You will want to have read the earlier episodes of this story.
LeStrade waited just long enough that Prilly began to feel sick.
Sick, at the idea thar he might not want to keep her, let her stay, after she has humiliated herself so in front of the others. Long enough so that when he finally spoke, she reacted with obvious, pathetic, shameful gratitude, her weakness, her vulnerability to his cruelty laid bare for everyone;
“Very good, little one; you may stay a day longer. It will be a hard day for you; you may well wish you had asked to leave at times, but it is too late now.”
He let her pant and sway in the excess of her emotion. It was too much, really it was; she did not know how she could hold her position, when her heart was beating so violently, when her emotions were a storm inside her, when shame was burning in her mind, so deep that she knew she would never escape its scars.
I am being changed; changed forever; weakened, damaged, degraded… Oh god I hope I can get through this…
How is it that my pussy is so hot, my throat and chest so tight with the thought of him raping me, right in the middle of all this fear and shame and despair?
“Maria, tell me, does Miss Prilly have any failings to report?”
“Si MonSeñor, she dos.”
“Oh dear, pretty; it seems your day here will start with pain and fear. Tell me, girl, how many black marks do you need to be punished for?”
Prilly had forgotten this appalling thing for the last while, in her excess of emotion, and now that she was required to speak, she could not be sure of the number. How could she be supposed to remember such things when she had been subjected to non-stop sexual degradation and abuse? A bitter feeling of unfairness rose in her and was immediately swallowed. It had to be; this is all what I asked for. How can it be unfair? It is exactly what I deserve.
It was somehow obvious to her that telling herself she was a victim could not serve; I must own this, whatever it is, or be driven crazy. It’s me; it’s me who asked for it all. In theory, that should be empowering; but really, I’m asking to be forcefully disempowered, so it just deepens my shame. I’m asking to be drowned in my own shame.
No matter how awful the idea of being whipped was, she must speak, must offer a number, for fear of worse, and she made her mouth open;
“Thr … Th … Four, MonSeñor.”
It was three! Three! Wasn’t it? But she had been too frightened of making a mistake, and felt so guilty all the time, so inadequate, that she had said four, and now she was to be whipped harder than …
Just accept, silly! He’s going to whip you, whatever. Save your energy for surviving the whip without going crazy.
“Very well, I accept your count.”
“Maria, will you bring the longer crop— the first beating must hit home cruelly with privileged cunt like this, so I’m going to add one to that; you’ll get five hard ones across your pretty tits, three between the legs, and ten on your behind. Let’s get you in position!.”
“Santi, Roddy, shift the furniture away from the fire, will you, and bring the chaise forward; I’ll show you just how versatile a piece of furniture it is. It took me a while to perfect the design, but the chap who makes them for me gets orders from quite a few people now.”
Prilly was beginning to panic as the numbers sank in, as this casual conversation made it clear how very normal it was for LeStrade to be about to whip an innocent young girl in the most cruelly sexualised way, and indeed it took all her energy not to fight back against the impending horror as Maria calmly positioned her.
The chaise had been set facing the fire, but she was directed to a position behind it, then made to bend at the waist so that her throat was in the groove in the centre of the low back of the thing. Looking into the fire could have been calming, but instead only reminded her of the searing heat she had felt in her dream, of the brands burned into Maria’s flesh, and she whimpered, overwhelmed.
“Another important trick with new cunt is to instill into it in the most unforgettable of ways that it must constantly strain to keep its thighs parted. It’s very simple; regular and vicious blows in these locations will mean she is carrying deep bone bruises. Even touching them will hurt badly, so that a mild tap will bring a strong reaction, but the real purpose is to have her rapidly desperate never again to give cause to anyone to need to remind her of this basic requirement…”
“To…”
Aiee!
“… Keep …”
Ahahahaaaii!
“… Her …”
“HaaAaaow!”
“… Fucking …”
“Aahahahoowa!”
“… Thighs, Open!”
LeStrade had used the heavy wooden handle of the crop to viciously strike at the inner parts of her knees and ankles, where the bones were least covered by flesh. No matter that she had already attended to spreading her legs apart (Maria had subtly reminded her with a touch of her toe to Prilly’s ankle), he had inflicted horrible, shocking pain which it was obvious would indeed leave painful bruises. Prilly’s tears flowed continuously; her whole body shook with fear and despair;
I didn’t … I didn’t … I can’t …
But that was just chatter in her head, a way of trying to deal with what was deep and cruel in her, her own voice savaging her;
Stupid girl, this is what you’re getting, now, for at least another 24 hours. This and worse. All because your hot pussy wanted him to fuck you. Dumb fucking slut. Better toughen up if you want to get through this.
But she couldn’t toughen up; if anything she was getting weaker and weaker, more and more helplessly desperate to be just what she hoped LeStrade wanted of her, moving her feet a little wider apart, exposing herself even more helplessly to his promised cruelty.
“Excellent, now we’re all set; I’ll do the first set, then Santi can deliver the remainder while I fuck her throat, feel her screaming into my cock.”
“I’m breaking you down little girl, fast and brutal; it will be hard; very hard for you. I believe you can take it; more, even— that you’re made for this, but still, it will fuck you up. You’ll never again be the sweet girl you were this morning; never. You’ll never be free of the memory of this day, and it will likely shape the rest of your life. I’m going to have fun with you now, Prilly. Hard, violent fun.”
He was making the air sing with trial sweeps of the stiff but springy, five foot leather-lad crop, and Prilly felt she must die, would have been begging and pleading already if she were not certain that this would make things worse. There was also some insane impulse to ‘make him proud of me’, which made no sense at all but was strong and urgent in her.
Nevertheless, she was crying weakly long before the first blow struck, managing only— thanks to a warning look from Maria— to avoid full-on sobbing or letting her face crumple, despite the awful fear and shame which filled her as she heard it, knew that this nightmare was for real;
Oh Jesus here it com…
“AhAaaaheEEK!”
He was relentless, then; and accurate, each powerful stroke landing just a little away from the others— first above, then below, then above again, so that her whole ass was ablaze with pain.
All but lost in the maelstrom of emotion, there was still a part of her which was fascinated by her own submissiveness— for despite her desperate desire not to be whipped, to never again feel such simultaneous pain and shame and fear, she had worked to hold her position, up on tiptoes, her legs so shamefully spread, her ass pushed up, her hands flapping and writhing frantically, useless below her tied elbows, not seriously trying to defend herself.
And the fascination churned in her when he paused, before it widened out to take in the whole setting; she naked, obscenely posed, pathetically obedient, sobbing noisily, the sound full of her shame and despair and weakness, and all this in front of four other people; public disgrace, indelibly imprinted upon her.
The fascination drew on all of this, and forced upon her a deep, disturbing truth; that her response to all this was profoundly sexual.
It wasn’t that the hurt wasn’t real, wasn’t that she enjoyed pain; the shame burned terribly, the despair was horrible; tragic and destructive— all that was as harsh and hard and shocking and terrifying as it could possibly be— Prilly was being erased, violently overthrown by this cruelty, this knowing, greedy sadism to which she had inexplicable consented, asked for out loud, in front of witnesses.
But above that— and below it, and all around it, was the powerful certainty in her of the relentlessly harsh and sexually degrading treatment liberating something in her belly; feeding it, setting it on fire.
I’m being whipped for his sexual pleasure, but also to be transformed; made into a sex-toy— all normal barriers of decency, self-respect, morality ripped away by this cruelty, so that this deep, hungry desire in me becomes uncontrollable, reveals itself, takes me over, refuses to let go of me, forever.
She felt, rather than thought all these things, in the seconds it took for LeStrade to shift position, saying;
“She’s due five on her tits. I’ll take three of those, to make sure she is marked there, very obviously; My dear, there is nothing I can tell you other than that this will be very bad for you; black mark punishments are deliberately cruel, to help you become what you need to be; you must be broken down before you can reshape yourself to serve nothing but my pleasure.”
His words met with her own dark realisation, and she felt it; felt the fear and awful apprehension of the whip at her soft breasts as a thrill; a terrifying, searing thrill, but a thrill that was also a hunger, a desire and the certainty that this was her, her deep reality, inescapable now, unleashed, unsurpressable, that made her wail, softly, the sexual heat in her audible to everyone, just as real as the fear and the shame and the despair. Most of all, though, it was an admission of defeat; they all heard it; Prilly was aware that she would be beaten, that she had no right to protest at being beaten, because a part of her needed to feel like this, and she could not restrain that part of herself. Prilly accepted LeStrade’s right to beat her, even her most intimate, tender parts, with brutal sadism.
Her shocked, agonised screams as the whip cut the soft, sensitive skin of her breasts, as the tip of the crop took her on her left nipple, were full-throated; no pleasure was being taken— it was not that she enjoyed the pain; it was deeper than that; it was her acceptance that she needed to be vulnerable to pain; helpless to defend herself,
She was sobbing brokenly when he paused again, but still held her pose as he moved, as Maria came to her, as she had earlier, squatting at her side, and lifted Prilly’s head with a tight grip in her hair, trapping Prilly’s horror-filled, tear-blurred eyes with her own. Maria was looking into her soul, it felt, for a long, moment, and Prilly felt certain that Maria now knew just how vulnerable she was, trembling with the obvious truth of it; that this knowledge would be used against her. Maria kissed her then, long and soft and controlling, and Prilly knew she must respond, then very soon found that she wanted to respond, wanted to submit, her tears changing, to express tender gratitude and soft weakness;
Maria is going to make sure I go down, and she is as cruel as LeStrade, but I can’t help being thankful to her for guiding me so firmly, for understanding me so much better than I do myself. It’s crazy, but I feel as if being in her hands will keep me safe— safe! as she helps LeStrade destroy me.
Maria spoke then, soft and low, but still, loud enough for everyone to hear;
“Preety the numbers are round’ up, so jou gonna get three on your leetle poosy. He’s gonna do them all now. Jou must poosh the feet a bi’ further forward, now, lift jou ass as high as you can, make it eesy for the wheep to take you, there. And jou must ask heem, too; ask jor Señor to hort you, there; I tell jou, when, preety.”
Her voice was quieter for the next part, her lips close to Prilly’s ear, almost whispering;
“Jou doing good preety, jou are cont in jor soul for shor, respondin’ to the wheep li’ that. He see it too— jou have heem a leetle crasy for jou now, he ver’ har’ for jou. He take the blu peel for shor tonigh’, and wear jou poosy out, reep jor ass some more, bruise jou throa’ so you can’ harly speek. Thees goo’, Preely, this ver’ goo’; he nee’ a noo gorl like jou… I gonna make shor he get jou, all the way.”
And with that Maria stood, and casually pushed a hand between Prilly’s legs, directly and invasively investigating her pussy, then methodically and exactly making just those moves which Prilly’s soft sex had helplessly yearned for, surged for as soon as she had felt Maria’s fingers at her. Shamefully quickly, Prilly could not prevent herself from letting out a soft, shuddering moan, somehow the most shameful thing so far, to have it obvious to everyone in the room that she, sweet innocent Prilly, was a deep sexual deviant who got turned on by being whipped and manipulated in front of a group of strangers, the shame reinforced by Maria’s report to LeStrade;
“She ver’ wet for jou, MonSeñor. Jou are right ass alway’; she make for thees.”
“Preely, jou ask, now, ask nice, girl, for what jou nee’, what jou desserv’.”
