Lost Property (20 page)

During the week, the other girls had repeated the whipping she had initially received, sometimes it was at a cross set up in the yard, once she was ankle suspended in a frame with her legs spread wide apart. The girls were given a long tailed flogger and eagerly set about punishing those parts of her body that were their shared female inheritance. And of course they were much harder on her than the men would have been. They left her swinging from the cross beam, her eyes watering so much she could hardly see, a burning and stinging fire raging between her legs and across her breasts. Steve had overseen that punishment and inevitably had presented his cock to her mouth in its aftermath. As her wrists were tied together and hanging below her head, all she could do was open her mouth as wide as it would go and take him in. She had to leave it up to him to steady her against his thrusts. He could have held her by her hips or chest. Instead he just grabbed her head and crudely face-fucked her. As she was upside down, she wasn’t able to use her tongue to stimulate the sensitive underside of his helm and so he lasted considerably longer than normal and as a result she was able to achieve a small climax as he took her with such arrogant carelessness. Fortunately he was too involved in his own pleasure to notice and she escaped further punishment. Alex treated her to the harshest breast whipping she had ever taken while she was tied face outwards against the cross. The Boss himself contributed a fierce back lashing about halfway through her week, when her first tranche of welts had faded a bit, and followed it up with a pin wheel.

By the time Mike led her back into the main body of the house, with her hands clipped together behind her and her bottom ablaze with colour, she knew she was back where she belonged. Most importantly she knew that Mike had really put his stamp on her. But so had the arenas. She had no illusions about the fact that he and the Boss might sell her on. It was a prospect that filled her with excitement as well as fear. She wouldn’t want to leave this stable but there were plenty of other knowledgeable owners and trainers out there who might make her life even more interesting.

She rejoined the slaves as they were having their evening meal. She was led in and then turned around so that they could all see the devastation that had been wrought on her buttocks, as well as the fading traces of all the previous punishments. Kath felt a surge of pride as she heard a collective indrawing of breath from the girls.

“She’s paid the price for what she did and that’s an end of it,” the Boss told them. “She’s back now and will take her place as before. Is that clear?”

There was a subdued chorus of assent and then, wincing, Kath sat on the wooden bench beside Annie.

Later on, Annie did her best to kiss away the hurt from her bottom, then Mike joined them and Kath felt her old life finally slough away completely. Angie, the paper and everything were gone. All that mattered was the stable and her performance.

Chapter Fourteen

On the evening of the Baron Sagemont’s next grand dinner, the slaves were paraded before the guests as they sat at table and were tethered in front of them so that they could be observed and considered. The guests were sexual gourmands and pored over the dishes that were on offer for later in the evening as a greedy diner would hesitate and change his mind over a menu – unable to choose because what he wanted was everything.

The dining tables were set out in a U shape in one of the ballrooms, beneath chandeliers that built towers of glittering light towards the distant ceiling. The polished floors rang to the sounds of footsteps as Marcel’s house staff served course after course of light, savoury dishes that would inflame the carnal appetites rather than dampen them. And all along the tables the lights reflected off the crystal glass of the wine goblets that were constantly being refilled. Conversation was loud and cheerful among the guests as they discussed and assessed the slaveflesh before them. The slaves themselves were tethered to rails that ran along the fronts of the various tables. The females – and they were by far the majority – had their leashes running from where their hands were clipped together behind their backs, between their legs and then to the rail. The few males likewise had their hands clipped behind them but their leashes ran from the various piercings their mistresses had had put into their cocks and balls.

All the slaves were masked with animal heads. It was a tradition of these gatherings that the slaves contributed by the guests should be anonymous and should be shared out amongst all the guests. The masks were almost hoods in that they covered the upper faces completely and the heads, leaving the women only a hole for their hair to show at the back, gathered into pony tails. Just their mouths and eyes showed, wide, apprehensive and excited. Some owners had added ball gags if they felt that their property might disgrace them by making a noise during dinner. Each slave wore a floor length cloak fastened at the neck but as they had been paraded to their places, the heavy material had pulled back and now simply framed the vulnerable nudity each slave presented.

Marcel was well pleased with the display, there were some succulent pieces there, ready to be played with down in the château’s cellars later on. Beside him, Marie squirmed in her seat with excitement. The guests had all dressed in eighteenth century costume and the neck line of her embroidered gown barely contained the rippling and trembling mounds of her breasts. She had contributed two well-muscled young men and three girls to the evening. Her male slaves were both proudly priapic – as she had trained them to be – as she pointed them out to Marcel.

“You can hood their heads, but you can’t disguise a cock!” she giggled as she and a friend considered what they were going to do to them later on.

Marcel listened fondly while his eyes remained on the tall figure in front of him, her breasts riding high and proud on her chest, her freshly shaven delta just showing the start of her labial split and her long thighs parted enough to allow her leash to pass between them. The fox mask she wore allowed the mane of blonde hair to escape onto her shoulders. He had cheated a little and ensured that Blondie was stationed directly in front of his place. She was magnificent, standing taller and more proudly than any of the other females, occasionally allowing the tip of her tongue with its sombre steel piercing, to wet her full lips.

Marcel let his thoughts wander towards the end of the night when he would take this princess amongst slaves to his bed with Marie or any of the other free women and sample those lips at their most intimate and submissive but he was interrupted by the guest sitting on his other side.

“Got anything special lined up tonight?” he asked.

“We’ve got a punishment coming up and a branding later on.”

As he finished speaking, Guillaume, resplendent in breeches, brocade jacket and wig, strode up to the head table and begged permission to introduce a punishment that had been requested by Madame de Brunaille. Her slave had been less than enthusiastic when she had been lent to a friend and Madame wanted the slut to be taught that she was available to anyone Madame gave her to. To that end she wanted the girl beaten round the tables. It was another tradition amongst Marcel’s group and the news was greeted with applause and feet drumming on the floor as the stocks were wheeled in.

They were the bench variety, where a body can be strapped down along the bench, whilst the head and hands are trapped in the stock boards at the head. This one had simply had small castors added to make it mobile. A girl was already strapped tightly to the machine, face down when she was entered. One of the stewards that Marcel employed pushed her until she was in front of her Mistress’ place. She was a tall woman in a pale blue silk gown, she held lorgnettes up to her eyes to survey the naked wretch before her.

“Well, you slut? Do you confess that you thoroughly deserve this punishment?”

“Yes, Mistress. I…I won’t ever be disobedient again!”

“You’re right, you won’t! Beat her round the tables please, M’sieur!” She waved a languid hand at the steward, also in costume who was joined by another. They stripped off their blouson tops and there were murmurings of female approval of the muscular physiques thus displayed.

The girl was quite plump and as she lay along the top of the bench, displayed a pleasingly deep amount of buttock meat. Her back was quite broad and her thighs long enough to take plenty of work from the heavy straps the men now took down from the ends of the stock board, where the girl had been able to see them. She whimpered just before the punishment began.

As soon as the men started, throwing the lashes down with enough energy and passion to fetch some applause from the onlookers, the conversations and laughter began again. The loud smacks of the straps landing from right and left of the slave echoed in the high room and after only a few, the sound was joined by high pitched, fluting cries. Some of the tethered slaves became restless when they heard the punishment begin but Guillaume and some of the others, Claire among them calmed them down with a word or a stroke. Marcel noted that Claire seemed to find calming the male slaves with a squeeze and a stroke of hard cock, the more appealing and made a note to see to her downstairs if the chance arose. He noticed the tall blonde in front of him made no reaction whatever, even when the stocks were brought to a stop right beside her and another twenty lashes were delivered before the stocks moved on. The wailing was almost constant now and the buttocks jiggled up and down frantically under the relentless fusillade of strikes from both sides.

“Stop!” Madame called. “The slut’s coming! Wheel her away into a corner and we’ll finish her later.”

The wailing was replaced by sobbing as the slave was pushed into a corner.

Towards the end of the meal she was taken out again and beaten along the rest of the top table and all along the length of the left leg of the U. This time the girl managed to hold her orgasm at bay and got through to the end.

Her mistress rose and took a bow as the stocks were wheeled away. The girl’s cries and the whips striping her had inflamed the diners nicely, and the way the three bodies involved in the display had gleamed with sweat under the lights had lit the fuse that would lead to the explosions of pleasure in the cellars. Marcel rose and held up his hands. There was instant silence.

“My friends, it is time to make our way downstairs! Please make free use of any slaves – including my household ones for whom there wasn’t sufficient room at the table. We will be pleased to witness the branding of our dear friend Gerhardt Buerger’s lovely slave Agnetha – a lady I know many of you have enjoyed in the past! Now, may I suggest we move along and meet after disrobing!”

Marcel watched as his friends drifted away and his staff began to gather up the slaves’ leashes and lead them away too, then he made his way downstairs to the stone-pillared cellars. At the foot of the stairs were the two disrobing rooms. To the left was the women’s one where they helped one another out of their gowns, ready to face the night’s pleasures in basques, stockings and heels. To the right was the men’s room where shirts were removed and the buttoned panel at the front of the breeches was removed so that the cocks hung free. But with what was on the menu, they would not be hanging for long.

Marcel contented himself with observing for the first hour or so. He wasn’t surprised to see that an Englishman, Sir Willoughby Gore claimed the blonde first off, and with the help of Guillaume, now naked to the waist, looking very un-butlerish and sporting an impressive erection, stretched her out face down between four chains anchored in the low ceiling. Between them they hauled her arms up first and then her legs until she hung at waist height, spreadeagled, her body bowing downwards but under enough tension to hold her reasonably level. He took a stock whip to her back and she took it for a good thirty lashes before she started bucking and twisting in her bonds. He stopped and added weights attached to screw clamps to her nipples and labia, then started in again. He kept working on her back, Marcel noted approvingly until she was making the weights swing and clonk together beneath her and then he moved to her backside. Almost immediately her pelvis began to move up and down and the buttocks clenched as she began to orgasm. He kept up an impressively regular rhythm as he flogged her upwards until she roared her release and then hung limply, a long trail of ejaculate elongating slowly towards the floor from her cunt. Several people had seen and noticed the tongue ring.

“Marcel found her in the Middle East, he tells me,” Sir Willoughby said as he stood between her spread thighs and inserted himself easily into her vagina.. “By God, you can tell arena stock by the way they grip you!” he crowed and landed several hefty hand spanks to the buttocks. “Come on, my beauty!”

Someone else availed themselves of her mouth and Marcel moved on, well pleased. They would play with her all night and nor recognise her – because it simply couldn’t possibly be Blondie herself. But tomorrow!

He watched Marie do something terrible with needles to the cock of one of her young men, but perversely the thing only grew even more massive as the scrotum became a pin cushion and an injection of saline turned the foreskin into a sort of rubbery tube around the base of the glans. At last the body, arched out from a stone pillar by the tether Marie held that was attached to the ring through the helm itself, could take no more and spurted several splashes of thick, creamy spunk at its Mistress’ feet. Marie gave a cruel little smile and told the unfortunate youth that he would pay for his incontinence and, still holding the deflating cock by its ring, she took up a thin whippy cane and began to belabour the shaft.

Marcel smiled and shook his head, even as he moved off, his ears ringing with the youth’s yelps, he could see the cock hardening again.

He found a return to what he felt comfortable with when he found one of his own slaves, with a blackbird mask on, bent over a whipping bench and being flogged by an old Dutch friend of his. The girl was just about to orgasm and so he stuck his cock straight into her mouth and she made a fair job of sucking him and screaming her release at the same time – until he came and she spluttered helplessly. Her flagellator laughed as her cunt spurted and Marcel left her draped over the bench, wrung out, being fucked and with sperm dripping from her face.

He moved from suspension to suspension – from wrists and ankles – and from beating to beating with canes and single tails, he helped apply the flesh rakes to freshly flogged skin, he enjoyed the abandoned shrieks of climaxing slaves and the satisfied roars and sighs of the dominants as they came. Then finally Guillaume announced that it was time for the branding and Agnetha was led in.

She was a fine figure of a woman in her forties. The exigencies and discipline of a slave’s life had kept her stomach flat and her breasts, although heavy, reasonably prominent. Her buttocks too were still smooth and her thighs shapely enough. The major part of her attractiveness however, as she was led in on her collar and lead, was that she was easily five feet ten tall and all her curves were on a scale rarely seen in the ranks of the slaves. Added to this was the fact that it was known she could exhaust several flagellators during the course of an evening and still orgasm into the small hours under needle play and waxing.

Her owner stepped forwards and requested that she be flogged hard before accepting his brand, as an orgasm would help her endure the brand, and it was a mark of the affection in which she was held that she was allowed this favour. Marcel himself administered the thrashing which Agnetha took standing unbound in the middle of the great cellar’s floor, her hands clasped behind her neck, her back hollowed obediently. The other slaves had to wait for their treatments until after Agnetha’s was complete. And everyone gathered around. Once she had come with her characteristic jiggling and oddly – given her size – bird-like cries. She was put face first against a stout wooden door that the men had brought down earlier and propped against a pillar. She was spreadeagled against it and bound at wrists and ankles, waist, chest, thighs and upper arms. Then Guillaume brought in the brazier and placed it behind her where she would be able to feel the heat. The iron was already in and one of the stewards began to use bellows to bring it up to white heat. Gerhardt stood forwards.

“Do you willingly accept the mark that is about to be put on you?” he asked.

From where he stood, Marcel could see the look of devotion on the woman’s face as she stated her willingness clearly and steadily.

Gerhardt bent and picked the branding iron out of the fire, he examined it critically and replaced it for a few more seconds. Like the other dominants in the group, Marcel was fond of Agnetha’s strength and durability and was pleased for her that she was to be marked, but what especially pleased him was that Gerhardt had chosen not to brand the buttocks. They were of a size and width that would be a travesty to compromise with a permanent mark, much better to keep them so that they could be re-marked afresh each time she was used. Her brand would be her Master’s initials on her right shoulder. The letters would be two inches high and seared into her where any summer dress would leave them in plain view, which was Gerhardt’s intention.