Therese Branded
Anne-Marie had spotted it immediately, of course; the fact that Therese and Ella had fallen in love.
She had them in for questioning, and of course they had no choice but to admit it: the clit torture with the toothed clamps wasn’t strictly necessary - but they suffered it anyway, horrified anew at the easy grins on the faces of the men who laughed and joked as they jerked and squealed through their impossible, unbearable agonies, each appalled at the knowledge that it was her love for the other that has condemned her to these atrocities.
Smiling ruefully at the two of them, sweat stained, make-up ruined, trembling, naked on their knees, sexes and arseholes ravaged, throats sore, faces sticky with mingled come of many men, Anne-Marie reminded them that since outward expression of anything that went on in their pretty little heads was forbidden unless specifically instructed, their love could only be acceptable as entertainment for members and their guests - that it would, indeed, be ruthlessly exploited for the entertainment value it would afford.
Since then, the two have been alternately kept in solitary confinement, or lent out. They only see each other when a display is required of them.
Beforehand, each is told that they can either hurt the other as she requests, or ask for a more serious cruelty to be inflicted on herself by her lover. The winner, of course, is the girl who begs for the most frightening punishment.
This time, permanent markings have been required, not just whippings. Therese, with the short hair, has ‘won’ the right to be branded by Ella - branded with the castle’s arcane symbol, immediately above her sex.
Before suffering this, Therese has to be maintained at a high pitch of sexual tension for several hours (members of course may intervene at will to use either or both girls as they please). Over the previous ten days, the girl has been repeatedly stimulated, but prevented from reaching climax.
Therese keeps trying to tell Ella with her eyes that she is happy to suffer to save her friend, but Ella dare not look. She cannot evade the knowledge that a part of her will find Therese even more lovable once she has been so cruelly marked as the animal possession of the monsters to whom she willingly gave herself, less than a year ago. Also, she knows that it can only be a matter of time before it is she who will be chained and have the glowing metal burnt into her soft belly at the moment of a powerful, enforced orgasm.
Her increasing addiction to this mixture of fear, sexual excitement, powerlessness and impossible emotional conflict both terrifies and exalts her; she is trembling at the intensity of it, and surprised, as always, by the measure of her eager servitude, feeling a powerful need to show this by performing as perfectly as possible for the watching members; to serve them as fully as she possibly can - even knowing that this will mean maximising the distress of her lover.
Ella is almost looking forward to the cleansing terror of the whipping she has been promised as the consolation prize for avoiding the brand.
Later that night, trembling, naked, chained on the stone floor of the cold and damp dungeon where she will be alone for a week save for those who come to violate her in silence, she knows that she is, finally, lost.
And, strangely, she finds herself at peace. The guard who comes to whip her and fuck her the next morning, early, rousing her from her deepest sleep, finds her almost impossibly sweet and open, even her cries under the whip utterly without resistance - almost seductive - and he grins to himself. He’ll tell Anne-Marie about this evidence of a shift - of the girl being fully broken - of course he will. But not until this evening, after he’s used her as many times as his cock will manage. It’s a special moment, this, for a girl, and he means to savour her final knowledge of her own meaninglessness except as a channel for the lust of those who own her.
The Procurers
“So .. so I’ve .. I’ve stripped .. for you, like .. like you wanted; and .. and - and it’s kinda cool. I mean .. I mean I sort of like it; you .. all .. looking at me.”
“But in .. in that film - what was it called - ‘Story of O’? In that film, they had a whole - like, a club, and .. and servants, and .. chains.”
“I mean, you’re just three guys, right? With a half-decent apartment…”
A long silence. The girl shifts, half shy, half brazen, unable to decide whether to keep her hand over her sex or lift it away. Jimmy and Karl look at each other, grinning. They had a live one!
Seaumus said;
“That’s right, we’re just three guys. But you see, it’s not just us. We have some .. backers. And they - they have all that stuff - and more. Much more in fact. An island or two, in fact. A castle.
“But of course, they have to be careful, plus they’re not interested in wasting their time on wannabes. “
She still hasn’t chickened out.
“So, here’s your £500. Thanks. We can call you a cab.”
That gets her attention. She sits up, shoulders back; her tits sway beautifully, eye-catching in their firm generosity. Now she moves her hand, spreads her legs, blushing but deliberately, obviously, showing herself to them. Her voice sounds softer, unsure, vulnerable;
“But .. but .. Goodbye? Is ? That can’t .. that can’t be it! What, what about these - backers? Won’t .. won’t they want to .. to ..see .. me?”
She’s blushing as she realises what she’s saying. She’s a good girl, not a tart; can’t quite imagine how she’s ended up here tonight - it’s not even really the money (although god knows she can always spend money), But now she’s practically begging to be allowed to show herself, naked, to some shadowy rich men, who have islands with servants and chains, and more - and after seeing that shocking film! She should take the money and leave. Really, she should. This will make a fun story in a year or so, once her nerves have settled, but .. time to go.
Except that, weirdly, it seems to be hard, now, to cover herself up, to close her legs. It .. it feels good, them looking at her like this. Three of them; looking at her. She likes it, in a way she has never experienced before. She doesn’t want it to be over, not so soon.
But here’s Seaumus speaking again, in that lovely soft brogue of his;
“Of course they’ll want to see you - if we recommend you. “
“See, that’s our job - to make sure there’s no time-wasters. They pay a lot of money, see. Year’s contract, fifty thousand, tax free. So, you see..”
She can see Karl grinning, stupidly. No need to ask what it will take to get a recommendation from him ..
She hears herself laugh, weakly; it sounds silly. It sounds vulnerable. She’s suddenly fearful that they’ll rape her.
But no, Jimmy is making music happen; soft music, but with a slinky beat.
“Dancing, first” says Seaumus.
They make her earn her fucking by dancing. Then they make her earn her spanking by sucking. Then they make her earn her right to masturbate in front of a web-cam for the backers by taking it in the ass (she whimpers and cries, but in the end, she prettily holds herself open for them - even Karl, with his stupidly fat cock). Of course, the whole evening has been filmed - there are six fixed cameras in the room - but for this last test she has to know that she’s performing.
At three in the morning, Seaumus takes a call, and twenty minutes later she’s kissing them goodbye, looking half-scared, half ecstatic, as she gets into the long black saloon with the tinted windows.
Seaumus catches himself wondering how long she’ll last, but closes that train of thought off, harshly. No point in developing a tender streak now, he tells himself. Pretty slut was practically begging for it, anyway.
Now
They had told her that he enjoyed a little defiance, that he wanted to feel as if he had ‘broken’ her himself, through punishment, before he fucked her. That she was to make this work for him.
The funny thing was (not that any of this was in the slightest humorous) that she had resisted being broken in the most tenacious of ways, resisted so desperately, agonisingly hard; resisted senselessly even after she had known that it was inevitable that they would break her - taking punishments with increased defiance, subverting psychological methods that had most girls reduced to quivering, begging jellies.
But now, today - now that she was, at last, so thoroughly broken in, so totally made over in the image they had intended for her, now that her breasts have been upgraded, her nose done, her lips done, her labia trimmed, several ribs excised from the bottom of her ribcage so she can be laced into the tightest corsets, her Achilles tendons shortened so that she cannot walk without high heels, her thumbs artfully removed so that her hands are all but useless slim cartoon flippers, now that she is the most sweetly willing girl of the establishment, now that she lives for the release of submission, of service, thinking of nothing more than the self-abnegation of putting her whole being at the servivice of the pleasure of the stranger that has selected her…
Now.
Now they ask of her (now they demand of her) that she act defiantly, that she give this man no choice but to whip her, harshly, cruelly mess with her mind, so that he can feel for himself the surge of testosterone that breaking a girl can give a certain sort of man.
And so she stands, naked before him (all her piercings removed, to maintain the impression of her relative innocence), chained to the frame, helpless, but required to enact her old defiance, to challenge him to break her all over again.
The mixture of emotions in her eyes inflames him, so that he has to grit his teeth. God, that blend of defiance, of resignation, of helpless servitude, of utter despair! He is already as stiff as iron, but he has promised himself that, come what may, he will go through the programme.
Which he does, over the next hours. Relentless, his fierce joy increasing as her cries, her expression become more abject, the pits of despair in her eyes deeper, her supplications more heartfelt, even as she knows there will be no mercy, no let up.
Afterwards, lying in their sweat and stickiness, her breasts and thighs striped with red, her throat and anus sore, deep bite marks at her nipples, her belly still convulsed with the dreadful, terrifyingly glorious orgasm he had forced from her, lips trembling, eyes wet with tears, she begins to shake.
“Tell me”, he commands.
And, broken; twice broken now, she cannot refuse him, even though it rips her heart asunder to have this known (who is she fooling? A broken girl has no secrets, no mysteries..).
And so she explains to him, her voice hoarse (he had been very harsh when he fucked her throat; using her like a hole in a wall), soft, sweet and sad - like a lover after a bad argument.
Explains to him how it was that she had at first been so defiant, so determined never to become docile (not that she had been abducted - she had visited the Castle with her boyfriend as a guest several times, before suddenly appearing at the gates one night, asking for Anne-Marie; she had said that she would become an inmate, that they could keep her for a year, do what they liked with her, but that she would ‘never be one of those pathetic little whores you keep here’). How Anne-Marie had found the key to her weakness, and used it ruthlessly; how utterly devastated she had been by her final defeat.
How Anne-Marie had decreed that, although she was obviously in some sort of grieving period, a deep depression, she was nevertheless to be aggressively and frequently used, made available to the most demanding paying customers, rented out to friends of members, used for stag-parties, until every last vestige of self appeared to have been locked away in the deepest recesses of her mind; until she had become the perfect, pathetically eager, helplessly arousable fuck bunny.
The long process of modifications that has transformed her into a creature she hardly recognises in the mirror; a creature of whom she is in awe, whom she is in love with, who does not exist as a person, but only as a sex-fantasy.
And finally, how this evening’s treatment at his hands has forced her to relive all of that agonising, destructive, intensity. Had he not heard the utter devastation in her cries?
That, traumatic as this had been, was as nothing to her realisation that she had not been utterly debased as she was.
That there were new levels of destruction that could be experienced; that the pit was, in effect, bottomless.
That he was the man who had done this to her, and that she loved him, that she worshipped him, and how grateful she was that her story appeared to have got him stiff again, and would he please, please, fuck her very hard, without mercy? Unless of course it would please him to whip her first?
She opens her thighs, very wide, trembling, inviting the destructive power of the dog whip to be unleashed on her there, blinking back tears, trying to smile for him, chest heaving softly.
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