eyes were pleading and incredibly sad.

She looked like a woman injured.

Nora was incensed.

‘You bastard. What have you done to her? Why does she have her dress down like that? You monster, you have no right. What did you do to her?’

Now the thing was, I had just instructed Nora that if I let her see her kid, see Kitty, that she could not run to her to hug nor comfort her and she couldn’t even tell her that I was forcing her to behave in such a distant manner. I advised her very specifically if she did, Kitty would pay a horrendous price, so there she stood, merely ten feet from her and could not move forward to embrace nor protect her. It was clear from the trepidation on Kitty’s face that she was confused by her mother’s apparent lack of willingness for physical contact and union. Her unwillingness to comfort her in her greatest time of need.

Kitty glared at me and began to berate me too.

‘How could you? How could you do it to me?’

‘What? What?’ Nora cried out to Kitty all alarmed. ‘Do what to you?’

I stepped back for the moment of truth wanting to take in the whole scene.

As I said, such were priceless, unrepeatable moments between mothers and daughters.

‘Mom. Mom, oh God Mom. What he did to me. Mom? God, Mom he, he, God, he cut..’

Nora’s face began to go ashen pale white sallow.

‘Mom, he cut, he cut, he cut off..’

Kitty opened her arms to reveal..

Nora shrieked at me.

‘You ungodly bastard. You sick, sick maniac. My baby. Oh God, my baby girl.’

Now Kitty was thirty-five so she weren’t no baby other than in her mother’s eyes.

She took a step towards me so I leveled the gun at Kitty’s head.

‘Try it. Just try anything and the bitch dies. You wanna be responsible for me putting a bullet in her head?’

Nora stopped short of her tracks.

‘Mom. Mom, why did he? Why did he cut off one of my nipples? I didn’t do anything to him, Mom.’

Page 3.

It was a question no sane, no loving, mother could ever answer with relevance for her mutilated daughter.

‘I don’t know. God, Honey, I don’t know how he could.’

‘But mom, how can I go on? I.. I know my breasts aren’t very big but I’ve never hated myself because of them. They’re what God gave me and now, now one of my nipples is gone. What am I supposed to do?’

‘You have to go on. You have no choice. You must remain strong and prevail.’

‘But Mom, there’s more. So much more. I’m a terrible daughter. I’ve been a terrible daughter and I don’t know how I can ever forgive myself. How I can ever make it up to you?’

‘No. No. No, Honey, no. No, it’s not your fault. No, he’s insane, so there’s nothing you have to blame yourself for.’

‘No Mom, you don’t know. You just don’t know. You don’t know all of it. You don’t understand.’

‘What? What, baby, what?’

‘He’s evil. He’s a monster. Before he did it to me, he told me he was going to. At least an hour before, he let me know so I could anticipate and be scared. And I prayed so hard but it didn’t make any difference to me. Look at me.’ (The mutilated woman pressed at her injured breast)  ‘Look at my breast. Now Mom, why can’t I understand? Why did this have to happen to me?’ Why did he have to do it to me?’

Nora answered softly, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know honey.’ **

And then she turned her vitriol on me. Nora shot her hatred my way like stabbing, firebrand arrows.

‘You scum. You degenerate piece of garbage. She’s my daughter. She’s precious, my precious. How could you? She never harmed you. She’s never harmed anyone. How, how in God’s earth could you?’

I shrugged my shoulders like the whole matter was funny and I didn’t give a shit, flying or otherwise and answered her, ‘Why don’t you let her finish. Go ahead, Kitty, finish.’

Page 4.

‘But Mom, he, he gave me a choice. He said, said, he said if I cut it off myself, if I did it to myself, he wouldn’t hurt you. Mom. I failed. I failed you. I tried. I really did, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t cut my own nipple off.’

‘Oh Honey. Oh Sweetheart, of course you couldn’t. Of course not. No woman could.’

‘But look at me. It’s gone anyway. It hurts just as much and looks just as horrible but he said, he said if I didn’t do it, he’d cut both your nipples, both of your nipples off.’

Nora shot her fiercest glare at me and I gave her a smug, power-filled look as I pointed the gun at her chest.

I smiled at Nora and nodded my head to affirm Kitty wasn’t lying, that she hadn’t made it all up.

I then looked at Kitty.

‘Tell her. Tell her the rest.’

‘Oh Mom. Oh, God Mom, he said other horrible, unimaginable things. Things he said he would do to your vagina too.’

Nora became a little less mother like and more unsteady and afraid for her own physical and sexual identity. It had never occurred to her that I’d torture her vagina and by extrapolation that of her daughter too. She hadn’t even thought I’d rape them, in that somehow she’d prevent me from having the opportunity. Y’know, a mother’s protective instincts and all directed towards her young one. Her legs were growing wobbly and she feared she was about to faint.

‘I have to.. I have to sit down.’

There was a chair (conveniently, since I’d anticipated her reaction) just off to the side.

‘Go ahead.’ I motioned to her. ‘Have a fucking seat if it’ll help.’

Nora slumped down to be seated and looked down at the floor for a few moments and then back up at Kitty still standing all guilty and afraid.

‘Sweetheart, I’m your mother. I could, I can never be angry at you for something you could not possibly help. You must understand that and accept it. As for him, that monster, no. No he will not.. I won’t let him. So don’t worry about that.’

Page 5.

It was so masterfully marvellous and really quite predictable. The main question was, what did Nora think she wouldn’t let me do? Didn’t she understand I could play Kitty against her just as effectively as I had played her against Kitty. Always and ever threaten to hurt one to get the other one to do something horrible and unthinkable.

Nora was a dunce when it came to motherly daughterly control. And of course about matters of sexual torture and mutilations. She knew nothing of how a tortured woman dies.

I decided to decidedly show her who was boss.

‘Mom. Mom, over here.  Stand up and take your fucking dress off. Take it off now.’

I pointed the gun at her face.

She looked shocked, like she never expected she’d actually have to strip for me. She was the older, wiser woman who was worthy of respect. She’d never been so humiliated in her life before nor forced into such a degrading unfolding situation.

She had the temerity to resist.

‘I will not. I won’t take my dress off for you.’

Kitty interjected, ‘Mom. Please listen to him. He’s made it perfectly clear to me that you’ll eventually have to do what he says. That I had to do what he wanted. Mom, I know you don’t want to, I don’t want you to either, but you’d better do what he says.’

It was two against one and Nora looked confused and hurt.

That her daughter would gang up on her hurt her.

As offended as her sensibilities were, she knew Kitty’s hurt went way beyond just the emotional. It dawned on her she’d have to comply but wanted to wring some concessions out of me. She revealed them slowly, layer after intricate layer, or so she thought. To me it was mostly so very simplistic since I’d heard it  many times before in different shades and nuances. Many hues of the same color.

‘I will take my dress off but I have to do it slowly. It’s an Italian designer, one of my favorites and very expensive so I will take it off but carefully. I don’t want to damage it.’

Page 6.

Was she for real? Her fucking daughter was standing there nippleless and she was fussed about her dress. Stupid, arrogant, spoiled rich bitch, indeed if she really was worried about the state of her ladi-da dress, I’d fix it for her.

She continued with another layer of her concerns.

‘And.. and I want you to tell me, I need you to tell us both that you were not serious about hurting me. That you only used it to scare Kitty, which you did terribly, horribly, but that was  it. The end and that you won’t hurt either one of us any more. I need you to promise before I take off my dress.’

I could have acted angry like I was outraged at her demands but what was the need? I’d get everything I wanted out of them eventually so there was no percentage in being a boor other than I could be a right fine one if I wanted to be.

‘I’ll think about that.’ I answered. ‘But before you undress which I know you will, so that dress is expensive? Huh? One of your favorites? It sure as hell fits you good. Show off your fucking figure. I love how it pulls across the front, across your tits.’

‘Yes. Yes, I already told you that.’

I reached  into a drawer in a side table and fetched out an Italian switch-blade knife with an ivory handle. It was from WWII.   I showed it to Nora and asked her, ‘So what do you think this is?’

She wasn’t a hundred percent sure since the blade was folded in.

I snapped it open with the push of a button.

‘Oh my God. My God, I can see it’s a knife.’

‘Indeed it is and isn’t it a coincidence, it’s from Italy too just like your designer dress. So maybe the two of them should get together.’

I stood up to approach her.

Now Nora’s dress was of the finest quality silk, a medium blue and stretched across her bosom  in a low gentle curve revealing two inches of her moderate cleavage. The finest feature were its spaghetti straps which made it look like lingerie, which it wasn’t. It was an Ungaro original which cost near ten thousand dollars. Spoiled cunt, I’d show her how much respect I had for such decadence.

Page 7.

Nora stood up defiantly and wanted to back away but I warned her ever so matter-of-factly, ‘Stand still. Stay right where you are or I’ll cut her other nipple off.’

Both women scrunched their faces up as I arrived at Nora’s shoulders. I raised the knife to her face and traced it’s sharp point down her neck and over to a thread thin strap. She fully expected me to cut it with a quick flick of my wrist and stood trembling with her breasts jiggling. Fuck was she turning me on. Of course, I surprised her. From a certain angle I was able to slide the blade of the knife inside her dress from just in front of her armpit and I didn’t make it go inside her bra which was a strapless variety.

I wiggled the blade inside her dress  and then said, ‘Oops.’

But nothing had happened.

‘Oh pardon me.’ I said again. ‘Oops.’ And with that thrust the knife point out through the fabric covering her bra and gave a hard slice and cut her dress open at the front on one side. It was royally and completely ruined. Ten thousand bucks down the crapper.

Nora jumped back.

‘You bastard. You miserable bastard. Why did you have to do that?’

I reached forward into the tear and ripped her dress right off her shoulders. It didn’t take much strength and the thin straps snapped.

‘Fine that’s better. That’s the way I wanna see you. So now it’s up to you. You gonna take your bra off or do I have to do it for you, with this?’ I raised the knife to her again.

‘No. No. OK. No. I will. I will. I’ll take it off for you. Just give me a minute.’

‘Sure, take all the time you want. While you are I’ll just check out what’s going on with Kitty over here.’ I moved in on her daughter.

Nora removed her bra before I ever got the ten feet to her kid.

‘Stand up straight. Don’t round your shoulders. Stick your fucking tits out like you’re proud of them.’

She tried her best and her best not to shake but she kept on jiggling her stuff.

Page 8.

I addressed her.

‘So Kitty told you the deal. She told you how she failed you. How I told her if she’d cut her own nipple off, I wouldn’t do it to you. But she failed. My God, how miserably she failed so I suppose it’s up to you now.’

She looked at me angry, humiliated and confused.

‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘It’s up to you to chose. Which one? Which one of your nipples comes off? To start?’

Her mouth trembled and her chin quivered and Kitty cried out, ‘No. No, please you can’t. No please. Don’t do any more. I know I failed. I tried as hard as I could but I failed. But don’t make my mother pay for it. It’s not her fault. It’s not even my fault. It’s, it’s yours for.. Oh, please just don’t hurt my mother.’

I sauntered over to Kitty.

‘I see. I.. so.. I see. OK, what if I give you a second chance? Huh? A second chance to save your mom? Think you could do better?’

‘What? I don’t know. What?’

‘Sure you do. You have another nipple, at least still. So what if I give you another chance to cut it off and that way your mom gets spared?’

Nora piped up, ‘No Kitty. No don’t. Don’t even think about it. Don’t give into his preposterous suggestion. Kitty, Honey, I’m your mom, your mother. It’s up to me to protect you. So please, just let me deal with him.’

I went back to the older woman.

‘So you wanna deal with me. Huh? What kinda deal do you wanna make?’

‘Let me work up the courage and I’ll take my clothes off. I’ll take all my clothes off for you.’

Did she really think she wouldn’t be doing that anyway? Both of them? Still it was a treat to play along with her like her offer had significance and hope.

‘No more shit. No shit. No more delaying nor dodging and weaving. You’ll co-operate and just..’

‘Yes. Yes I will. If you’ll just let me have a moment with Kitty, a private moment. I’ll do everything you say.’

Page 9.

What neither woman knew was I had super sensitive microphones hidden in several locations within the room where they were imprisoned and also had a window that looked like a mirror from which I could observe them unknown from a secret adjoining room. Like the set up you see on TV cop shows where a suspect is included in a lineup for a victim to identify. I had a remote control panel which allowed me to activate the mikes and a tape recorder located in the hidden viewing room.

‘I suppose I could do that.’ I offered as I sidled-up to the right switch and set the equipment going.

‘I’ll just sit down over here so you can figure it out between yourselves. Take as long as you want.’

Nora sent me a suspicious, unsettled look. Take as long as they wanted, what did that mean? She would have expected impatience from me, like I’d want to get at whatever it was I was proposing to do, but no. Leisurely and relaxed, no hurry no fuss. What were the implications of that?

One of my favorite portions of the sterling book, The Collector, by John Fowles, (highly recommended reading for any true fan of the kidnapping and hold ‘em sport) is where Miranda is negotiating for the length of her stay. Where at first she believes a day to be too long and yet eventually settles for four weeks. Not a month mind you which for the story would have been thirty-one days, but absolutely no more than four weeks. It was the same sense that Nora was picking up on. Did ‘take as long a you want’ really mean they wouldn’t be leaving that day or heaven forbid, not any time soon? It unsettled her and even Kitty sensed my generosity of time allotment held deeper sinister meaning.

So I did as I said, moved away from within earshot, and Nora moved close to Kitty. Her motherly instincts overpowered her and she gave her daughter a big, tender hug and consoled her head by stroking her cheek and her hair. She tried to sooth her mind. I guess she’d forgotten my threats about not embracing her, but surely I hadn’t. I just didn’t say anything about it right then.

I’d let them have almost half an hour and stood up.

‘OK. Enough is enough. What have you decided?’

‘If I take my dress off, oh God help me, I don’t believe I’m saying that, saying it. When I take my dress off, I’ll let you do it. I’ll let you rape me if you want to but you have to promise not to hurt Kitty anymore. You have to promise.’

Kitty cried out, ‘No Mom. No. That’s not what we said. No Mom you can’t. You can’t let him.’

‘Kitty, I’m your mother. Just please be quiet and let me handle this.’

‘By handle this you mean handle me, I presume?’ I interjected.

Nora gave me a more suspicious look.

‘No, that’s not what I meant. I just meant I don’t want Kitty making it any harder for me to stick to my resolve than it already is. That’s all I meant.’

‘Humph. OK. I guess. So you’re going to let me fuck you? I can stick it right up between your sweet legs. Huh? Right into your fucking cunt. Huh? Ram your twat? Suck on your clit?’

‘Stop it. Stop talking dirty. You have no idea how difficult this is for me and there’s one other thing you have to agree to.’

Page 10.

‘And what would that be?’

‘Not in front of Kitty. Not in front of my daughter. You don’t get to rape me in front of her.’

I strode over to Kitty.

‘What do you think of that? What do you think of your mom’s offer?’

‘Please. Just please, don’t do it. Don’t rape her. Can’t you see how desperate she is to protect me. She loves me. She really loves me and I love her too. So please, don’t hurt her.’

‘Tell you what. I’ll give it a bit of thought. Take it under advisement as they say. I’ve got something to do for awhile . I’ll let you know when I get back.’

With that I high-tailed it out of their prison room into my secret observation room and got all ensconced to watch them while I played back the contents of their conversation. I really wanted to know how much and what they had been plotting.

As Nora touched her daughter for the very first time since her mutilation she began, ‘Oh Kitty, oh sweetheart, let me see your breast. Oh God, how much does it hurt? Can you stand the pain? How can you stand the pain?’

‘Mom, I don’t know. It’s not as bad, not as severe as it was  when he first did it, but it still hurts. It hurts a lot. God, Mom, why did he do it to me? Why did he have to?’

‘I don’t know. I truly don’t know. Some men are just so sick that everything normal to us means nothing to them. They just live and operate outside the norms, the bounds of decent human behavior. I don’t know, Honey, but he must be crazy.’

‘Do you think he’s going to kill us? God, Mom, do you?’

‘No. No, I’m sure God won’t let that happen. I’m sure God will give me the strength and the opportunity to be sure that doesn’t happen.’

‘I dunno. I’m not sure. Look how he already got us. How he laid in wait and forced us into his van when we weren’t even aware of his existence. I don’t know, Mom, he’s gotten away with a lot already. And even more so, what he did to my breast. Isn’t that even so much more horrible?’

Page 11.

‘Yes. Of course it is, yes. Kitty, please tell me. I know it may hurt, it may be more than you want to re-live, but how did he do it? What did her use to, to..’

‘To remove my nipple? To cut it off?’

‘Yes. What did he use?’

‘That’s part of what scares me so much about him. He had, no he has, a whole array of medical instruments. Surgical stuff. Like the real thing from hospitals. He says he bought them on the Internet and he used a scalpel to perform what he called a

nipple-ectomy. He joked about it not being a radical mastectomy, and not even a radical nipple-ectomy since he didn’t take my areola too. How could he joke about it. How could he mom?’

‘Like I said he’s crazy and demented and we have to find a way to beat him. We have to find a way to defeat him so we can get away and be free.’

‘How? How is that possible? We don’t know where we are. It was a long drive, at least two hours. We don’t even know if we can get out of this room he has us in.’

‘I know. You’re right, but we can’t just let him abuse us and then kill us. We can’t just surrender our bodies to him nor our lives. I think we both know that.’

‘Yes. OK. What do you want to do? What do you want to try then?’

‘The only thing I can think of and I know it sounds horrendous and impossible, but the only thing we have to use against him is, are our bodies.’

‘What? Why? How?’

‘We have to trick him into thinking we’re going to co-operate with him. That we will be willing participants, even victims, and when the moment is perfect we have to attack him. We have to attack him to kill him. Anything less and I’m sure we’ll fail and end up paying for it even worse. We’ll have to find the strength and just do it no matter how reprehensible and horrid and foreign it might seem.’

Page 12.

‘After what he’s done to me, nothing would please me more. I hate to say it but I want to cut his penis off. I want to smash his testicles since that’s what’s motivating him to do all this in the first place. I hate him. I despise him. I want to murder him myself. You wouldn’t even have to help.’

‘No. No, we do it together. He’s injured my baby girl. No I want to kill him along with you. So we’re agreed on that?’

‘Yes. If we can, we’ll kill him together.’

‘What is your plan? What is your plan, Mom?’

‘I’m going to undress for him. I know I’ll have to do that. So I’ll offer. And you’ll have to do the same thing too.’

‘I don’t know if I can. Even though he’s already handled my breasts, and he suckled them too, I don’t know if I can offer to take the rest of my clothes off. You know Mom. You know why, about my vagina.’

‘Oh baby, I’m so afraid for you. God sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking. How could I be so forgetful?’

‘It’s OK. It’s OK Mom, but what am I supposed to do? Do about it?’

(I have to say here, they really engaged my heightened interest. What was the big mystery? What the fuck was with Kitty’s Kunt? I liked that, like KK, Kitty’s Kunt with a capital K.)

‘God, there’s nothing you can do. I don’t think there is. Why, oh why God when you asked for the reconstructive surgery didn’t I listen to you. Yes, it’s how God made you, but I should have listened to your concerns but I guess I felt it wasn’t urgent and any time you wanted to we could arrange to have it done. God, I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry Kitty, now you’re going to have to deal with him looking at you, leering at it and..’

‘Oh God, Mom, what if he want’s to cut it off too? What will I do then?’

‘I don’t think he would. I don’t think he could. I don’t know. I truly don’t know what to say.’

‘I.. I didn’t want to say. I really felt I couldn’t, but you could be wrong.’

‘No. Why? What makes you say that?’

Page 13.

‘No, it’s what he said to me. What he said when he was trying to convince me, trying to force me to cut my own nipple off, what he said besides if I didn’t, he’d cut both yours off. What he said about hurting your vagina.’

‘Kitty, you have to tell me. You have to tell your mother. I need to know so I have a truer, the truest picture possible of what we’re dealing with in him. So I know how hard I have to fight back to defeat him.’

‘If you can..’ Kitty replied softly.

‘Don’t think like that. Don’t say it either. Of course we’re going to triumph over him. I know God won’t let us lose to him, so please, please Honey tell me. What else did he say?’

‘I can’t. I can’t repeat it. It’s too horrible and disgusting. It’s completely inhuman and shows such horrid disrespect for a woman’s body. Oh Mom, please Mom, don’t make me say.’

Nora took Kitty’s face in her hands, at that point, I could easily see it from where I sat off in the distance and gave her her most sincere and serious motherly but stern look.

‘Tell me. Just tell me now. You must.’

‘Mom. OK, Mom, but I think I might be sick. I think I might throw up as I utter the words. I don’t know if I can keep it all inside, I’m so scared when I think of it and my own vagina.’

‘What.. what exactly did he say?’

‘He said if I didn’t cut my nipples..’

‘Yes I know it was about that. What did he say about me more?’

‘He said he would hurt your vagina. He said he would tie you down with your legs spread and he’d torture you between them. Mom, Mom, he said he would cut your labia, he would use the scalpels on them and oh God, heaven forbid, he said he would puncture and then burn your clitoris. Burn your clitoris, Mom. How could you ever stand that?’

Nora sounded audibly shaken.

‘Any more? Anything else?’

Page 14.

‘Yes. Yes, the worst part of all. He said he has a number of speculums, y’know what the doctors use for internal examinations to open the passage. He said he would insert one into you and, oh God, he would violate your cervix. He said he’d concentrate on torturing your cervix. Oh God, how could anyone think to be so cruel and then the last worst thing which I’ve never heard of nor ever even thought of. He said he’d put a big firecracker into your vagina and blow your cervix into your womb. How could any woman, no matter how strong or determined survive that? Survive all that? How Mom? How?’

‘No. No, she couldn’t and you know what, I think he knows it. I think he just wanted to talk as dirty and as horrible to you to try to terrorize you into doing something else he knew was impossible. I think it was just an extreme abuse of power and control. Control and power he thinks he has over us, had over you at the time.’

‘And I’d agree with you except he did it. He actually did it and if you look closely how he did it, he left a stub of my nipple. He explained to me by not cutting the whole end off, but leaving a fraction, about a quarter, it would be more painful since so many nerve endings would still be left. He even tried to maximize my suffering that way by leaving a trace of it. Like a nipple stump.

(I loved it. Spectacular. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? “A nipple stump.”)

‘OK. OK, give me a minute, please. This is so much to take in. Almost too much to absorb. I don’t know if I can, but I have to find an answer and the right one right off. I don’t think we’ll get a second chance with him.’

‘While you are, please tell me what to do about my minora labia. Please, and the way they hang out so far. What am I supposed to do about that part that hangs out of my vagina? I’m sure when he sees it he’ll want to torture it too.’

(My eyes grew wide and I ground my teeth. I knew. I fucking knew if she had one of those hangy-out cunt thingy-magigys, I’d be stretching it long and biting it off. I’d done it to two before her already. And it just proved the premise that there was no accounting for, nor predicting, vaginal construction. Some of the sweetest, tidiest females had sloppy cunts too. And I never took Kitty with her flat chested tits to be one of those also. Oh happy day, what a lucky time for me was ahead.)

Page 15.

‘I don’t know. God I don’t know what to think of anything about him. I don’t know what he’ll want to do to your minora and, Honey, I have to ask even though I don’t want to know.’

‘What? What is it?’

‘What did he do with your nipple?’

‘Oh God, that’s another horrible part. I almost forgot. I guess I wanted to shut it out, suppress it. How can one man, one monster, be so completely evil?’

‘What did he do with it?’

‘First he put it in his mouth like I thought he was going to eat it, almost like a wad of chewing gum and then he took it out and told me to do the same thing. And when I refused he said he’d cut the other one off so I did. Oh God, oh my Jesus, I had my own severed nipple in my mouth. How utterly disgusting and horrid.’

‘And then what? What did he do next?’

‘He asked me if I wanted to eat it and, of course, I said no so he asked for it back. My God in Heaven, what are we talking about here? We’re talking about one of my nipples but I gave it back to him and he thanked me and said it was just as well I wouldn’t swallow it since he wanted it as a souvenir of me. He said he already has a whole collection of them and he’d be happy to add  mine and then he said about adding yours to.’

Nora muttered, ‘God. Oh my God.’ Several times in quick succession.

‘I told him it wouldn’t last very long as a souvenir, like it would spoil and he said he had a method of preserving it in clear, liquid acrylic that when hardened, it, my nipple would always look just as it did when he cut it off me. He seemed so proud of that, like it took special skill or intelligence or something. God, Mom, how can any of this be for real?’

‘Yes, I have heard of certain sexual deviants keeping souvenirs of their victims but it was usually pieces, items of under-garments or maybe a lock of hair, never actual sexual body parts. My God, the man is highly demented. My God, he could be the worst. The worst ever.’

Page 16.

‘Do you think he’s a psychopath? A sexual deviant psychopath? Do you think that, Mom?’

‘I really don’t know, but from what you’re describing he could be. God, I hope he’s not. God, I hope we haven’t fallen into the hands of a torturing, mutilating, sexual psychopath because then he’s most likely a serial killer too since otherwise he’d've been caught by now.’

‘You really think he kills his victims?’

‘I don’t know.’ She paused reflectively. ‘I hope not.’

‘You think he’s gonna kill us?’

‘No, I won’t let that happen. I already told you he’s come to the end of his killing spree line, if that’s what he’s been up to.’

You might say she was right, not about the end of the line but about what I’d been up to. That would be up to number twenty-two  and counting and when their times came, it would make an even two dozen. Not to shabby for not even coming close to being caught.

And the crazy, but delightful, part of pursuing my proclivity was the endless supply of potential victims. I mean they were every where in the most unsafe and insecure of locations and positions. It was a bounty, an inexhaustible supply of female flesh to be rendered.

Take local regional shopping malls, the ones where ninety percent of the staff and customers arrived by car. Many had at least a couple of hundred of stores. Focusing on the staff possibilities first, it was common mall practice that they had to park quite far out from close to the entrance doors to facilitate the paying shoppers and, of course, because of the long walk, most clerks parked still where they could be closest to the entrance nearest to the store they worked in. And of two hundred stores, percentages dictated there would be a small but guaranteed number of female clerks who would be right up my alley. Especially in the women’s higher end stores or the trendy boutique type staffed by savvy young women on the way up, or so they thought. It took almost no smarts to wait for them at closing time to jaunt the long haul to where their cars were parked and follow them around and to learn their routines. Then under cover of darkness and bad weather, driving rain was the best, to kidnap them at gunpoint and spirit them away to my secret prison specially constructed to keep them in.

Page 17.

And some other ones were the female real estate agents. I mean how fucking dumb could they be? They even published little pictures of themselves with their listings and it was easy to scan them to find potential victims and delve further by accessing their web sites. The good looking ones, and there were always a few, why didn’t they just run a banner add, – Potential rape victim. Come and get it, come and get me. Here’s where I am. I’m asking for it. Cut the cunt out of me.

They might as well have, with the wording of some of their ads.

Yes, indeed, the listings themselves. The catch words and the watch phrases. ‘Immediate Possession’ and lately ‘Bank in Possession’ which meant the house was vacant. Was currently unoccupied and what better place to grab an unsuspecting woman than in a house that’s guaranteed to be empty. Also, ’secluded, very private, or estate like setting’, all indicating a level of privacy and isolation conductive to kidnapping a woman unnoticed.

Then there was the greed factor, ever the almighty lure of the slimy dollar. Find a property that fit the parameters and the targeted woman was the listing agent and as a potential buyer dealing with her, she would get both ends of the commission. I mean let’s say a million dollar house, common in many city and even rural areas, and the six percent commission so common, on both ends, was sixty-thousand dollars. What an incentive to ignore the danger signals that she could be being lured to her demise.        Another ripe area were seasonal properties. Cottages or camp as some of the upper crust liked to call them and again remoteness  and isolation  and nobody home all rounded out the feasibility.

Anyhow, enough on my theories and practical applications of victimology. Back on the ranch, er, in the prisoner’s pad, the two women had fallen silent.

Kitty looked at Nora really deeply and finally came out with it, out with the unanswerable question.

‘Mom, what if we fail?  What if we don’t succeed  in overpowering him or even deterring him? What then? What are we supposed to do? To do then?’

‘We’ll just have to believe that we will. That’s all we can do.’

Page 18.

‘No, but no, Mom. What if we can’t. Please answer me. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m a grown woman. Please don’t treat me like a child. I know you’re still trying to protect me but look at my breast. You couldn’t protect me from that. What if we can’t and we know he’s going to kill us or he already has killed one of us and the other still lives. What then?’

‘You have to believe. I’m asking you to believe that God will take care if us. That He won’t let that happen.  That her cares for us and loves us and won’t let such a horrible fate befall us. You still do believe in God, don’t you?’

Kitty hesitated.  She scrunched up her face and gave an indication she wasn’t so sure anymore.

‘Sweet heart, you have to believe. I know you’re a good Christian and you believe in Jesus Christ as your personal saviour, so you must not let your faith waver. Is this what’s shaking your faith? You don’t see that is might be a test? A test for both of us?’

‘I understand that Mom. I really do, about God not giving you more than you, than we, can handle but I’m not so sure anymore. I mean not since Dr. Marla.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. Oh. OK, yes, I can understand that. I think I can.’

‘But Mom, think about it. I mean you appeared on her  programme ‘Balance TV’ and she was so healthy and vibrant and the aerobics workout you did together, it was really something. Like the fitness part and how two older women could still look so good at your ages, but I mean she was a doctor, is a doctor, and the thing about her breasts. I mean you told me how she confided in you about how important her chest was to her, even though publicly she said otherwise to others, how she claimed her breasts never defined her but how she was terrified and prayed to God she might keep them and yet, a double, a double one. She still had to have a double mastectomy so how much did her prayers matter to God then? And what she said about being ‘mindful’ about her life. How she paid attention to the smallest of details always watching for a moment that could be a turning point. Weren’t we mindful of our lives? I guess not, for this to happen to us.’

‘No. No I don’t think that’s it at all. You can’t say this is our faults. It’s just, to a large degree, bad luck.’

Page 19.

‘No, but Mom, no. Marla said about luck and chance too. She said about, it’s not the luck, good nor bad, but what you do with it. The chances that the circumstances present to you. What possible good chances can what he’s done to my breast already and what he’s still threatening to do, what good can come from any of that? I just don’t know. I just don’t see nor even sense any. And that’s why I think Dr. Marla is wrong. Her God didn’t care about her and she had to sacrifice her beautiful breasts to the devil of cancer. What’s spiritual or Godly about that?’

‘I know. I see, it might seem that way but she’s still alive and remains a vibrant and successful woman.’

‘Yes she does. She is, but she has no tits. And like I just said, her precious breasts still had to be sacrificed to her uncaring God so I don’t know that I believe anymore. I don’t know that I believe God will save or even help us out of this so we shouldn’t count on it.’

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‘I don’t know Kitty. I don’t know that it’s the same thing.’

‘But it is Mom. Don’t you see? God didn’t intervene, He didn’t prevent us from being kidnapped in the first place. Why didn’t He keep this from happening at all?’

‘I don’t know. How can I know? I only know we have to find a way to defeat him and the only realistic one is to use our bodies to fool him into thinking we’re going to co-operate, no, into thinking we want to participate to show him what a pleasurable time we can allow him to have and then do it. Kill him. Execute him. That’s what we have to do. Oh, look. He’s coming back. I’ll have to lead off with our plan.’

It had been over twenty-five minutes so I’d been really generous allowing them so much time to commiserate and to plot. Of course, I knew I was going to be able to play back every one of their secret words so wasn’t in a hurry to stifle them. But my crotch was getting itchy for some pussy so it told me to get on back in to deal with them.

Page 20.

I fairly skipped back in to join them. I mean there’s no more exhilarating nor satisfying thrill than the anticipation, the knowing, that I was going to eat and beat a beautiful woman’s cunt. They were in there and I was joining them for some serious vaginal mayhem. Of the two, I suppose Kitty was the more beautiful, but Nora had a quiet strength and presence about her, a dignity, that made her even more appealing, like she’d be a tougher broad to break. The differences in the degrees of satisfaction I’d exact from each women were so miniscule I suppose they were insignificant but I decided to really go for Nora. I wanted to lay a beating on her and see how hard she’d fight me back.

‘So ladies, what’s up? What have you decided? I gave you lots of time, more than I expected, so I’m sure you’ve worked something out. Right?’

I strutted right up to Nora.

She could sense the aggression, the focus in my demeanor.

‘You’re gonna take your dress off? Right? Huh? Just like I was saying before?’

‘Yes I told you I would but only if you promise. Just like I was saying before too, you don’t rape me in front of Kitty. You don’t make my daughter watch.’

‘What if I rape her in front of you instead? How would that be?’

‘No. No, of course not. You know that wouldn’t be acceptable.’

‘So look, I don’t give a shit which one of you it is. My cock’s got a real itch and if it doesn’t feel some pussy lips around it soon, real soon, I’m gonna get mean. Really mean. Understand? And I’m sure Kitty will be tighter than you.’

I stepped towards the younger, trembling woman.

‘No. No. OK, no. Look. Look, I’m taking my dress off. Leave her alone. Look.’

She wriggled out of her party dress and let it fall to the floor around her ankles. Normally she would have treated it like

spun-gold but since it was already ruined from my knife cut across the bust she didn’t care that she stepped on it.

Her bra was a marvel. Even though it was strapless, it was thin and near see-through. Her nipples were normal with tight, hard, encircling little areolas. Nothing puffy about her nerps. Her panties were the rest of a matched set. Again, near see-through and very light, feminine pink. She didn’t shave herself but still her bush was tidy and trim just like the rest of her was.

Page 21.

She was so focused on me not attacking Kitty anymore that she’d forgotten to cry or even tremble but when I left off confronting Kitty to attend to Nora’s display, she became more scared and self-conscious about her near nakedness and vulnerability. She tried her best to look brave and strong, even defiant, but her lower lip and chin quivered and were giving her fears away.

I moved to within five feet of her and stood like a vision of authority looking her up and down and up.

‘Not fucking bad. Not fucking bad at all. How old are you anyway? I mean you’re her fucking mother and she’s gotta be forty-five.’ I motioned to Kitty.

(Calista Flockhart, born Nov. 11, 1964.)

The thing was I already knew she was over sixty but could easily pass for forty-five too.

(Sally Field, born Nov. 6, 1946.)

Nora’s face contorted more.

‘I’m old enough to know you shouldn’t be doing this and you are too. That you have no right and that you should leave us alone.’

‘Dressed like that, or undressed like that, you think I’m gonna leave you alone? Get real.’

Her face contorted and quivered more and her eye lids batted rapidly.

I decided to tease her.

‘What is it? What is it? What are you crying for?’

‘I’m not crying.’ She protested with a quavering voice that caught in her throat.

‘Maybe not yet but you’re pretty fucking close to tears. Right?’

She calmed herself and sucked in a deep breath of courage (and foolishness) to inform me, ‘I’m not going to let you make me cry. I won’t. I’m scared. I’ve never done this before.’

‘What? Stood in front of a man in your underwear?’

‘No. No, not that. Of course I’ve done that before. I’ve  just never been forced to before. That’s why I’m scared. Surely you can understand and accept that.’

‘So what if I do? What difference is it supposed to make?’

Page 22.

She gave me a plaintive, sad look.

‘The difference that you see me as a person and understand me as a human being, both of us, and you don’t do anymore horrible things to us. That’s what I want you to see.’

‘Y’know what I’d rather see? I’d rather see your nipples out so take off your bra.’

Nora was catching on.

She gave me a shape, piercing look but took the bra off right away. She new it didn’t hide anything anyway.

I groaned.

‘Oh fuck. What, you about a thirty-four C? Huh?’

She simply glared at me.

‘Give me your bra. Hand it to me.’

I was only five feet away in front of her.

She extended her hand tentatively and I accepted the garment and looked at the label inside.

‘Right. Fucking on right. I got it right. Says thirty-four C here. Damn I’m good. I really know my tit sizes.’ I paused to gloat at her. ‘How come she’s so flat when you’ve got so much body to your tits? You sure she’s your daughter? Maybe she’s adopted.’

‘Go to Hell. Stop being so mean and insensitive, disgusting. Go to Hell.’

‘Maybe when I compare cunts, maybe then I see the similarity. Right?’

Of course Nora had no way of knowing I’d heard Kitty lamenting her hangy-out minora labia and Nora clearly didn’t have the same, not that I could make out through the sheer, stretchy fabric at her panties’ crotch. So that would prove to be a bigger hoot and difference to be exploited.

‘Anyway, so you’re almost there. Give me your panties.’

She had maintained a facade of strength and dignity, believing the woman in her, the femininity in her soul, would carry her through but she could not surrender the last vestige of protection covering her intimacy. Her vagina belonged to her and she could not surrender it without some level of protest. She could not surrender it at all, she then knew, so her plan to seduce me seemed pretty much skuppered and doomed.

Page 23.

She began to tremble remarkably and her legs jiggled at the inner top thighs. She was near to pissing her panties and I didn’t want them soiled.

‘You piss yourself and I swear I’ll make Kitty lick it up. You understand?’

She scrunched her bladder muscles shut and squeezed her vagina tight.

‘Now give me your fucking underwear, the rest of it.’

She swayed and resisted. She was going to lose her balance.

‘I can’t. I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.’

‘You’re sorry? Really? If you don’t, it’s her that’ll be sorry.You want her to lose another nipple? Or worse? You want me to cut her vagina? Maybe even burn it?’

‘No. God, no. No don’t. Don’t make me. Don’t threaten her to make me. Please. Don’t. Just leave us alone.’

I decided to change the topic while keeping on the subject.

‘Did she, did Kitty ever tell you how she came to lose her nipple? The one that’s gone? The one that got away? Did she?’

I knew she hadn’t.

Nora shook her head and looked even more fearful.

She didn’t want to hear any account.

‘Well maybe I should tell you. It’s quite a story and maybe it’ll help you to co-operate better, so let’s see. Let’s see if I can go back an hour or two.’

Nora twisted her face and Kitty contorted hers.

‘Y’know that compared to you, she’s a mouthy bitch. She’s a know-it-all. She thinks she knows it all. Isn’t that right, Kitty?’ I called out to her.

‘You bastard. You miserable miscreant. What’s wrong with you? It’s bad enough what you did to me, you did already, stop tormenting my mother with it. Stop it you misfit creep.’

‘Geeze, I must say, you’re getting better at the name calling. You’ve almost got it down to an art but not a science. Better leave the really detailed stuff to me.’

It sort of went over her head that I considered her an amateur.

I addressed Nora again.

‘Y’now if she’d've kept her fucking mouth shut, just like now she didn’t, checked, kept her attitudes in check, she’d still  have her nipple. Dumb feminist cunt of a daughter you have.’

Page 24.

‘I taught her to be strong. I taught her to stand up for herself.’

Nora defied me with her assertions.

‘That you did and that you did well, the way you taught her. Too bad you didn’t teach her to be sensible and pragmatic. Y’know, when to be flexible.’

‘Everything I could, I taught her the best I could. I did my best as her mother.’

‘Yeah, whatever. So you know I separated you two when I got you here. You already know that. So I took Kitty off into another room, a bedroom actually, and the moment she saw the bed she got uppity, all uppity. If I recall she said something like, “If you think you’re getting me on there, you’re crazy.” Yeah,  that’s exactly what she said, “If you think I’m getting on that bed with you, you’re crazy.” So I suggested she should give her attitude a second thought, like an adjustment and she suggested I should live in Hell which wasn’t very charitable since I hadn’t done anything to her, at least not yet or then.’

‘You hadn’t done anything?’ Kitty piped up. ‘You’d kidnapped us and brought  us here against our wills and you say you hadn’t done anything? You’re deluded. You’re sick.’

‘Enough from the peanut gallery unless you want to finish the story. Do you? Do you Kitty?’

She shook her head, no.

‘Didn’t think so, so don’t interrupt again or you’ll have to.’

I was sure she muttered, ‘You can’t make me’ and something about a pig’s eye but I let it pass. I’d deal with her severely later. I just knew she was in for a minora labia-ectomy and Nora was going to assist. Man could I fantasize their screams in my mind.

‘So anyway, you wouldn’t believe how she slagged me, how she starts in on me. I mean you’d think she was a fucking lawyer or something like the Ally McBeal bitch on TV, so I says to her put a lid on it or I’d cut her tit off. That was before I saw how little she had. Fucking pancake tits. There’s hardly a decent meal there. So anyway I tells her to strip and she’s  even worse  than you. She don’t want me to see her twat. I can’t imagine why. I mean she’s a good looking woman so she’s going to have a good looking cunt. Right?’

Page 25.

Nora looked at me dumbfounded.

‘Right?’ I repeated.

She nodded and said, ‘Yes. OK. Right.’

‘Anything I should know about her vagina? Anything you want to tell me?’

Nora’s eyes grew narrow with suspicion and calculation.  How could my question be so pointed without prior direction? Something smelled fishy and it wasn’t their humid cunts.

‘Go to Hell, you despicable bastard. Go straight to Hell.’

‘I’ll take that as a no, then. I hope you’re not lying to me. Y’know, like lying by ommission.’

She felt she should say something but how does a mother describe her daughter’s sloppy, untidy cunt to a murdering, mutilating rapist. Where would she start? What would she say?’

Nora took my inference seriously, my verbal threat to heart.

She believed I was a misfit of my word.

‘Kitty’s vagina is unusual and it’s my fault.’ She blurted out.

‘Mom. No, Mom, don’t.’ Kitty cried out.

‘Really? How so?’ I asked Nora like I had no idea.

‘I’m sure you’re going to find out anyway from the way you’re behaving, from how you’re treating us, so I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you. I have to tell you.’

‘Mmooomm. Mmooomm, don’t. Please don’t.’

‘It’s alright sweetheart. Mother knows best. Her minora labia protrude from her majora labia.’

I gave my head a shake.

She’d actually said it.

Fuck was I in control.

‘Oh shit, Mom. No shit. You almost made me spunk my pants. You mean she has an outie, like with shit hanging out between her lips?’

‘I mean she’s formed differently than some women. She’s formed differently than me.’

‘And you’re sure, as I said, she’s your daughter?’

‘Of course, I gave birth to her. Of course I am.’

‘OK, good on you for honesty. We’ll have to see about that later. So back to how Kitty lost her nip tip. I didn’t take it all, y’know. I don’t know if you saw that. Did you?’

Page 26.

‘I saw it. I noticed it.’

‘Y’know why? Why I didn’t take it all?’

Nora’s face twisted in fury and hatred. She remembered what Kitty had told her and it was the ultimate in despicable as far as she was concerned. She would not offer an answer.

Of course I knew she knew so I gave her an inspired, superior look.

‘OK, never mind. I can see you’re upset.’

‘Since when did that matter to you? Huh? Since when?’

I looked at her like she was no more than a bug to be squished or a cunt-roach to be hammered.

‘Fuck you. So like I was saying, like Kitty ditty, she sees the bed and says, no way. No way on the bed, so I tells her either on the bed or on the floor. I didn’t care which where. So you know what she says next? No, of course you don’t.  Well she lies to me, isn’t that right miss high and mighty liar Kitty? Tell you mom what you lied to me.’

Kitty locked eyes with me and could tell I was dead, as in murder, serious.

‘Mom, I told him I had my period. That’s what I said to him.’

‘Fucking lied about it, didn’t you? Said you were on the rag when you weren’t. That’s the oldest, dumbest trick in the book that a woman often uses when she’s about to be raped and wanna know another? AIDS. They fucking claim their twats are infected with AIDS and you know how I respond to that?’

They both looked non-plussed.

‘I offer to burn it out of them. To burn the fucking AIDS right out of their cunts and you never seen a faster cure. I mean, oops, all of a sudden the disease has gone, disappeared in a poof like a lie being untold. HIV positive shit. Of course that doesn’t stop me from still burning them later, roasting their fucking cervixes as retribution for them lying to me. So what do you think? Kitty, should you look forward to that? What do you thing Mother superior Nora? Should I burn the pussy out of your baby, for lying?’

Nora trembled and tried to measure her response.

‘Please, you have to stop. You must stop. None of this is right so you have to..’

‘Cease and desist?’ Is that how they say it on the cop shows?’ I taunted her.

Page 27.

‘Please. Please. Just stop.’

‘Yeah. OK. So anyway back to how Kitty lost the end of her bud. I’m getting pretty horny seeing her shivering there so close to the edge of the bed and my pecker can imagine grinding away inside of her. I mean I really wanted to split her labia. I took her by the arm to force her onto the mattress and Kitty twisted violently and managed to elbow me in the gut. I mean she got super strong and winded me. She went to bolt for the door but it was bolted so she had nowhere to run to. She really thought I was mad. I guess I certainly looked it but it was all an act. I fucking love it when a bitch fights and Kitty wanted to prove she could out-wrestle or perhaps out-box me. Well.. Fucking well.. Tell her Kitty. Tell her what happened next.’

Kitty raised her cheeky chin at me and her jaw trembled. She remembered only too well but had no intention of repeating it to her mom who was watching her daughter with dismay and pity.

She got stupidly spunky.

‘Go to Hell. You know what you did. Go to Hell you miserable little excuse for a worm.’

‘Come on. That’s not nice. Not nice at all. Fucking tell her.’

‘Go to Hell.’ Kitty persisted.

‘Fine. Fine, I’ll show Nora, I’ll show your mom what happened instead.’

I moved in on the older woman.

‘No. No. OK, no. Don’t. OK, I’ll tell.’

‘Thought you might.’ I gloated back to her. Actually gloated back to them both.

‘Mom. Mom, I made such a mistake.  I thought he was really mad. It seemed like he was so I was even more scared but I was angry too. Why hadn’t I seen that the door, bedroom door, was bolted and that I couldn’t run to escape. I was really disturbed with myself so I tried to keep up the momentum. Y’know, keep up an offensive, an attack,  so I ran at him again. He may not look it, but he’s very agile. I don’t know, maybe he works out or something but as I arrived to clout him again he did a small side-step, like he deeked me and he punched me. He punched me really hard in.. God in.. God he struck my vagina. He punched it. Oh God, he did. And he did it so mean and hard.’

Page 28.

‘Oh Kitty. Oh Kitty sweetheart. Oh my precious. – You miserable bastard. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hope you die. You deserve to die.’

‘I’m sure you do and I’m sure you should.’ I replied with a smirk and a lilt in my voice. ‘So anyway, yeah, she got that right. I planted my fist right into her pussy. Fuck did she fold. Fuck did she ever stagger and collapse and it was nothing to grab her to hoist her onto the bed.’

‘You raped her. You raped her? Kitty you didn’t tell me he raped you.’

‘No, Mom, no, because he didn’t. I wish he had instead.’

‘Yeah, fucking right she wishes that. So I did follow her onto the bed, bounced onto the mattress already to tear her clothes off and the cunt hadn’t learned. Not a fucking thing. She twisted and hoofed me in the goolies. I don’t know how she got her feet around so fast and into position for such an accurate shot but she folded me right over again. I mean, Kitty you’re a fucking little scraper. Aren’t you? Take after your mom here, do you?’

‘Go to Hell.’

‘Fine. We’ll see. We’ll find out about that. You a fighter too, Nora? You fight as good as your bitch, arrogant daughter?’

It was a challenge.

Or was it an invitation?

Nora sensed the change in my tone. A change in my attitude, even though it was only slightly perceptible. But she was worried I was gearing up for more and probably greater violence against Kitty so she needed to shut me down and failing that at least to divert me.

‘I know who you are. I know what you’re doing. My daughter is not a bitch. She is not arrogant. She’s never been a bitch and you have no right to degrade her like that. Yes, I’m a fighter. Yes I am. I taught Kitty to stand up for herself. I already told you that. So I taught her how to be strong because I know how to be strong too. You think she was a fighter? I’ll show you what it means if I get the chance.’

‘What, you want me to give you the chance to fight me?’

Nora looked shocked.

Page 29.

She hadn’t meant that expressly. What she’d meant was if I was careless and she ever got the chance to be free, then she’d show me who knew how to fight and who didn’t. But she was fast on her feet and sensed an in.

‘You wouldn’t fight me. Not fairly. Bullies like you never allow… You wouldn’t fight me in a fair contest.’

I eyed her trying to look as suspicious as she was looking suspicious at me.

I’d set many women up for such a contest before and I didn’t want Nora getting a whiff that she was being maneuvered into an inescapable boxing-ring corner. That she was on the ropes before she even started.

‘You really think you could mount a credible effort? You think you’re strong enough to do that?’

‘There’s only one way you can find out. Right? Only one way you can ever see for sure.’

‘Hhmm. Fuck. Hhmm. Interesting. Fucking sounds interesting.’

Kitty cried out. ‘Mom. No, Mom. You can’t be serious. No. He’s evil. God he won’t play by any rules of decency. No Mom, you can’t.’

‘Now you know she’s right. I mean if we fight it’ll be no holds barred. Nothing’s off limits, nothing’s off the table or the floor, so to say.’

‘Just give me a chance. Give me the chance and I’ll show you how much I care about rules of civility. How much I care about my daughter.’

‘No Marquis of Queensbury shit for you? Huh?’

‘Just let me and I’ll show you. You’ll see.’

‘Y’know I just might take you up on that. Could be interesting. I’ll give it some thought. Meanwhile let me finish telling you how Kitty lost the end of her nipple.’

Nora looked disappointed. She thought she had diverted me from the terrible tale but I was ready to begin re-accounting.

‘So Kitty hoofed me in the balls, in the goolies, like I said and I had no choice but to buckle over. I mean my balls aren’t made of brass, just flesh and lots of blood like any other guy’s are. So she sees it as an opportunity to try to escape, to go running out the door but unfortunately for her I’m blocking the way. But that doesn’t stop her from trying. She came running at me like a little steam engine with her long legs whirling and crashed into me to knock me to the floor. It doesn’t quite work, although almost, as I bang up against the wall. The door’s closed and she can’t wrench it open. At least I’d had the good sense to lock it. She fires over to a window but it has unbreakable glass in it. The stuff’s called Lexan and you can’t put a bullet through it. So all the while she’s trying to find a way out, I’m getting my act back together and I sucked up the pain in my groin and finally started back after her. I mean we played one helluva game of tag. Didn’t we Kitty?’

Page 30.

Kitty gave me a disgusted grunt.

‘Isn’t that right, Kitty? We played a decent game of tag?’

‘If you say so. I wasn’t playing. Only you were playing so if that counts I guess you could say you’re right. You’re still stupid and a monster and I hate you even more. You’re not going to fight with my mother. If you’re going to fight with anyone, it’s going to be me.’

‘Maybe the two of you? Maybe I should fight with the two of you at once?’

They could not hide their hope.

They could not conceal the prospect of their good fortune.

Whatever else came to be, they had to entice me into fighting the two of them at once.

They exchanged deep glances of intrigue and plotting.

‘You’d never do that. You don’t have the courage to fight just one of us.’ Nora piped in. ‘Let alone facing a mother and daughter together. I know you’re not that brave. I know you’re not that stupid.’

‘Geeze, you’re giving me an awful lot to think about, but we’ll see. We’ll see later. So to continue, I finally got my shit back together and Kitty could tell I was more than pissed. As I got in close to her in a corner she made a desperate flight to sail by me and I grabbed onto her thin, fine, long blonde hair. I mean she’s lucky she isn’t fucking bald. I ripped back on it so hard she flew off her feet and landed on her ass, on her fucking tail bone on the hardwood floor. No carpet there to soften the blow. The crack to the end of her spine, really did it. It fucking stunned her and I had no trouble

re-dragging her to the bed and hoisting her up onto the mattress again. All the while pulling her by the hair with her legs kicking and wielding about. On the bed I smacked her head to the bed post. It dazed her. Kitty went woozy but not out cold. So I took a firm hold of her chest and right away I knew she had no tits. I mean how could you make a daughter, an adult woman, with so little tit meat? Huh? You proud of that, that you spawned a titless daughter?’

‘You vile, vile monster. Go to Hell. You despicable bastard. Let me loose so I can send you to Hell.’

‘We’ll see. Not yet though. We’ll see.’

Page 31.

‘You’re disgusting. I hate you.’ Nora shot back.

‘Yeah, that I am. So anyway I had to find out. I mean I’m trying to use her its for handles to lift her but there’s nothing to grip onto so I had to see. I ripped her party dress away and she’s got this stupid little bra on. I mean she doesn’t even need a fucking training bra so I guess it was just to hide her nipples. That right Kitty? You didn’t want your pokies poking out? Guess you don’t have to worry about that now for one of them, huh?’

At that point all the two women could tell me to do was go to Hell.

‘Go to Hell, you despicable bastard. You didn’t have to hurt me like that just because my breasts weren’t up to your expectations. You had no right. You didn’t.’

‘Yeah, but it was fun. Was it ever delightful.’

‘For you maybe. But not for me and I know you know that.’

‘So ask me if I care? Ask me if I fucking care.’

‘I know you don’t. You don’t care but you should. If you were any kind of a human being you would.’

‘Whatever, so why don’t you tell your mom what happened next? Why don’t you share it with her?’

‘Uh uh. No. No, I won’t. You’re telling the story. You’re the one getting off on it, so no, I won’t.’

I trotted over to Kitty with intent on my mind.

I took hold of her face by gripping her cheeks.

I planted a mean kiss on her reluctant, fighting lips.

I stated my purpose clearly and slowly.

‘Tell her. Tell her now or one of her nipples comes off now.’

Kitty’s face defied me but her mouth started to work.

‘Mom. Mom, he… Mom, when he saw my bra, he almost had a fit. For some reason it fascinated him and he told be to take it off carefully, that he wanted to keep it as a souvenir. Mom, I should have listened. I know I should have, but my anger got the better of me and I tore it off. It ripped across the front and through a cup and as I threw it at him he punched me in a breast. God Mom, he punched me for the first time in my breast.’

Page 32.

‘I hate you. I hate you.’ Nora screamed out towards me but mostly it bounced off the ceiling.

‘Look Mom, it’s getting boring. You’ve already established that, that you hate me so come up with something more original or shut the fuck up. So continue Kitty. Tell her some more.’

‘I hate you too.’ Kitty added uselessly.

‘I will pop her nipple in a heart beat if you don’t continue. Believe me. You want that?’

‘No. No. OK, no. Yes I threw the damaged bra at him and as he examined it he told me I would pay. That I was gonna pay for being so impulsive and contrary. That my breasts were gonna pay. Then he noticed. God, Mom, I couldn’t help it. From the fear and the cold, my nipples got erect. They got hard. I couldn’t stop it nor help myself and right away he zeroed in on them. That was the start of him cutting one off.’

Kitty looked at me like maybe I should finish telling the story. It would be too difficult for her to go on.

No such luck.

I gave her a smirk.

‘Go on.’

‘Please. Please, you finish. I can’t.’

‘Then your mom can’t keep a nipple.’

‘OK. OK.’ She blubbered as she continued. ‘Like I said he focused on them and started insulting me and saying degrading and horrible things about the size of my breasts. Like he has said to you too about them being so small that a young girl would have more. You know, you know Mom, how sensitive I am about that. How sensitive I’ve always been and I spat back at him. I couldn’t help myself, he made me so mad and furious showing such disrespect for my person, for the woman who I am and so somehow it got around to him saying maybe he should cut one of them off. He meant one of my breasts off but then made his sick joke that it would be impossible since there was so little there. Y’know, of course, then he played on how easily a nipple could come off instead. He made sick, terrible, horrible jokes about how it would hardly damage me and how I could easily go on living without one. God he was a monster. An impossible creep.’

Page 33.

‘I was a monster. Wasn’t I?’ I interjected proudly.

‘And you still are. You’re despicable and I hate you more than I can ever say.’ Kitty retorted.

‘So don’t say and finish the fucking story. Your tale of tit woe.’

‘Mom. Mom, once he said about cutting a nipple off instead, I couldn’t get him to change the subject, to get him off the idea or topic. It didn’t matter what I said he just stayed focused on it. I even offered to let him rape me but nothing would dissuade him.’

‘Oh baby. Oh my sweet baby.’ Nora cried out softly to her.

‘So that’s where it got to. He told me he was going to do it for sure and that he had to get the right, God, he called them tools. Tools. That he had to get tools to cut one of my nipples off. He left and came back with surgical instruments he said he got off the Internet, scalpels mostly, but forceps and clamps too. I couldn’t believe what he was showing me.’

‘Pretty decent stuff. Weren’t they?’ I added.

‘Go to Hell. – Mom, I started to cry. I couldn’t help it but it only turned him on more. He said he loved how it made my meager chest jiggle but he wanted to see me screaming too. He said he wanted to see my tonsils. It really scared me so as he finally got around to nearing me to actually do it, I stuck out at him again. I had to. What choice did I have?’

‘None, sweetheart. I’m sure you had none.’ Nora supported her.

‘No I didn’t but I wasn’t very good. I was so scared seeing the scalpel in his hand and when I tried to kick him, I only kicked the air but he punched me again and you know where.’

‘You loathsome, impossible bastard. I swear. I swear I will kill you.’ Nora fired her promise at me again.

‘We’ll see about that. In a bit we’ll see but for now, your fucking cunt daughter’s about to get to the best part. Go on Kitty, finish telling her the best.’

‘Mom, he pinned me. He dragged me off the bed by my hair and pinned me to the floor as I doubled over and held the scalpel to my throat, right to my jugular vein. He told me he’d slit my windpipe and I’d bleed to death if I didn’t hold still. I had to. I had to freeze. He, God, he. God he, he pinched my nipple out and was ready to cut it off when he stopped. I mean, I had no idea. How could any woman? He handed me the scalpel.’

Page 34.

My boner was getting firmer just hearing her recount what had happened then.

‘What? OK. Yes. OK.’ Nora knew what was coming next.

‘He told me. He told me I had to do it myself. To myself. He told me I had to cut my own nipple off.’

‘Baby. Baby, sweetheart. Mommy’s here. Your mother’s here.’

‘I tried. As impossible as it sounded and was, I really tried and when he saw I was never going to succeed, that I threw the scalpel away, that’s when he made the horrible threats about what he would do to you if I didn’t. I tried, I tried again but it hurt way too much.’

I trotted over to Nora.

‘Fucking little cunt, really let you down. Didn’t she?’

Nora slapped my hand away from her face.

‘I will kill you. I swear I will.’ Nora had unqualified hatred for me.

‘So good. Wonderful. I think you’ll make one hell of an effort to try, so anyway I think I’ll finish the story. I mean Kitty got it right. Right on. Like she said, the first thing I threatened to do was to cut your nipples off instead. Both your fucking nippers. Think you could live without them? Humm mommy dearest?’

‘I can do whatever it takes to defeat you. That’s what I can do.’

‘Yeah, I suppose, so when I told Kitty about slicing your nips off I figured it’d turn the trick and she’d do her own off but no such luck so I figured I had to up the ante, like make the stakes more severe, so I told her what I would do to your cunt. Your cunt. Your fucking pussy. That I’d torture it inside out. That really freaked her so she tried harder but still no nippy off.’

I placed my hand to Nora’s throat and squeezed on her wind pipe. I lowered my other hand to grope her crotch. My eyes narrowed and my grip tightened.

‘You want me to torture your cunt? You want me to spread your legs and mutilate your womanly vagina? Huh?’

Nora twisted her hips in a circle.

Kitty cried out for me to leave her alone.

I didn’t as I pressed my thumb into the crack of her crease.

Page 35.

‘I’ll tell you what I told her so you can make up your mind.’

‘Stop it. Stop it. You’re hurting me. Stop it.’

‘No shit. You think that hurts? What about this?’

I found the nub of her clit and dug my thumbnail into it.

She shrieked and jerked her ass back.

I twisted on her nub and pulled it forward as her bum shot back.

‘Hold still. Fucking hold still or I’ll cut it off. I swear.’

Nora froze with her vagina in my hand.

‘So yeah, I told Kitty I’d tie you down. I’d tie you down good and tight and spread your legs so far you’d think your hip joints were going to dislocate. Then I’d come at your vagina with the scalpel. I’d cut into your clit, – fucking like how I’m pinching it? Do you?’

‘Stop it. Stop it. Please stop it. You’re hurting me.’

‘Stop it. Stop it. Please stop it. You’re hurting her.’ Kitty echoed her mom.

‘So anyway then I got down and dirty. I told her that I could burn your clit too. That I could apply a soldering iron to it and fry the crisp out of it. And then came the really good stuff about your cervix. That I have speculums and I can open your canal and burn and pierce your cervix. That sound appealing to you? It certainly didn’t to Kitty. And finally I told her I’d insert great big firecrackers into you and blow your vix clear into your uterus. Now wouldn’t that be a fireworks show to end all womanly matters? Huh?’

‘You’re sick. You’re the most degenerate person I’ve ever heard of.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment. So I mean I’ve told her all that and still, still the selfish little cunt bitch, she won’t cut her own nipple off. What the fuck would it take? What do you suppose?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s not at all possible. I don’t know.’

‘No you don’t because there was nothing. It all ended so fast for her. I came back to do it to her and she fought and flailed like a banshee. She would not let me proceed. I kicked her. Right, Kitty, I kicked you?’

Page 36.

‘Ohh God. God ohh. Ohh God. God, no, my precious baby.’

‘Yeah, I hoofed her alright. I’m surprised I didn’t crack some ribs under her nipples. I fucking booted her chest. But the one to her pussy, my fist I mean, that’s the one that sent her out cold.’

‘I hate you. I’ll kill you. God, let me kill him.’

‘So now Nora, now ladies, we get to the good part. We get to the surprise. The whole thing, the whole fucking thing, I got it on video and now we’re gonna watch it together.’

They looked stunned.

Completely flabbergasted.

‘You.. What? What? You.. You mean you’ve been making us, making me recount all this when you  recorded it? What? When? How could you? I didn’t see any cameras.’ Kitty was beside herself.

‘You incredible monster. What’s wrong with you? Have you no shred of human decency?’ Nora added to the cacophony.

‘I’m just full of surprises. Aren’t I? So whatever, let me show you the vid. Show you the best part of all. I wanna see it anyway. I haven’t watched it yet.’

The women objected uselessly but predictably as I got the TV screen all set up where they both could readily see it. I set the unit to play with remote control in hand. It started to roll as they used to say in the olden days of film.

I let it start at the beginning where I’d shoved Kitty roughly into the bedroom and she said just as I’d already told them, ‘If you think you’re getting me on the bed, you’re crazy.’ Of course I had a good memory for those kinds of first words. I zipped the fast forward to where I’d returned to the bedroom with the scalpels and other funky and sundry tools.

‘Fuck. Fuck we gotta look at that. That’s a good place to start. Give me a sec while I rewind it.’

I got it back to where Kitty took her wild kicks at me as I approached her with a scalpel but she only connected with the air.

I could see clearly why I punched her cunt since I hadn’t really intended to. Her dress had ridden up and her power blue panties were stretched so tightly across her labia and my eye caught a glimpse of her crinkly stuff hanging out of the center of her crease. Of course, all under the privacy of the double fabric of the silk gusset of her undies. It was like my hand was on a spring, like a, ha ha, Jack-in-the-box only it would be a Jack’s-fist-into-the-box.

Page 37.

‘Ooofff. Fucking Hell, would you look at that? Fucking look how my fist connected with her labia. Fuck Nora, what do you think of that? I guess she shouldn’t have shown me her panties. Huh? She should have had more modesty. Right Kitty? You should have kept your snatch to yourself?’

‘You scum. You scum. We’ll kill you. You scum.’ Nora wailed out. Kitty was just embarrassed.

‘Fuck I gotta rewind that. I wanna see it in slow motion, y’know like freeze framed.’

I did the slo-mo thing and could freeze the frame where my knuckle penetrated the deepest into her slit. It showed her labia splay out and my knuckle burrow in. I left it frozen there.

I went to see Nora.

‘So what do you think of that? Huh? That’s your fucking precious daughter with her cunt almost ruptured. Look, she’s all doubled over. She can hardly breath and she’s convulsing. What do you think of that?’

Nora took a swing at me.

I gripped her striking hand and twisted it down to force into her own crotch. I pulled it back and made her punch her own vagina. I pulled it back farther.

Kitty wailed out, ‘No stop it. Stop it. Finish showing us the video instead.’

I pressed Nora’s hand hard to her crease and slid it up and down along her slit, like she was pleasuring herself. I smelled her palm.

‘Fucking right. That’s what I gotta do. I gotta finish showing you the video.’

I got up and gave Nora a light back hand to the face and resumed with the remote control.

‘Oh look. Fucking look. She’s barely conscious. Look how I pulled her off the bed by her hair. Isn’t that sweet, ladies?’

They didn’t concur.

‘So there, look. I’ve got her on the floor and there’s the scalpel, right at your throat Kitty. You really thought I was gonna slit your neck, didn’t you? Open up your windpipe. Look how you’re fucking begging me not to kill you. What a sap. What a baby.’

Page 38.

‘You scum. You bastard. You scum.’ Kitty derided me.

‘Oh fuck there it is. Fuck and fucking shit look how I’ve got your nipple. Like fuck, pulled way out from your tit or at least what you’ve got that passes for a tit. Fucking sweet. Fucking delicious. And there it is. There it is. There, I give the scalpel to you. Let’s hear the words. Let’s pay attention to them. Let’s hear it louder.’

I increased the volume using the remote.

(Me: Kitty: Are the direct words from the recording. A line space has been left when switiching back and forth from the recording and what the women watching it (and me) are saying.)

Me:     ‘Here. Here bitch. It’s too fucking easy if I cut it off. You do it. You do it to yourself. You cut your own fucking nipple off.’

Kitty:  ‘No God. No God. No God, I can’t. You must be crazy. No don’t. No . No. For God’s sake, no.’

Me:     ‘Take the fucking scalpel.’

Kitty:  ‘No, God please. Don’t make me.’

Me:     ‘Take it or I’ll cut your cunt open’ (I’d forgotten I’d said that to her so she took the scalpel.)

Kitty:  ‘Please. Please. Please stop no.’

Me:     ‘Pull your fucking nipple out and do it. Just fucking do it.’

‘Awh look at that. Look at the little bitch crying.’ I interjected into the playback as Kitty took the scalpel in the video.

‘Awh shit sweet. Fucking sweet. Look how you’re pinching yourself. I mean you’ve even got your fingernails dug into your nipple. Fucking sweet.’ I interjected anew.

Me:     ‘That’a girl. You’re doing good. Pull it out. Pull it fucking way out and get the knife to the side.’

Kitty:  ‘I can’t. God, God, I can’t.’

Me:     ‘Fucking right you can. Just put the knife to the side and start sawing. Start sawing it off.’

Kitty:  ‘You’re crazy. You’re insane. No woman can do that to herself. You can’t make any woman do it. No. No, I won’t.’

At that point in our exchange she tossed the scalpel at me trying to take out my eye. She only missed my head by a yard.

Me:     ‘Fuck. Fuck you cunt. That wasn’t very smart. Not very nice. You could have blinded me. That what you were trying to do? Huh? To take out my eye?’

Kitty:  ‘Go to Hell. You miserable, impossible bastard, go to Hell. I wish I had.’

Page 39.

Me:     (As I retrieved the tossed tool.) ‘Very well. Fucking last chance. Here take it. Take it again. This is your very last chance. Now do it. Or I’ll start on your mother. Now do it and when you’re finished hand me your severed nipple.’

Kitty:  ‘Oh God. Oh God. How am I supposed to do it? God help me. God help me, why?’

Me:     ‘Here, take it. I swear, you throw it again and I’ll cut your cunt and then go to work on your mom’s.’

Her hand reached out and she could barely see it for the veil of tears overwhelming her eyes. She placed the blade very specifically to her bud and pulled her nipple out really far, more than before.

Me:     ‘That’a girl. That’s a girl. Just saw away at it and it’ll come off in no time.’

Kitty:  ‘God. What? God. Look. There’s blood. There’s a trickle of blood. No. No, I can’t. No, God, I can’t do any more.’

Me:      ‘OK, enough of this shit. Fine. Fucking fine I’ll tell you. Give me the knife. I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do to your mom now. Fucking stupid cunt bitch of a daughter. She’ll wish she never had you.’

Kitty:   ‘No. No, I don’t want to hear. No.’

Me:      ‘So first right up, one of her nips comes off. Right the fuck off and then later the other one. But I’ll tell her. She’ll know for sure after one’s gone the other one goes too. Y’know anticipation being the best part of tit torture or any other kind of sexual torture and mutilation for that matter. Build the fear, the dread. Y’know.’

Kitty:  ‘No. No, you can’t. No. Not to my dear mother. No you can’t. She’s too special and precious to me. She’s too wonderful.’

Me:     ‘Oh no? Fucking no? That’s just the beginning for her. Next will be her cunt. Her fucking vagina. You have no idea how I’ll ruin her pussy wack.’

Kitty:  ‘No. No, God no. Give me the scalpel back. I’ll do it. I’ll do it. Let me try again.’

Me:     ‘Very well, but last chance.’

Kitty takes the scalpel and tries to attack her nipple but at the next sight and feel of blood she can’t go on. The nerve endings in her bud are simply too on fire and besides her vanity doesn’t want to see her tit messed up. Her breast was barely adequate enough to begin with.

Kitty:  ‘Oh God. Oh God. Give me the strength to do it, God. (She saws gingerly) God. God, why can’t I do it?’ (She drops the scalpel down and hangs her head down too lower. Her delicate shoulders shudder and shake.)

Page 40.

Me:     ‘Because you’re a fucking coward. That’s why. Nothing but a useless, fucking, chicken-shit coward.’

Kitty:  ‘No. No, that’s not true but I can’t. God forgive me. I just can’t. Mom forgive me.’

Me:     ‘Yeah, you got that right. But I don’t think she’ll ever forgive you because the first thing I’m gonna do to get at her cunt is tie her down. Tie her down so tight to the bed with her legs spread so wide she’ll think her hips are going to dislocate at the joints. Sounds like fun, huh? Bust her hips.’

Kitty:  ‘No. No. No. No. Not. No.’

Me:     ‘Oh yeah, and then her clit, her fucking clitoris. I’ll massage her and finger fuck her to get her good and full, y’know like engorged, like a fucking female hard on, and then the scalpel. I apply the scalpel to her g spot. Think that’ll give her an orgasm? Huh?’

Kitty:  ‘No. You’re sick. You’re so sick. No. No.’

Me:     ‘And burn her. Y’know what a soldering iron is? Sure you do. I’ll fucking heat one up and burn all the blood out of her lacerated clit.’

Kitty:  ‘No. God, no. How can you say such horrible, disgusting things? How? You can’t be human. How?’

Me:     ‘You think that’s bad? Huh? You know what a speculum is?’

Kitty:  ‘Yes, all women do.’

Me:     ‘So I have a bunch, a few of them. Right. So fuck, I pick the right one for the size of your mother’s cunt and I open her up and I fucking go at her cervix. I mean I pierce it and blunt it and bash at it until she screams for me to kill her but you know what I do? Huh? You know what I do next?’

Kitty:  ‘God. God. God. God. Where are you God?’

Me:     ‘Nowhere close to you, that’s for sure. So yea for the grand finale, fireworks.’

Kitty:  ‘Huh? What?’

Me:     ‘Fireworks. I stuff big cannon firecrackers, y’know the ones about five inches long and an inch in diameter, I stuff them into your dear mother’s cunt and blow her cervix into her uterus. Think she’d be able to have any more babies then? If she wasn’t already too old? Huh?’

Page 41.

Kitty:  ‘You’re sick. You’re the most degenerate person I’ve ever heard of. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.’

Me:     ‘Think what you want. Anyway, I feel like a fuck. I feel like fucking you in the ass. You wanna get butt fucked? Buggered?’

I approach Kitty and she fights and flails like a banshee. The video doesn’t lie.

So I kicks her. The video doesn’t lie. I kicks her in the nipples. A boot for each one.

‘Oh fuck. Fuck Nora, would you look at that. Fucking look at that. Fuck I buried my foot right into her nipple. You can almost hear the ribs crack. Can’t you?’

‘You cowardly bastard. How could you? You miserable, cowardly bastard.’

‘Yeah, I guess. Oh fuck look at that. Fuck another boot to the other nipple. Look how her fucking skeleton, her fucking whole body, shudders. Lucky she didn’t have a heart attack. Right?’

‘I will kill you. I will murder you. I will kick you to death.’

‘Revenge huh? Yeah, sweet revenge. So here it comes, Nora. Here comes the one that really matters. Fuck. Fuck, look how she’s twisted around. God dammed stupid bitch can’t she see she shouldn’t expose her crotch that way. Oh fuck. Ooops, to late. Awh fuck, look how my fist connects with her labia. Look how her hips convulse.’

‘Kitty. Kitty. Kitty.’ Nora cried out.

‘Ooops to late. There she goes. There she goes. Look at her. Watch. There she goes, passing out. Yup. There she is unconscious.’

I put the video on frozen frame.

‘So Kitty. You watching this too? Huh? Here’s where it really gets good.’

‘Mom. God, Mom. I can’t. I can’t watch myself like that. That’s me. God, that’s me.’

I marched over to Kitty.

I gripped her face by squeezing her cheeks.

I kissed her mouth very meanly.

I assaulted her eyes with my glare.

Page 42.

‘You bitch. You cunt. You watch. You fucking watch or I’ll burn your eyes out. Huh? You want that? You wanna be blind?’

‘Stop it. Stop hurting her. Stop threatening her.’ Nora whined.

I pressed my hand to her nipple-less tit and ground it around.

‘You want more of this?’

Kitty cried but Nora screamed out, ‘Stop it. Leave her alone. Stop it.’

‘So you’ll watch then? Right?’

‘I’ll watch. I’ll watch. I’ll watch. OK. Yes.’ Nora complied.

‘Good, so lets get her rollin’ again.’

I took the video of freeze frame.

Me:   ‘Fuck bitch. I guess that hurt. Fucking right that hurt you good. Fuck it even hurt my fist.’

I rolled the unconscious Kitty slowly onto her back. I straightened her head so it wasn’t at such a cock-eyed angle and knelt over her to kiss her mouth.

Me:   ‘Fuck that tastes good. Fuck do you ever smell good. Fucking good enough to eat. Maybe I should eat your cunt out.’

I straightened her arms out so that they were pulled up above her head. I kissed each of her tits lightly. I gripped her rib cage. She hadn’t known for sure but I punched her hard in the flatness of her tit again.

‘Oh. Oh, God. No. How can you hit her while she’s unconscious? How could you?’ Nora screamed out at me.

‘Watch. Just watch and you’ll see.’

Me:   ‘Shit does that ever feel good. Fucking bitch you’ve really got it coming.’

I moved my hands down to her hips and pressed on her pelvis.

Me:   ‘Sweet. Fucking, fucking, huh, fucking sweet.’

I panted as I got to molesting her crotch.

Me:   ‘What you got in here? Sweet baby. What you got waiting for daddy?’

‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. No you didn’t. No God, you didn’t sexually assault me while I was unconscious. No. How could you?’

‘You got that wrong. How the fuck couldn’t I. A sweet fucking piece of cunt meat like you. Just laying there unconscious just waiting and asking for it.’

Page 43.

‘No. No. I didn’t. I didn’t. I did nothing to ask for it. You’re sick. You’re a pervert and a demented maniac, a sexual lunatic. No, it’s not my fault. None of it’s my fault.’

‘You’re right sweetheart. Kitty honey, you’re absolutely right.’ Nora supported her beliefs.

‘Who fucking cares. Look what happens next.’

Slowly I pulled the hem of her dress up. I left it bunched up just below her crotch line.

Me:   ‘Fuck. Fuck I love your legs. Fuck look how long they are. Fuck I bet they’ll break nice.’

‘No.You can’t. You can’t even think of hurting my baby’s lovely legs.’ Nora was close to losing it.

Me:   ‘OK. OK. Bitch. Bitch. Let’s see what you feel like inside. Better still lets see what you look like.’

Kitty starts to stir.

Me:   ‘What the? What the fuck? You coming too already? Fuck, I thought I’d have to use the smelling salts. OK. So what the? OK. I’ll get to your cunt later. Right now I’ve got a nipple to cut off.’

Kitty slowly regained her awareness.

Me:      ‘Hey. Hey. You back in the land of the living?’

Kitty:   ‘What? What? What are you doing? What have you been doing to me?’

Me:      ‘No more shitting. Your nipple’s coming off now. Right now or I go back and I kill her. I make you watch while I kill her. Your mother’s fucking dead.’

Kitty:   ‘No. No. God, no. You can’t. Please don’t kill her. Please don’t.’

Me:      ‘OK, maybe I won’t but I am going to hurt her. I’m fucking gonna hurt her like I told you but if you want her to stay alive, you fucking hold still. You hold still while I slice it off. That’s the only deal you’ve got goin’ now.’

Kitty:   ‘Please, I don’t want you to. I want you to have mercy. But I don’t want you to kill my mother either. So if that’s what you have to do, what you must do, then get it over with.’

Nora cried out, ‘Baby. Baby. Oh my precious baby. God, no. No. God, God, God, no.’

‘Mom. It’s OK. It’s OK, Mom. I agreed to do what I had to do so he wouldn’t kill you. I had to do it. You’re my mother. I had to do it. I had to let him.’

Page 44.

‘I can’t. God, I can’t watch. God, I don’t want to see. Oh God help me. I can’t look and see.’

I re-froze the video.

I marched over to Nora.

I pinched her cheeks the same as I’d done to Kitty and kissed Nora even meaner.

I pressed my hand to her more ample chest.

‘Your nipples are gone. They’re fucking mine. You wanna be blind? You wanna be blind?’

‘Stop. Stop it. Stop hurting me. Stop terrorizing me. Terrorizing us.’

I drove the palm of my hand against her nipple.

And pushed up against her fullness.

‘Fucking cunt, I oughta cut your whole tit off. Not just your nipples, your fucking whole tits. Huh? A double mastectomy. That sound good to you?’

‘Stop. Stop. Stop hurting my breasts. Stop.’

‘Stop. God, stop it. Stop hurting my mother.’

I ground my hips to hers.

‘I’ll be getting to this. I’ll be getting to this soon enough but for now you fucking watch your daughter’s nipple being cut off. You fucking watch or else.’

I started the show again.

Kitty:   ‘Oh God, my God, if you’re going to let this happen, really happen to me, God give me strength. Help me through to survive it. Please, God, make me strong.’

Me:      ‘OK, enough. It’s time.  Stand up.’

Kitty:   ‘I’m scared. I’m weak. I might fall down, I’m so afraid.’

Me:      ‘You do and I’ll kick you silly. Stand the fuck up and come over here.’

Kitty struggled unsteadily to her feet and shuffled over to me with tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to keep her nipple. How could she keep her nipple?

Kitty:   ‘I’ll let you. I’ll let you fuck me, rape me if you want to. I don’t want you to disfigure my breast, my femininity. Please let me, — you can rape me.’

Page 45.

Me:     ‘I’ll be doing that anyway, so get the fuck over here. No more shit.’

Kitty:   ‘You’re gonna rape me anyway? Anyways? God, no please.’

Me:     ‘You bet, now last fucking chance for your mom.’

Kitty:  ‘OK. OK. OK, where do you want me?’

Me:     ‘I’m gonna sit on the floor against the wall with my legs spread and I want you to sit in front of me the same way. Like with your back to my chest.’

Kitty looks at me confused but slowly complies.

I get her hugged to me and pull her head back so I can twist her face around to kiss her mouth.

Me:    ‘It’s OK. It’ll be OK, baby. You’ll see. It won’t hurt like you think.’

Kitty: ‘Please. Please. Don’t.’

Me:   (Whispering softly in her ear.) ‘It’ll hurt more than you ever can imagine.  Goody for me. So lets get to it. Here it is. Here’s the knife.’

I held the scalpel in front of her contorted, tear flooded face.

Her legs kick slightly and jerked.

I brought my hand around up under her arm to cross over her chest to grip a tit, or at least what she had for a tit. I pinched her out at the areola.

Me:     ‘Feels good. You may not have much but what you do have feels fucking good. Feels like I could crush it. Maybe the other one. Huh?’

Kitty:  ‘Please. Please. Please, don’t please.’

Me:     ‘Now I wanna tell you something about nipples. Something you may not know or may not have thought about.  OK?’

Kitty:  ‘What? No. How? What? What is it?’

Me:     ‘Nipples are so fucking full of nerve endings and little erection muscles. I mean, how do you think yours get hard when you have erections if is wasn’t for all the little muscles inside of them? Right? Huh? And the fucking nerve endings, like there’s thousands of then all leading to the tip which is what gives you the nipple orgasms when you handle yourself while masturbating. Right? You play with your buds when you jerk off? I know you’d do that.’

Page 46.

Kitty:  ‘Go to Hell. Just get it over with and go to Hell.’

Me:     ‘Yeah, so yeah, there’s even the ducts like the little tubes that lead from the milk sacs, the lobules, in your tit that get the fluid out. Let me show you. I’ll bet I can express a squirt of fluid out of you even though you’re not pregnant. You’re not pregnant are you? I’d love to bust you preggars.’

Kitty:  ‘I’m not pregnant.’

Me:     ‘Too bad. It might, could have, kept you alive longer.’

I reached two hands to her breast and worked the flesh from the chest wall forward until it all bunched up at her areola. I gave her a last, hard sliding pinch and a squirt of milky white fluid shot out of her ducts. It squirted onto her knee.

Me:     ‘See. See. Just as I said. See. There’s always fluid in a woman’s tits’ ducts and capillary tubes. Fucking great.’

Kitty:  ‘You miserable degenerate bastard. Just get it over with.’

Me:     ‘So what I was telling you, the point. The secret you see it not to cut the whole nipple off. Just like three quarters of it that way to like leave a stub with a lot of the nerve ending and muscles still attached to you. That way the pain is fucking unbelievable, it’s inescapable. I can tell you that. I’ve done this before.’

Nora cried out, ‘My God. My God. What kind of monster are you? How many other women  have you done this to? How many others? Tell me. God dammed it, tell me.’

‘Mustn’t swear. A few mother. Even more than a few.’

Kitty:   ‘Oh, please. God no please. Don’t make it worse than it has to be.’

Me:      ‘Don’t you see? That’s just the point, my point. I wanna make it as bad as it can possibly be. You’ll never forget it, I can tell you that. Every time you put your stupid little training bra on, you’ll fucking remember.’

Kitty:   (Starts to pray.) ‘Our Father, who art in Heaven..’

I pulled her nipple out far and picked my spot a third of the way out from her areola.

Page 47.

Kitty:   ‘Oh God. Oh God, Our Father who art in Heaven.’

I applied the back edge of the blade to her stretched skin. It wasn’t for cutting but for practice.

Kitty:   ‘God. God, who art in Heaven, with me in the valley of the shadow of, of, God in the valley of. Don’t let me be hurt like this. Please God, save me. Save me.’

Me:

‘Here we go. Here she goes.’

I cut.

Kitty.

Screams

Me.

I cut lightly.

The blood flows freely.

Kitty’s feet jerk and her ass bumps the floor.

Me:      ‘Hold fucking still or I’ll use it on your cunt next.’

Kitty does her best to moderate her spasms.

‘Oh God. Oh God, Mom, look what he’s doing to me. Look what he did to me. Oh my God, he’s sawing through my nipple. I.. How did I survive it? I.. I don’t, I don’t want to remember it. God Mom, please make him stop. I don’t want to see it. To relive it.’

‘You stinking son of a bitch. Turn it off. Stop it. Don’t make us watch any more. No more of this. Turn it off.’

‘What and miss the detachment? Not fucking likely. It’s the best part, the sweet part of parting as they say.’

Me:     ‘Hold still bitch, I’m almost half way through.’

Kitty:  ‘Stop it. It hurts too much. It hurts so much. How can you hurt me so much? Why do you want to?’

Me:     ‘Believe me Kitty dearest, this is nothin’. Believe me. Wait until I get into your cunt. Then you’ll really know pain. Now here it goes, I’m almost through.’

I sawed firmly away.

I kissed her cheek and made the final slice.

Me:     (Proudly) ‘There. There. She’s done. Take a look. What the?’

Kitty had passed out in mid shriek.

Page 48.

I flipped her off to the side and climbed to my feet, carefully saving the just acquired piece of her nipple. She lay slumped over on her side, blood trickling out of her nipple stub.

I was thinking to rape her but I needed to check to be sure all was secure with Nora, so enough was enough. I had my first trophy and Kitty would be beside herself when she came to.

I shut the video camera recorder off.

I hoisted her upright and dragged her, half carried her, to the bathroom so I could clean her up and freshen myself up too. Besides I needed a piss and so did she. When she came to she could not believe the new appearance of her breast. We bathed it off together and eventually it stopped bleeding. I told her I’d leave her there for as long as she needed and her mom could call her to come out when she was ready, and thus was how this story started.

There was stone silence as I watched the women slowly adjusting to the recording being over. The sights and sounds they had taken in and how were they going to deal with the depth of the depravity I had exhibited. I was giddy and pumped inside from the display of power I’d shown them and couldn’t wait for their reactions.

But wait I had to, for a whole five minutes. Y’know what they say in a mental stand off, he (or she) who speaks first loses and I was not about to become a loser then. Never in my life. Not any time soon.

Nora did the honors.

‘I suppose you’re taking videos of this right now. What you’re doing to us now, I suppose you’re recording that too.’ She paused to stare me down. ‘Are you?’

‘Well no. Not actually. I mean I will do some more but that with Kitty that was a special occasion, like really quite spectacular. What we’re doing now is ordinary. There’s nothing to record that matters but when there’s going to be, sure you can bet I’ll record it again.’

‘I don’t believe you. Why should I believe you? You’re a criminal of the worst magnitude. Why should what you say mean anything?’

‘Awh gee, such disrespect.’

Page 49.

‘What’s to respect? How you hurt Kitty, what you did to my daughter, what in God’s name makes you think you deserve respect? You only deserve wrath and hatred and you said you were going to let us fight you. Why don’t you let us fight you? Scared?’

‘Yeah, I did mention that. Didn’t I? Scared of you? Are you fucking nuts? Why the Hell should I be scared of you?’

‘You know why. You know exactly why. You’ve injured my daughter horribly so you know I want revenge. You know I’d be truly motivated to gain revenge.’

‘Fuck, you’re smart. What, you take psychology or something in school? What a neat form of reverse, y’know reverse psychology. Fuck. Try to spark my anger so I’ll make a mistake. Get me on the defensive but not realizing that I am. Fuck, you’re no slouch at the games department either. Are you?’

‘It’s not a game. At least not for us.’ Kitty chimed in her half cent’s worth.’

‘Yeah, but you do want to trick me.  I know that much. You want to create at least a chance that you might over-power me when right now there is no such chance of that at all. Right? Right? That’s what you want. A fighting chance?’

‘You’re not a man but I, I, we, I want to see if you can at least try to act like one. See if you have a spine. I know you’re a coward. You only hurt women because you have control over them, so why not see how motivated you are to maintain that control. See how far your power extends beyond the end of your penis.’

‘Beyond the end of this?’ I flipped my pecker out of my briefs and strode over to Nora.

‘You like this? You respect this? Huh?’

‘Go to Hell. You’re pathetic and it’s pathetic too.’

‘How about I shove my pathetic up your ass?’

I held my rising boner out straight and jabbed it into Nora’s crotch.

‘Huh, bitch. You want it in the front or up the back?’

Kitty whined out. ‘No. No, leave her alone. No.’

Page 50.

I turned to accost her.

‘Oh, you’d rather it instead?’

I moved towards Kitty.

Nora whined out. ‘Stop. Stop. Leave her alone. Stop.’

‘So what the fuck? Which one’ll it be first. Who gets my boner first?’

They both went silent.

Out of the blue, all of a sudden, it was ‘fuck time’ and neither vagina wanted to participate.

‘Yeah, OK, we’ll fight but before we do, I’m gonna fuck one of you. So which one’ll it be?’

Kitty looked really scared.

Nora looked defiant.

I just knew by her face Nora was going to volunteer.

But I kept walking over to Kitty.

‘I was ready to fuck you in the bathroom, so why don’t I get it started now? You good with that?’

‘I don’t, I don’t want you to. Please, no.’

I waved my wand at her and peeled back the foreskin. I was one of the minority who was never circumcised.

Nora stepped up to the fuck plate.

‘Stop. Stop it. OK. OK, me. If it’s going to be anybody it’s going to be me. Leave her alone. You’ve already hurt her enough. Leave her be.’

Standing close in front of Kitty I swiveled my head to heed Nora.

‘Well mom, so mom, true to being a mother right to the end. Huh? You wanna be the hero?’

‘I’m not a hero. But you’re right, I am a mother and mine is to care for my children in all circumstances. I will not allow you to hurt her anymore, not if there is any choice, so me. It’s me who you’re going to rape.’

I looked back to Kitty.

‘You think that would be a good idea? You want me to rape your mom rather than you?’ (I wanted to add – first- but didn’t.)

‘Please. Please, oh please. I don’t want you to rape her but I don’t want you to rape me either.’

Page 51.

‘Well I can tell you my cock’s goin’ into a cunt and real soon so let’s get her done. Who’s it actually going to be?’

‘I told you. I told you. I demand that you listen. I told you. It’s me. You will not rape my daughter. It has to be me.’

I moved to stand midway between the two of them. They were fifteen feet apart.

I appeared to be pensive, feigning deep thought.

‘Hhmmm. OK. Hhmmm. Nora, I believe I can grant that? Sure. Sure, why not. I believe you’re serious. I believe you’re sincere but maybe, just maybe, you should prove it. Just prove it.’

‘Huh? What? What? Huh? What are you talking about?’

Kitty wailed. ‘What are you up to? What’s wrong with you? What do you want now?’

‘I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you a good idea I have.’

I had undivided attention even though there were two of them.

I fully intended to drag it out.

‘So Nora, what did you think when you saw, y’know like in the video, when I punched Kitty in the cunt? What did you think of that?’

‘You know what I thought. I know you’re despicable. You’re less than human, sub-human, to do such a horrible thing to my innocent daughter. For God’s sake what would you expect me to think?’

‘It did piss you off. Didn’t it? Didn’t like it at all. I know Kitty didn’t. She couldn’t fucking believe it. Right Kitty?’

‘You monster. You insane unspeakable monster. What’s wrong with you? Have you no conscience?’

‘Ahh, you’re a conscientious objector, are you?’

‘Go to Hell. Stop mocking me. Stop making light of all this. It’s serious and you know it.’

‘That it is, I suppose, so here’s my idea. Nora, Nora honey,  before I agree to rape you, I want you to take a punch to the vagina.’

‘What? What? What? Oh no. What?’ Nora was in disbelief.

‘What? What? What? Oh no. What?’ Kitty was incensed.

The women stared at each other and then at me.

Page 52.

Kitty spat it out first.

‘You’re insane. You’re completely insane. You’re demented. You cannot be serious. You cannot expect my mother to do that. To stand for that. You can’t.’

‘Well actually you got that right. Yes, she’ll have to be standing with her legs apart. I need a good clean shot. I really wanna connect.’

Nora began to tremble. She sensed there might be no way out.

‘Please. Please listen to me. Just rape me. Just rape me. Please, just rape me.’

‘Bet you never thought you’d be saying that. Right? Huh?’

I trotted the seven feet to her and held my hand up tenderly to her tear stained and twisted face.

‘Scared. Aren’t you?’

She nodded her head gently and gave me the biggest, saddest eyes.

I slid my hand around to hold onto her ear and brushed my lips to her other ear.

I kissed her lobe and nibbled at it.

She trembled and pulled.

‘You can do it. I know you’re strong enough to do it.’ I whispered in her ear.

‘But please, oh but please, I don’t want to. I don’t want you to.’

‘Then Kitty’s it. She’s gonna be the one then.’

‘No. No. No. You can’t. OK, do whatever you have to do. OK.’

‘Mom. Mom. God, Mom, no. No, you can’t. You can’t agree to such a thing. God, Mom you can’t. You have no idea how much it hurt. How much it hurt me. I could barely absorb it. I went into convulsions and when he punched me, I passed out. You saw it, you saw me pass out and then what he did to me. No. No, Mom, you can’t agree.’

‘I have to sweetheart. I must. Pray for me. Please pray for me.’

‘Good. Fucking great. Well that’s settled then. So let’s get’er all set up.’

Page 53.

‘What?’ Nora quizzed.

‘I sure as fuck wanna record it. I gotta get the  camera set up and you all set up too. You might as well get your panties off. That’s the first thing for you to do.’

‘Please. Please couldn’t I just leave my pink panties on. Please couldn’t you let me?’

‘What difference? Huh? You think somehow they’re gonna protect you. Like soften the blow? Huh?’

‘No. I know they won’t. But I need strength. A source of strength and privacy and I think they might help.’

‘Y’know what I think might help more? I’ll tell you. I think it’d be great if I was wearing them when I slug you. That’s what I think, so get them off to give to me while I set up the video camera. It’d HD, y’know, so it’ll show every little detail in high def. Fuck is this ever gonna be great. – I’m gonna busta cunt. I love busting cunts.’

I skipped away singing to myself to get a tripod and the vid cam and returned all pumped up expecting to be putting Nora’s undies on.

They weren’t fucking off her.

I pretended not to notice and set up the recording stuff.

It was actually better. That way I’d get to see her cunt come clean for the first time.

‘OK. Fine. So I’m all set. What’s keeping you? What’s holding you up?’

‘I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. Please understand how scared I am.’

‘Oh yeah, yeah I almost forgot to mention, that’s the other thing, the other part.’

‘What?  No. What’s this about? What now?’

‘You need to understand, just so you know exactly what you’re getting into. What you’re agreeing to.’

She raised her head with pride and courage even a hint of stubbornness.

‘I know.  I know why? I accept my responsibility as a mother. I know.’

‘I’m not sure you do. You see when I hit you I’m really gonna line drive you. I’m gonna plant my fist so hard and so fast into your vagina you’re gonna be ruptured. You understand? I’m gonna rupture your womanhood.’

Page 54.

Kitty pleaded out.

‘No. No. For God’s sake no. You can’t hurt her like that. You can’t. She’s my mother. She’s better and deserves better than that. For God’s sake, for the love of God, you can’t.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Kitty, or I’ll come over there and do it to you.’

Kitty stammered, ‘ I.. I.. Oh, please. I..’

Nora ordered her. ‘Kitty. Honey. It’ll be alright. Please just be quiet sweetheart and pray for me. Say your prayers to God.’

‘Yeah, Kitty pray your fucking heart out.’

Nora was almost fainting and grew steadily more unsteady.

‘So you got my drift. I’m not playing pansy with you. When I say I’m gonna rupture you I mean I’m gonna do my best to drive your cervix into your uterus. I wouldn’t mind if I broke your pubic bone. Smashed the fucker.’

‘Oh my God. Oh, oh, oh my God. God, why me? God, please spare me some mercy. An ounce of forgiveness.’

‘Yeah, at least I can see you understand. So here’s the caveat.’

‘What? Caveat? No. What caveat?’

‘When I hit you, when I punch you, you gotta stay standing and you gotta stay conscious.’

‘I.. I.. How can I know? What if I don’t.’ How can I know if I can? If I’m able. For God’s sake, what are you saying?’

‘I’m telling you, you can scream and writhe and dance around all you want but you got to stay standing and you don’t pass out.’

‘I know. I know, but I don’t know. Or what?’

‘Yeah, that’s the best part. I’ll take a hammer to Kitty’s cunt.’

Working one against the other was so incredibly delicious, and effective. The height of power filled control.

‘I’m.. I’m.. I think I’m going to pass out already. I can’t absorb this. My mind can’t take it in.’ Nora was more wobbly than ever.

Kitty wailed her frustration at me.

‘This is not possible.You are not possible. For the love of God, this is not happening. It cannot be happening. Come to your senses. Come to your senses please and relent. Change. Stop. For God’s sake become a human being for a moment.’

Page 55.

‘And what then?’ I chirped back at her.

‘Then. Then. Then? Then you see how wrong all this is. How wrong-headed and wrong-hearted it is.’

‘I never heard of that before. Wrong-hearted. You just make that up?’

‘Yes. I suppose. Maybe, but you know what I mean.’

‘You sound a bit discombobulated to me?’

‘What?  What kind of a stupid word it that? Is it even a real word?’

‘Sure. Sure it is. Like all confused, like all mixed up. You sound disjointed and confused to me.’

‘No. No, I’m not. I’m not. discom, discombub..’I'm not.’

‘Bob, not bub. It’s discombobulated and I’ll tell you another one even more rare, how’s about I combobulate you? How’s that sound?’

‘You’re making it up. You’re trying to show that you’re knowledgeable and smart when you’re not.’

‘Think what you want, but I’ll combobulate you. I’ll do that now. I’ll take you from a confused state to a coherent and cognizant one, once and for all. If your Mom fails, I’ll shatter your pubic bone with a hammer. I’ll splinter it into shards. And then cut the pieces out of you. And then, and then I’ll fuck you. That cognizant enough for you? Clarity the order of the day?’

Kitty’s face went ashen. She went woozy wobbly and slumped to the floor. She’d passed out just from the words. Shows, as they say, the power of the spoken word.

Nora shrieked out.

‘For God’s sake, what have you done to my daughter. Leave her alone. OK. Hit me. Rupture me if you have to but leave my Kitty alone.’

It seemed ironic to me that I was going to pound her pussy and she wanted me to leave her kitty alone.

‘Give me your panties then.’

She gave the best imitation of a look of strength she could, resolute, and slipped her undies off.

‘Hand them to me.’

She raised her head and chin and set her mouth to bitter as she offered my prize to me.

Page 56.

‘Thank you. So let’s see how they fit. How I look in them.’

I wiped the crotch area across my nose.

‘Fuck smells good. Like, smells like the scent of a whole woman, but a scared woman. Fuck I love that smell.’

I put them in my mouth, at least the crotch part of them.

‘Tastes like a woman too.’

I made a production of climbing into her panties and smoothed them across my ass but my boner jutted well out in the front. I squeezed and massaged my member.

‘Wha’d'ya think? I look good in them?’

‘You’re a disgusting, juvenile monster.’

‘Whatever. Let’s see what Kitty thinks of me in them.’

‘Stay away from her. Stay away from her while she’s unconscious.’

‘What are you afraid off? Huh? Think I might mess with her again? Like while she’s passed out?’

‘Stay away. Just stay away.’

‘Fuck you. Let’s see what she thinks.’

I moved directly to Kitty and straightened her out on the floor so she was facing flat up.  I placed her ankles close together, touching, and her arms straight up above her head. She was long and slender and oh so vulnerable. I stood over her with her mother’s panties hovering above her hips. I knelt down and sat on her legs just above the knees.

She didn’t stir.

I leaned forward, my extended cock lightly brushing her pubic bush through her dress and took hold of her head at the side. I smacked her pouty mouth.

She didn’t stir.

‘Come on. Come on bitch. You gotta see.’

I pulled her ear and then her nose.

That made her look silly.

She didn’t stir.

Page 57.

I sat up and peeled her dress top down (She’d covered herself up.) and looked at her nipple stub.

I traced my index finger around its areola.

‘Come on bitch. Come on. You gotta see.’

I’d make her stir.

I dug my thumb nail into her wound.

In a few seconds she came to screaming.

She slapped her ass to the floor trying to buck me off.

I ground my nail into her so hard she started to bleed again, all the while Nora shrieking at me to stop. They screamed like a duet. It was a harmony born in rapist’s heaven and it was almost impossible to separate who was screaming what.

Here goes a try.

Even though it was Kitty being hurt, Nora screamed the loudest. Her outrage became the most concentrated.

‘Get away from her. Get off her. You insatiable bastard. Leave her alone. Leave my daughter alone.’

Kitty echoed that. ‘Leave me alone. Get off me. You’re hurting me. Stop. Stop it. Leave me alone.’

‘You’re a monster.’ That was from Nora.

‘You’re monstrous.’ Was from Kitty at the same time.

It was like they were joined at the minds, y’know like how some married couples become when they’ve been together for what seemed like forever. Of course, then technically speaking, the two women had been completely together with Kitty dumping out of Nora’s cunt. Nora’s blood was in Kitty’s veins and Kitty’s nipple blood was on my thumb. I licked it off.

They screamed back and forth and in unison for me to stop but the smell of Kitty’s fear was too great a stimulant. For the first time, the very first time I pressed my palm to her crotch. I didn’t hit her. I was feeling her down.

I hiked her dress above her hips and began massaging and digging at her labia.

Page 58.

I needed to act surprised.

‘What the? What the fuck is this? What the?’

Through her panties, I was pinching at the hangy-out, spongy part of her minora.

It felt like a worm and I rolled it between my thumb and fingers like bait.

‘What the? Don’t tell me. Don’t fucking tell me.’

Kitty thrust up and then banged her ass to the floor and twisted her pelvis side to side trying to dislodge my fingers. I intensified my vice grip.

‘You fucking cunt. Your fucking cunt. I don’t believe it.’

‘Stop it. Stop it. Stop hurting me. You’re hurting me. God. Stop it. You’re hurting my vagina.’

‘Fuck. Fuck, shit and piss.’

Nora virtually shrieked herself near out of her skin and into hysterics. She did not want me messing with what hung out of her daughter’s vagina. Not when it was she who had discouraged her from having it tidied up. Not when it would become her who would be responsible for it being tortured because of her motherly reticence. She’d meant to protect her daughter so look how that was turning out. All and completely wrong. That was the only how. She wanted my hand out of Kitty’s cunt.

‘Stop it. Stop it. Hurt me. Hurt me instead. Hit me in the vagina. Punch me in the vagina but leave Kitty alone. For God’s sake stop hurting her.’

I turned to look at Nora.

Fuck, did she look appealing with her tits bouncing and her hips twisting. I almost wanted to take her up on her offer right then but more I wanted to inspect just how much of Kitty was protruding and of course get my mouth and teeth onto it.

I pressed my thumbs to Kitty’s groin and hooked them into the top of her panties. She knew they were coming down in a slide but first I lowered my face to kiss her crinkle through the silk fabric, like one last moment she would remain covered. Her secret would next be out and displayed.

Page 59.

‘Shit, does that feel nice. Aah fuck, is this ever gonna be sweet. You ready?’

‘You’re not going to stop. Are you? I know you’re not, so promise me you won’t hurt me. Promise me you won’t make fun of me.’

‘We’ll see. We’ll see. So let’s see.’

I gently eased her panties down to just above the top of her pubic triangle. I let them rest there.

I wanted to watch her crotch tremble and she didn’t disappoint me. She was (about to be) so embarrassed and self-conscious about her protruding minora lips. She’d had that nervousness several times when she first got naked with a new boyfriend. And they had split pretty well down the middle, pardon the pithy pun, like half loved it and half found it repulsive and revolting, like even dirty and unfeminine. She had no idea how I would view her. She was indeed seconds from finding out.

She remembered for a moment that flashed through her mind, Jake, her first time high school fuck and how horribly wrong it had all gone. True, Jake was a hound, like almost the star quarter-back and he had her in that position, flat on her back, and wasn’t much impressed with her tiny titty tits. He didn’t seem to mind her nipples though, but he was rougher than she would have liked or maybe it was just his big football hands that weren’t very finessed. Regardless, he’d gotten enough drink into her that for the very first time her panties were being ducked down. When he saw her vagina, when he saw her anomaly, he was the biggest jerk in the teenaged jock, jerk-off world of the time. She heard his words again ever so clearly in her head. ‘You. You fucking cunt. What’s this shit hanging out of your cunt. You dirty little slut, if you think I’m fucking you with this between your legs, your nuts.’ Then he did what she could never forgive him for. He pinched it, pulled it out way too far and let it snap back, got off her and left her laying there humiliated and crying. It was four years before she ever got naked with a male again. She even considered being a lesbian but it was never who she was at heart.

Page 60.

And so I was hovering over her about to discover her hidden, not so secret secret any longer, in the blink of her eye.

I moved her panties further down to the very last of keeping her extra thing a secret.

‘So. So Kitty this is it. How bad do you think I bruised you?’

She was so focused, so mortified she’d forgotten I’d punched and kicked her there. Of course she had to be bruised. It was a miracle she wasn’t ruptured bloody.

‘Please. Please, just get it over with and don’t hurt me anymore.’

‘I guess I can settle for that.’

And with that I took her panties to her knees.

Her ankles were still pushed together so what was there was hidden.

I ran my hands down her legs to her feet and carefully began to spread them. Gradually it all came into view.

It indeed was exactly like a twisted worm, or more accurately, two of them side by side. All ribbed and crinkly.

‘Awh fuck. Fuck Kitty. Fuck. You poor bitch.’

Nora calld out. ‘Be strong. Be brave sweetheart.’

‘Awh shit, you poor fucking cunt.’ I went on.

‘What? What’s wrong? What are you going on about?’ Kitty was justifiably concerned by my reaction.

‘You’re done for. It’s fucking done for. Do you really believe when I’ve already taken your nipple that I’m gonna let you keep that. That fucking shit hanging out of your cunt? Huh?’

‘No. No, what are you talking about, letting me keep it?’

‘You know exactly what I’m getting at. Off, fucking off. It’s all coming off at some point. But right now, I wanna taste it. I wanna have a taste of it.’

All Nora could do was keep telling me to leave her alone plus yelling at God with diminishing faith and increasing frustration.

All I could do was salivate at the feel of her sushi in my mouth. Her hips froze in terror as she felt my teeth slide along her elastic bits. When I’d close my teeth to close, she froze even stiffer and begged with the upmost sincerity.

Page 61.

‘Please.’ She whispered. ‘Please don’t be mean. You don’t have  to be mean. Please don’t bite me.’

I near spunked the floor between her legs when she said that.

I dragged my face away to inspect her from a distance. Pinching my fingers to the very end of one outie minora lip, I stretched it up to the middle of her pubic hair. I pulled it hard and pinned it to her.

I let it snap back.

She was humiliated and disgusted at my foreplay.

For her it brought back such vivid memories of Jake.

Next I pulled it down inside along her slit to almost reach half way to her anus.

I let it snap back.

I drove my thumb hard into her canal to bump her cervix.

Nora saw she was being finger, or more accurately thumb, fucked. She wasn’t up for her daughter being raped in front of her.

‘You horrible, horrible disgusting bastard. What’s the matter with you? Why won’t you hit my vagina like you said you were going to? What’s the matter with you. You don’t even have the integrity to do that?’

It seemed a strange choice of a word related to how I was assaulting her precious Kitty. Integrity. Like what the fuck did honor-of-purpose have to do with any of it? Of course, for Nora, that was the crux, that her only purpose was to save her baby and that she didn’t care how she twisted reason to get me to stop digging at her kid’s vagina. For some reason that one word caught at my attention. Caught into my progress.

‘Look. Look. See.’ Nora cried out.

I turned my head to see how she looked.

Of all things, she was hitting her own pussy.

Punching her fists at it.

And not lightly either.

She caused her own ass to jerk back with each hit.

My eyes bulged out in disbelief.

Of all the victims I’d overwhelmed, none had ever done that before.

Page 62.

‘Shit lady. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

‘Leave her alone. Just leave her alone.’

‘Or you’ll beat your vagina up? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Leave her alone and I’ll stop.’

‘Fuck, don’t stop on my account. Go to it. You go to it girl. Hammer the shit out of it.’

She abruptly stopped. It registered how over the edge I had sent her. She burst into motherly tears. She’d been driven to extreme desperation and I couldn’t have loved her more for her efforts and reactions.

I got up off Kitty, so it must have worked.

But not entirely.

I reached down and pulled Kitty upright by her hair.

She struggled and twisted and tried to pry my hand away.

‘Knock it off and stand still.’ I admonished her as she became fully erect, which by the way, my pecker was too.

She stood hunched over to the front but she was the sweetest sight of vulnerability and frailty. I mean she was a thin woman to begin with and her long legs trembling like she was, geeze, did it ever make her adorable and such a fuck feast to be. There was a moment approaching extraordinary pathos unfolding. She stood stoop shouldered all huddled into her invaded and damaged sexuality and Nora was still trembling and reeling from beating her own sexuality.

I took Kitty by the fleshy part of her upper arm and walked her over to her mom. She was desperate to join her so didn’t resist.  While only a few original words were said, it was still an emotion filled and heart-felt exchange, like only a mother and daughter could share who deeply loved one another.

‘Kitty. Kitty, darling, I know how you fear what he was doing to you. I had to help. I had to intercede and do something. Anything. I had to protect what I failed to protect of you before.’

Normally  I wouldn’t have permitted them to, but it would have been beyond my inhuman-ness not to have allowed them to embrace. Their sexuality, their combined womanhoods were about to be tortured out of them so what beast beyond the Devil’s realm would not have permitted them to do so.

Certainly not I.

For certain not me.

Page 63.

Besides it gave me such a sense of supreme power to watch, to behold with reverence, the depths of their affection and despair. It was a real boner pumper too.

‘May we? May I please? I need to hug, to comfort my daughter. I need to hold and embrace her.’

I pretended to deliberate while her eyes and body language pleaded.

‘Sure, why not? Why so? What can it hurt?’

‘Oh thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, at least for this bit of human kindness. Thank you please.’

I must say, it did pull at my heart strings just a twitch and made me experience a half pinch of guilt. I mean, consider who they were.  Considering who they were, I probably should  have felt it sooner but what the shit, so what? Yeah, I mean they were like real quality women, women of character and substance, integrity and well-being and I had reduced them to vaginal entities with some tits and nipples thrown in for good measure. And what would their characters be with their labia lips removed? And what had Kitty’s become already with her nipple end gone, gone, gone?’

The women hugged firmly and their tears flowed freely onto each other’s shoulders. Nora held Kitty’s numb head and gripped her fine, long blond hair. She kissed her cheek and touched her dripping mouth tenderly. I had to jockey around to the side to see their tits mashing together.

A fierce shot of hatred, perhaps tinged with jealousy, shot through my crotch watching how much they adored each other and how Kitty’s injured nipple left a blood smear across Nora’s squished breast. I never knew anything with more certainty then that they were going to die the most horrible, prolonged sexual deaths that was inhumanly possible.

I approached the two of them and got up real close.

I really crowded their spaces.

‘You got room for me? Room for me to hug you too? Mind if I join in?’

Both their heads swiveled to me and four eyes begged me not to.

Page 64.

I encircled my arms around each of their shoulders and hugged them closer to each other and pulled them close to me. My erect penis was stuck between their hips. I jerked it back and forth and they jerked their asses away.

‘Come on ladies, get in the mood. Come on. I want my cock in a cunt.’

‘No. No, please, let us have a moment.’ Nora pleaded.

‘You’ve had a moment. Now it’s my turn.’

I got aggressive and shot a hand onto one of each of their tits. I gripped them like handles and pulled them away to the side.

Both women danced and dodged trying to get themselves unhanded. I let go of Kitty and double handed Nora’s tit. I pulled her along by it and she ducked over almost losing her balance. Kitty came after me and I, we, were close to getting into a fight. The chance they thought they wanted.

To ignite the situation, no words changed mouths. Without expressed warning Kitty threw herself onto my back and locked her arm at the elbow around my throat. She squeezed harder than she ever thought possible and immediately began to scream while she tried to bite the top of my ear off. She hollered with all her volume into it too. Nora exploded into revenge on cue.

She pulled her lady-like fist back and socked me as hard as she could in the gut. She wanted to nail my balls but with Kitty on my back and me bent over, she couldn’t make a clear shot.  I reeled to the side to avoid her next blow and you wanna talk about two unlucky women. She missed me but punched her Kitty hard in the side of the head. She nailed her temple and Kitty was semi-stunned and had to release her bear-hug around my throat and chest. I gave a wrenching twist and shook her off to crash to the floor. I had not a moment to spare for Nora was winding up for a better hit even as she cried out, ‘Kitty. Kitty I’m sorry. Kitty get up and help me beat him. Help me beat the bastard. I can’t do it alone.’

I caught Nora’s wrist in mid swing and deftly twisted her arm behind her back. I gripped her shoulder from behind and forced her hard far enough up to touch the back of her head. She wailed out, ‘Stop it. Stop it. You’re breaking my arm. Stop it. You’re dislocating my shoulder.’

Page 65.

Kitty was scrambling to her feet as best a semi-stunned broad could and she wobbled towards me. I spun Nora around and propelled her directly into the advancing Kitty. They interlocked and got all tangled up and crumpled to the floor.

I was standing and they were not so the advantage had quickly shifted to me. I decided to punish Kitty the most since she had started the resistance.  She was mostly on top of her mom and her back was to the ceiling. I took a running start of five steps and leaped into the air to crash down with my knees into the small of Kitty’s exposed back. We almost hard her spine crack and she squealed out as her disc got ruptured.

Anyone who has experienced lower-back injury and pain knows how instantly debilitating that can be. Kitty went into convulsions as her nerves spasmed and she felt about to lose consciousness from the searing injury. She twisted around to look up at me just in time to see me lining my foot up to kick at her tit. My toes glanced off her chest and smacked her under the chin. She was damned lucky she didn’t bite her tongue off but her jaw crashing into her skull knocked her out cold. Nora was beside herself as she saw her Kitty being beaten upon. She kicked her feet up at me from her prone position on the floor and aimed entirely for my crotch. She caught my inner leg but not my sacks but did manage to send me off balance. That was her incentive to give it all that she had as a mother to protect her unconscious daughter. She would give it the greatest effort she was humanly capable of. Her adrenalin shot into her veins and the hatred spilled out of her pours and fists and she became a pretty lethal fighting machine. Not the least bit reserved nor lady like at all.

She screamed to intimidate me, like the martial arts participants do when engaging a worthy opponent.

‘I’m gonna kill you. You horrible bastard, I’m gonna kill you. You hurt my daughter. You keep on hurting her, now it’s your turn to be hurt.’

The cunt got lucky.

She batted my balls.

She winged my goolies and as I oooofed to the floor she kicked me in the head. Golly was she a goolie terror.

Page 66.

I wasn’t completely scared but I wasn’t fully in command either so I decided to play the wuss.

‘No. No, stop it. OK, you win. OK. I’ll let you go. Just stop it.’

She hesitated for a quarter second before she pounced on me like a cat on a bug and tried to hammer me into unconsciousness by sitting on my side and pounding at my head. She gripped my hair and was all set to take a bite out of my ear.

The women were not fighters.

They never had been.

Kitty had come to and instead of helping her mother, she aborted her efforts to maim me, of course, all so accidental and inadvertently.

Kitty came to Nora’s aid but with too much velocity and crashed into her knocking her off my side. She over-shot the runway, so to say, and ended up rolled onto the floor with her ass to the ceiling.

I scurried around like a chipmunk avoiding an advancing car  and got myself righted again. Nora wiggled around trying to figure out where I was. Where had I run off to?

While I enjoyed the fight in them I wasn’t partial to them actually overpowering me. I had little doubt my testicles would become collateral damage before they killed me. I wasn’t up for being de-balled and dying so soon in my relatively young career.

I had several weapons stashed around the room from which to chose and I went for the nylon fishing rod I’d fashioned into a whip. It gave me six feet of distance between being able to injure them and actually touching them. It didn’t look the most intimidating but God could it ever sting when properly connected to bare female flesh.

Nora saw where I had headed and charged like a female bull, (huh?) a heifer, no, cow, cow, (She’d had a kid.) like an angry cow, after me. I side-stepped her rant and whipped her across the side. Her eyes exploded wide open and she gripped the new welt to her rib cage and staggered her advancing steps. I whipped her again across the shoulder. It stunned her but didn’t stop her as Kitty came charging at me from off to the side. I whirled around and got better lucky with her. The tip of the whip bit into the underside of her injured tit about an inch lower than her areola. Still it stung the wound into renewed fire and she faltered immediately.

Page 67.

It gave me a precious moment to whip at Nora again. I caught her across the bridge of her nose and she reacted as any beautiful woman would to her face being injured. She covered her eyes and cowered away from my hand. I rushed on her in a charge and used my hands placed to her shoulders to shove her backwards down onto the floor. As she twisted she tumbled over a small side table and crashed it to the floor too. I picked it up and hurtled it down on top of her. It bounced of her writhing body and of all things, tripped Kitty as she charged at me from the side. She fell right beside her mom so I had two of them side by side to whip at once. I must say I went into a frenzy. There would be no other way to describe it. I laid over twenty lashes on their naked, squirming bodies and when I ran out of energy, like my arm got tired, I put the boots to them. And I stomped on them too. They soon realized they were losing the battle and probably the war.

The one that really did it for Kitty was when I drove my heel down into Nora’s cunt. I pulverized the side of one of her labia lips.

Nora, for the very first time, went unconscious and Kitty was beside herself with daughterly grief.

‘Oh God, Mom, oh God. Mom. Mom. – You bastard. Look what you did to my Mom.’

‘Fucking right. Fucking cunt and I’ll do it again.’

I got my foot set.

‘No. No you won’t. She’s unconscious. She’s really hurt. She can’t defend herself. No you won’t.’

‘So just stop me. Just stop me then. Try.’

I drew my foot back. I’d moved to within a clear shot at her pussy again.

‘She can’t defend  herself you monster. She can’t. Kick me instead.’

I gave her a glorious, delighted look.

‘No shit. No shit? You want me to do that to you? Really?’

‘No. No of course I don’t,  but my mother, my precious and dear mother who never hurt anyone, she can’t help herself. She’s in no position to defend herself so I  have to do it for her and if that’s the only way, then, yes, go ahead and do it.’

Page 68.

They always talk about a mother’s unconditional love for her children. It isn’t mentioned so much about a daughter’s similar commitment to her mother and her well-being. Kitty was a princess and a saint but I was a cunt buster so none of it mattered as far as they were concerned.

‘OK. Fine. Fine. Fucking fine. You know what it’s like already. Lie flat on your back on the floor and spread your legs. I’m gonna get a pillow to put under your ass.’

‘No. No. No, you’re not.’ She looked shocked that I’d want to elevate her pubic bone to kick it. Then again I don’t know actually where she thought I was gonna boot her when she volunteered but it did become evident it wasn’t into her own pussy.

She balked like a determined mule.

‘Oh, no. No. No. Please, please. No, please, you can’t. Not there. God not there again. Anywhere else but there. Please.’

I  studied her.

I really wanted to fuck with her courage and faith, not that I would ever have done it, kicked her in the face, but she had no way of knowing it but I told her like I would.

‘OK. Fine, OK. But I’m gonna kick your teeth in then.’

She looked surprisingly shocked.

I might have mentioned before, and if not I’m doing so now, beautiful women do not want their faces messed up. Call it vanity or pride and arrogance but they all identify with their beauty as who they are and oft times feel it makes them superior or at least gives them an edge. I mean look how full Hollywood and the modelling scene are of extra good looking women with killer  bodies. Yes indeed. No for a fact, Kitty wanted to keep the look of those lips which only left her other ones to absorb the foot-blow.

‘You’d kick me in the face? You.. What? You’d actually do that to me? I thought you liked how I look. You said to me I’m beautiful. How could you kick me in the face then?’

‘Don’t you see, it’s really very simple. You chose which set of lips gets it.’

I  gave her a smug, smarmy look and added, ‘It’s all up to you.’

‘Somewhere else. For God’s sake. Somewhere else.’

Page 69.

‘Look, I’m gonna give you ten seconds, ten fucking seconds to decide or I’ll boot Nora over there so hard in the twat I’ll dislocate her cervix. I’ll drive it into her uterus. You want that?’

‘Oh God. Oh God. No. No. No, you can’t. No.’

‘So decide then. Fucking decide, ten, nine, eight.’

‘Oh Lord. Oh Lord help me. Oh Lord. God, oh my Lord God. No.’

‘Seven, seven, six, five..’

‘For God’s sake don’t. Stop it. Please. For the love of God, stop it.’

‘Four. Fucking four, three and a two..’

‘OK. OK. No. OK. My vagina. My vagina.’

‘What about it? Don’t kick my vagina.’

‘What?’ I was taken off guard.

‘No, please. I don’t think I could stand it again. My face. My face then. Do my face instead.’ She blurted it all out through a host of tears.

Had she called my bluff or was she sincere? Was it a calculated gamble by a wiley fox? I knew one thing, I wasn’t about to mess with her looks so where did that leave me?

I took hold of her head and stared hard into her face. She seemed to tremble. I pushed her lips to her front perfect white teeth.  I kissed her lightly and looked back at her to see reaction. She’d never closed her eyes so there was no romance in it for her.

‘Well, fuck, well.’ I sort of stammered as if to procrastinate.

‘What’s the matter?’ She challenged me pushing her chin up.

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything’s perfect instead. Everything’s just, just fucking fine.’

‘I don’t believe you. I think you’re, you’re ly.. I think you’re not telling the truth.’

I gave her a look like, – are you sure you wanna do this?

‘Are you sure you want to pursue this?’

‘Why not? I’m not the liar you are.’

She’d checked herself and then she didn’t.

Kitty’s mouth had gotten her into troubles before and she sensed she had gone too far with me.

Page 70.

My eyes narrowed and my jaw and fist clenched.

I sucked in a big breath of extra strength through my tight nostrils and let fly with a shattering punch. Her docked nipple tit was flat to begin with but I  flattened it so hard to her skeleton a  few milk lobules ruptured and two ribs cracked. It spit open the wound that was the end of her stub nipple and guts squished out of it too.

She reeled and gasped but somehow she wasn’t defeated.

‘That proves  it. That proves it to me. That you were lying. That you’re a pathetic liar. You can beat me all you want but I know your secret. What a scared little miscreant you are. That a woman will stand up to you and reveal who you are, I’m that woman. I know where your skeletons lie. Lay. Lie.’

I’d seen that reckless disregard for one’s own safety and well-being or the consequences of their actions before in women I’d pushed over the edge of their stamina. Their ability or willingness to absorb pain. It was like, so I know you’re going to  kill me anyway so what should I care about what you care about? Of course the fallacy of all that, that line of defense and reasoning was the how and the length of the how they died.  There was always a price to pay for misplaced and foolish bravery and bravado.

‘I thought you were smarter than that. Smarter than most of the others.’

‘What? What others? What do you mean? Others? How many others?’

‘Let’s just say, more than a few and do you think you’re the first cunt to throw caution to the wind and to be reckless and unthinking and not to seemingly care about the consequences of your actions? Do you really believe that? That I’m that much of an amateur and not wholly effective at torturing and breaking beautiful women? Huh?’

‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. No. No, No..’

‘What now? What’s.. What the fuck’s wrong with you now?’

‘No. No, not me. Not what’s wrong with me. You. Oh God, no you. You’re a serial? God. One after the other. Numerous before? You’re saying you’re a serial rapist, torturer and murderer?’

‘Fucking right on and damned proud of it and don’t forget sexual. Sexual. Sex, sex and sexual.’

Page 71.

‘Oh God. Oh God. Why me? Why us? Oh God, what have I done? What have you done to me, God?

‘It would seem He’s abandoned you. Huh? Doesn’t give a fuck about you. Certainly doesn’t give a fuck about this. What I do to it.’

I shot her a light, teasing blow to her labia. Nothing mean, just a precursor.

‘Go ahead, beat me. Beat me there. I don’t care.’

It was an even more definitive sign I had her near her incoherence point, a point approaching breaking where nothing mattered to her anymore. Of course, her mom would refocus her caring and concerns.

‘Beat you cunt. You don’t care if I beat your cunt. I’d say that’s a sign. So why don’t I drag your mom over here and beat the snot out of both of your cunts at once?’

Kitty kicked her feet around as I lined up a harder punch.

I felt her pubic bone shudder as I drove it upwards and inwards towards her spine.

Her legs began to thrash.

I popped up and headed over for Nora. She remained fully out of it. I grabbed her ankle and dragged her on her backside to lay out flat alongside her girl. Kitty was consumed with hugging herself in a fetal position to lessen the pain in her groin. I booted her bum and again. I loved how her skinny ass cheeks flubbered.

‘Lay flat. Fucking lay flat or I swear I’ll finish your mom off. I’ll fucking kill her right now.’

Kitty turned her face to engage her mother but Nora was still completely unawares. Kitty forced herself to turn and hugged at her mom’s seemingly lifeless body. She tugged at her side under her armpit making Nora’s tits jerk and jiggle.

What a fucking turn on for me watching her nipples bouncing around.

‘Mom. Mom. Wake up. Mom. Please wake up.’

‘Stop being so stupid. You know she’s not asleep. She’s unconscious. Don’t you know the difference?’

‘Mom. Mom, please stop being unconscious.’

Kitty shook her approaching violently.

‘You. You, saucy bitch. Lay still right along side her. Stop wiggling. Stop moving and struggling. Pretend like you’re unconscious just like her.’

Page 72.

‘Go to Hell. She’s my mom. I need to help my mom.’

‘And she’ll be your dead mom, your fucking dead mom if you don’t do what I say.’

Kitty could sense something worse, much worser, was building in the air. Something horrible and unspeakable but in spite of it, she did not want her mother to be killed. She was ever the dutiful daughter and my threat of murder registered with her conscience. Her bravery stepped up and she quietly complied and stretched out straight along side her kin.

I had not seen a more invigorating, sensual sight for at least three months when I had done a mother and her two budding daughters.

Kitty and Nora were in the grove, like on the final downward slide.

Kitty watched my every nuance and move with terrified, but hawk-like eyes. There was a menace about me. A new level of threat and she didn’t know how to avert it. Of course, as was commonly the case, prayer became the default approach.

‘God. God, please God. Make him stop. Make him go away. Please God, just help us. Just help us please. Help me.’

I’d moved off to the side and rummaged through a mechanic’s tool chest drawer and came back with…

Kitty’s eyes widened, near popping out of their sockets.

‘God. God, no why? Why? For the love of God, why do you have? No, why do you have them? God, why?’

I stood powerful and armed towering over them.

Each hand was occupied.

‘Why? No. No, you can’t. No.’

‘Pick.’

‘Oh no. No.’

‘Pick one. Pick one for her.’

‘Oh no. No. God. God. God. Mom. Mommy. No. Mommy wake up. – What are you going to do?’

‘What’s it look like?’

‘Oh no. Oh no. Put the hammer down please. Put it down please.’

Page 73.

‘And what? Not these?’

I made them snip, snip, snip like scissors.

‘No. Please, please yes. Put the pliers down too. Please.’

‘Now you listen and you listen good. I’m gonna use one of these on your mother’s tits. You got it? So you chose.’

‘Oh for God’s sake no. No. How can you? How can I? What’s wrong with you? Where is your humanity, your compassion? For the love of God, there has to be some human-ness in you – somewhere. Leave my mother alone. Don’t hurt her. Leave her alone.’

‘Would you rather I used them on you?’

She went into that stunned, indecisive silence and cringed as she mewled.

‘Oh no. No you can’t. You can’t play that game with me, with us again. You can’t. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s so unfair.’

‘Fuck fair. You chose for your mom or I start on you.’

‘You know. You know I’ll never sacrifice my mother to save myself. You know that, so do whatever you have to do to me then.’

‘No problem. Sure no problem. What, you want the pliers first?’

‘What are you going to do with them? What are you going to do to me with them?’

‘Hey look, I’ll be fair. I’ll give you a choice.’

‘What? How? What? What choice?’

‘So you’ve still got a good nipple left. Right? Left, right. Left, right, ha ha.’

‘No. No you wouldn’t. No. Not after what you did to my other breast. God, no you wouldn’t.’

‘Oh come on now, you don’t think a woman’s nipples and pliers aren’t made for each other? Especially an erect nipple, a hard one? Huh? Seems like a perfect fit to me.’

‘How did you ever become so horrid? How? You tell me. What did someone ever do to you? Your mother, what did she do?’

‘She had me, that’s what she did and aren’t you grateful for that? Or do you hate her? Is that it? You hate my mother.’

‘I hate what she let you become. Why wouldn’t I? What do you expect?’

Page 74.

‘I expect you to suck it up and let me wreck your other nipple. That’s what?’

‘Wreck? You mean how? No, how?’

‘What do you think pliers will do to a nipple, your nipple? What the fuck do you think?’

‘I can’t.. I don’t.. What? No. I can’t think. I won’t.’

‘So let’s find out then. Let’s get at her and find out.’

I moved close to her with the pliers firmly in my grip.

I firmly gripped her tit and worked at hardening her nipple.

She tried to keep it flaccid but I knew how to work the little muscles and force them to respond. In a minute she was as hard as a grape and just as crushable.

I applied the jaws of the pliers to her dilemma which she cried out.

‘No. No. Don’t know. You said I had a choice. There was a choice. For God’s sake, what’s the choice?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘Tell me. Stop. Stop it, and tell me please.’

How was it possible she never figured her clit? Like, how could she rule it out by not thinking about it? By omission, so to say? If she’d deduced it, she would have simply told me to start crushing her nipple.

I wasn’t in a hurry to let her know.

Beyond fantastic I wanted to savor the ecstasy.

It was the ultimate vaginal realization for a tortured woman to be.

I stroked my hand up her breast and pinched lightly at her hardness. I tugged it out with a twist.

‘Fucking sweet. Fuck are you sweet.’

‘If you think I’m so sweet, why would you want to hurt it, me? Why would you want to destroy it? To destroy me? Why? What are you about?’

‘Because.. Because, I love how they pop.’

‘What? You what? You bastard.’

‘Yeah, ain’t that something. I love how their guts spurt out.’

Page 75.

‘Oh no. Oh no. You’re impossible. You’re horrible. What is my other choice?’

I gave her a blank look filled with control and power. I tried to make it emotionless but inside I was about to have a heart orgasm. Time to roll out the bad news.

‘Your legs.’

‘What? What about them? What about my legs?’

I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips.

My boner was pounding.

‘Between them?’

‘What?’ She paused. Then recognition flashed behind her eyes. ‘No. What? No. No, God no. You are completely insane. You are monstrously insane and mad. You’re a mad monster, you impossible bastard. You think you’re going to use the pliers there?’

‘What better alternative?’

‘You crazy creep. Go to Hell, you degenerate.’

‘So I take it, your cunt’s out. You don’t want me to crush your clit?’

‘What? What? God what? You mean? What?’

‘What? What’d you think? Automatically I was gonna crush the shit hanging out of your twat? That what you thought?’

Her mind was numbing at the grossness of the conversation and the images being conjured up. Her feminine sensibilities were being roasted and severely compromised. She was to the point she couldn’t think straight any more. I suppose you might say she began to babble.

‘Ehh. I won’t. I can’t. Where am I? Oh, mom, mommy why won’t you? Wake up. Nanny, no mommy, help. What? Help me. I.. I.. Where are we? The show. Why didn’t you show for the show? Mom. No, call dad, call daddy. Tell dad what’s happened. Make him, tell him, mom convince him you still, we still love him. Make. What? No. No.’ And ever so softly she trailed off to a litany of ‘No. No. No. No…’

I slapped her face hard with the back of my hand.

I back-handed her tit.

Her eyes popped open wider and refocused.

Page 76.

‘So we’re decided then? Your nipple it is?’

‘You’ve decided and I don’t care what you say.’

‘Oh yeah? Oh really? Then maybe you’ll care about this.’

I picked up the hammer and hefted it from hand to hand.

Back and forth.

Forth and back.

Several times.

Her eyes were glued to every toss and she saw the exact moment of the change in my direction.

I swooned over, placed one hand to Nora’s helpless vagina to smooth it, and used my other hand to drive the hammer into her pubic bone.

Nora’s hips exploded in a spray of shattered bone and guts and blood splattering and Kitty exploded in shrieks of disbelief at her failure to keep her mom safe and the heightened degree of my inhumanity.

‘What did you do? Why? Oh why? What did you do to my mother?’

‘It’s gonna be a bitch when I fuck her, isn’t it? Imagine when she comes to, how she’s gonna shriek.’

‘Oh God. Oh God. God forgive me. Oh God.’

I gripped Kitty by the hair.

‘Come on, lets have a closer look together.’

She wrenched her head away.

I still had the bloody, vagina gooped hammer in my hand.

I raised it.

She stopped pulling and let me force her face to her mom’s twat.

‘OK. That’s better. Let’s see what we have here.’

I laid the hammer on her belly and applied my hands to Nora’s crotch.

Her labia seemed pretty much normal, at least the lower portions but her clit was obliterated against her bone structure. I pressed my fingers to the bone and it indeed was broken. It seemed like there were at least three splinters. I poked my greedy fingers into her canal and one splinter had punctured the lining. I’d driven it down and through. It scratched my thumb as I shoved it in far enough to dig at her cervix. Nothing of her vix had been damaged.

Page 77.

Kitty freaked at my invasion of her mom’s injuries.

‘I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care. I will kill you for what you’ve done to my mother. You deserve to die and I’ll be the one to do it. God will help me. I know He will. You don’t deserve to live.’

‘Yeah. You think so, yeah. So let’s see you try. Let’s see Him try.’

I picked the bloody hammer off Nora’s smeared belly and aimed it at Kitty. She raised her arm as I raised mine.

Her tit was so in the open I had to boot it.

She reeled back, twisting onto her side and I swiped up the pliers to go after her remaining good nipple.

She was cowed into a ball but I managed to drag her tit to the side so I could get the pliers’ jaws onto my target.

She was already partly stunned and became fully so when I crushed her tender but sexual bud.  It wasn’t as hard as I would have liked so half her areola got flattened too. I kept the pliers pinched hard on her and pulled away on her breast flesh. She was fighting meekly because of the shock to her system. She gave several arching bucks and turns and passed out like her mom.

I had the two of them the same, unconscious.

I was satisfied with my hammer and pliers work and got up for a look.

Gazing down on them, mainly Kitty, her stilled vagina was an invitation to fuck. I needed to dump a load of jizz since my balls hurt and once riding inside her, I left Kitty my juice in a dozen vicious thrusts. She’d know she’d been raped. That was for sure. Her pussy was bleeding a bit when I was done.

So mom and daughter were a match, sexually broken and something was getting into my madness that made me think I’d had enough. Ironically, that I’d had enough of them.

I seldom killed victims so early in the progress of my tortures but I was becoming inclined to murder off at least one of them to let the other live on in the misery and agony of having seen the other one die.

Who would it be?

Who didn’t deserve to live and who had incited the right to die?