Damsels in Distress (3 page)

Flavia tried to swallow, but found she did not have enough saliva. It was warm in Lavinia’s chamber and she felt the perspiration beading on her naked, bending form.

‘Zenobia, at last. You have kept me waiting, girl.’

‘I am humbly sorry, mistress.’ There was something strained in Zenobia’s velvety voice.

‘Well, I expect it was Paulus’s fault, but I will punish you later anyway. Have you missed me, girl?’

‘Yes, mistress.’

‘Liar,’ Lavinia chuckled. ‘You slave sluts have been having a fine old time away from me. I know how soft my husband is with you. You have become lazy, slack, and corrupt. You have all been spending days masturbating and drinking stolen wine, is that not the case?’

‘Yes, mistress.’

Flavia was astonished and appalled at the way Zenobia, a proud and beautiful young woman, instantly admitted to these imaginary crimes. The black girl must have learnt the hard way not to contradict her mistress, the bending slave girl thought.

‘Well, I’ll punish all you sluts properly later, just to let you know that discipline has returned to the house of Arrius. Now strip, I want you to help me manage these two sweetmeats, but I need you naked in case I care to give you some lashes too. You do understand?’

‘Yes, mistress.’ Zenobia’s usually melodic tones were definitely tenser than usual. There was a rustling sound as the black slave girl disrobed.

‘I think we are ready for the entertainment to begin,’ Lavinia decreed.

Delicia’s shaven pussy was inches from Flavia’s face. The dark-haired girl had been chained, strained into an X-shape, only the balls or her feet having contact with the marble dais on which she stood. Flavia knelt on that same marble platform, her wrists secured to the chain around the other’s narrow waist. Her head was lowered, because of the position she’d been made to kneel in; her thighs almost vertical and her back dipped so that her bottom was proffered, jutting up and back. It was almost as if she knelt in adoration of Delicia’s glistening cunt.

‘Lick her pussy lips,’ Zenobia said softly into Flavia’s ear. ‘Put your tongue between them and tease her. Lick her clit and make her writhe.’

There was a click as Lavinia turned the little hourglass over. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘you may begin.’

Flavia strained her head forward, smelling the fragrance of Delicia’s juices. The slave girl’s sex looked rosy and juicy, and the blonde tentatively began to lick, causing Delicia to moan.

‘I have told you before, I want you to be silent,’ Lavinia threatened.

Flavia tried to concentrate on licking the hot sex lips that seemed to pulse in response to her tongue, and ignore the sound of her mistress’s light footsteps. But there was no ignoring the whistle of the whip or the explosive crack as the leather thong at its tip bit into the chained girl’s back. Delicia gasped with pain and bucked, grinding her engorged mons hard into Flavia’s face. The blonde girl gripped the other’s waist harder, in a doomed attempt to keep her still enough to carry on her task. She had two minutes to make Delicia climax. Delicia had the same amount of time to stave off her orgasm. The loser would receive a dozen strokes from the vicious black whip.

‘You’re running out of time, my angel,’ Lavinia’s voice cooed, thick with insincere concern. ‘Do you need some encouragement?’

Still moaning with pain or pleasure, or perhaps some strange mixture of the two, Delicia stopped writhing enough for Flavia to return to her task, and she had just slipped her tongue between the other’s sex lips when the vicious whistling cut through the air again. The whip cracked across Flavia’s buttocks, cutting into the tender flesh. The pain was unbelievable, and for some seconds she had no idea what she was doing or even where she was. Blistering agony was her entire universe, but as the pain gradually began to subside she became aware of several things again. Her open mouth was clamped to Delicia’s cunt, so intensely that the other girl was shuddering and squealing, yet not so intensely that Flavia’s own shrieks were entirely muffled. From being everything and seemingly everywhere, the pain subsided to a throbbing, agonising stripe dividing her bottom from the tops of her thighs.

As she relaxed her oral ministrations a little she realised that Delicia’s reactions were not diminishing, and in fact the chained slave girl seemed to be trying to grind herself even harder onto Flavia’s face. This should have given her relief, but there was a problem, for the sight of Delicia in paroxysms of pleasure seemed to be driving Lavinia into a sexual frenzy too.

‘How you barbarian bitches buck!’ the woman enthused, then there was a whooshing sound and the crack of leather on flesh again, and Delicia’s shrieking crept a little higher in pitch.

There was another venomous whistle, and this time the thong caught Flavia across her thighs. She held onto the other slave’s waist for dear life as the pain exploded through her, and ground her mouth to Delicia’s gyrating cunt again.

‘Look at the slaves sweat,’ the woman sneered. ‘I have horses that don’t sweat so much after a gallop!’

There was another whistle and another cry of pain from Zenobia. Then another swipe, and Delicia squealed even louder as the last convulsions shook her naked body.

The next stroke inscribed a line of fire across Flavia’s bottom, and she could not suppress another shriek of pain. The only way to try to stop more protestations was to bite the front of Delicia’s thigh, which was slick with salty sweat.

For a moment Flavia was again unsure of what was happening, but as the pain of the last stroke subsided she became gradually more aware of her surroundings. Delicia’s crisis had passed and the dark-haired girl was slumped in her bonds, moaning softly. Tasting sweat and cunt juice on her lips and tongue, Flavia looked around cautiously. Zenobia was standing to one side, sobbing quietly, but there were gasped obscenities coming from elsewhere.

Lavinia was sprawled on a couch, her gown pulled up and her legs parted. The whip was gripped in both hands, and she was grinding it with a feral fury into her sex. Flavia watched astonished as the woman cursed and snarled, her lithe body thrashing around on the couch like a creature possessed.

‘Oh yes, these are the bodies for this sport.’ Lavinia perused her victims with a chuckle.

Flavia looked into Delicia’s eyes. It was terrible, because she was sure that she saw her own fear reflected back. The girl who had been Gwen had beautiful brown eyes, but Flavia had never seen them so wide and fearful. Perhaps the gag made it seem worse, as it forced the dark girl’s mouth open and distorted her expression. Both girls had been gagged before Zenobia trussed them up, ready for their whipping. They stood on tiptoe, iron bracelets and chains hauling their arms towards the ceiling. They were chained facing one another, their waists and legs bound together with a cord so tight and thin that it bit into their flesh. The position meant that Flavia’s pussy was moulded to Delicia’s, their breasts cushioned together too.

‘Quite a poor showing, even for incorrigible barbarian slatterns,’ Lavinia said conversationally, and then cracked the whip without warning, the two naked slaves jumping simultaneously and quivering fearfully anew.

‘Two minutes,’ the woman went on. ‘That was all you had to control your animalistic instincts for, and you couldn’t.’ She cracked the whip again for punctuation.

It was true. In Delicia’s place on the dais Flavia had been determined not to climax, but it was much harder than she’d imagined. Delicia and Lavinia’s climaxes seemed to have done something to her. There was a strange sensation emanating from somewhere deep inside her, threatening to drive her insane with longing. And there was Delicia’s tongue, which had turned out to be surprisingly cunning, with inevitable results. And there had been Lavinia and her whip. After her wild orgasm the woman had calmed down a little, but her malevolent presence behind Flavia was impossible to ignore. She cracked the whip a couple of times, gave both girls another agonising stroke, and quite prevented Flavia thinking about something dull and cold, as had been her plan.

It was the second lash on Delicia’s bottom that settled the issue, however. The dark-haired slave girl had just reached Flavia’s already throbbing clitoris when it struck, driving the kneeling girl to even greater and ever more skilful efforts, and then Flavia’s head exploded with incandescent lights.

After that they had been towelled down by Zenobia and even given some wine to help quench their thirsts.

‘There is no point in whipping them in this state,’ Lavinia had decided. ‘They will hardly know what is going on.’

So they were given a little time to recover, while their mistress passed the time by idly tickling Zenobia’s beautiful breasts with nettles until the tears coursed down the black girl’s exquisite face.

The respite was brief, however. All too soon Zenobia had been sent to gag and chain them, ready for their whipping. Now her racing heart and pounding temples told Flavia the time had really come.

‘I’m going to teach you girls an important lesson,’ Lavinia announced, taking an elegant sip of wine from her goblet, before throwing it casually over her shoulder. ‘Life is not all about pleasure. Well, not for slave girls, it is not. You climax when, and if, I allow you to climax. From now on your life is about total obedience to me.’

Flavia stopped breathing as she sensed her mistress make ready behind her. There was complete silence for a moment. The tingling between her thighs had returned and her nipples stiffened, pressing harder into the warm flesh of the other slave girl’s breasts. Flavia felt her bottom clench and the muscles in her back twitch. There was nothing she could do but quiver in those unyielding bonds as she waited for the inevitable whistle of the whip.

‘What is the problem, Brother Sebastian?’ Lady Eleanor asked as the horses stopped again.

The captain of the little troupe of yeomen was intent in some discussion with the friar, who looked up at her and smiled reassuringly.

‘No problem, Lady Eleanor,’ he said, rather too quickly. ‘We are just ensuring that we take the right road from this place.’

Eleanor looked around anxiously. A short distance back the road had dwindled to a rough track across the heath, and then the track had plunged down a deep ravine. Now the track forked into two, both ways leading into a foreboding forest. It was obvious that the men-at-arms were worried. Brother Sebastian looked around, an expression close to panic on his fat face. Eleanor guessed he had as much idea of the right track to take as she did.

‘So, you remembered the way?’ she asked archly as the little troupe set off again, taking the left fork.

‘Oh yes, my lady,’ the fat friar said, mopping perspiration from his face with his sleeve. ‘’Tis just, well, in these parts it is best not to stray.’

‘And why would that be?’ she pressed him, in no mood to let him drop the subject.

‘Erm, well, these lands are peaceful now, of course. My lord, the Earl of Pewsey keeps the roads safe, but some of the more remote paths, well…’

Mention of her betrothed, the fat earl who was over twice her age, made Eleanor suppress a shudder. ‘Well…?’ she echoed, pressing him on his point.

‘There are still some outlaw knights in the wilder forest,’ he expanded, somewhat reluctantly. ‘Sir Turquin has his castle in these parts and he captures all the knights that ride his way. They say he strips them naked and beats them with thorns.’

The idea of lusty knights stripped naked and being whipped with thorns was certainly a startling one. Eleanor considered the image for a moment; after all, it was preferable to dwelling on her coming nuptials with the repulsive Pewsey.

‘But we have no knights with us for him to seize,’ she said, after considering his words. It was something of a sore point that the escort her wealthy betrothed had sent to fetch her had not included any dashing young men. Eleanor’s beauty, her long golden hair and fair form, had always attracted no little attention from her father’s own soldiers. So much so that her marriage seemed to have been arranged somewhat hastily, as if to forestall amorous adventures with impecunious but dashing knights errant.

Eleanor had even daydreamt about falling in love with a lusty young knight on this very journey, who would carry her off and away from her vile fate. But instead Brother Sebastian had come to lead the escort party; perhaps Sir Percival of Pewsey had considered the same possibility.

Brother Sebastian shrugged. ‘No, my lady, but he may seize us and ransom you.’

At that moment this did not seem so bad a fate to Lady Eleanor. To be held captive by the bold Sir Turquin, forced to watch as he whipped his naked prisoners, well, the idea made her mouth turn quite dry as she rode on; down into the deepening murk of the forest.

Despite Brother Sebastian’s obvious anxiety, nothing occurred as they passed through the darkly brooding defile. At last they came out into less hilly country, where the dark yews gave way to less oppressive birch trees.

Just then there was a shout from several of the men-at-arms as they came into the clearing, and a knot of mounted men charged across, blocking her view so that at first she could not see what had caused their consternation. Brother Sebastian, perhaps loath to leave her unguarded, seized her reins and spurred his horse after the men, and by the time they arrived most of the guards had already dismounted and a most amazing sight greeted Eleanor’s astonished gaze.