Bound and Initiated (29 page)

Sarah had to look away to the sides, her cheeks burning. The fucking had become general at the tables. Grace stood by, watching from a few feet away, her lips compressed into a tight line and her brow creased, apparently waiting to attend the second progression. Every other girl, though, seemed either to have been penetrated by at least one cock—many girls by several at once—or to be receiving a whipping, or both. At some point other benches had been brought in, presumably from the same recesses where the vast kitchen necessary to this kind of feast must lie. These had been placed between the tables and the central space where the guardsmen were roughly initiating Sarah now.

Girls sucked cocks while owners whipped other girls. In one place two men took turns whipping one girl, a bellatrix, bound to a bench, with punishment straps, while she sucked the cock of a seated pater. Two nuptae knelt at the punishers’ feet and received their manhoods reverently as the whipping went on and on, the bellatrix’s backside growing more and more covered with a tracery of red.

But the fullness of her own body with cock didn’t let Sarah pay very much attention, for Kevin and Alex fucked her so hard that at last she had to close her eyes and keep them closed. Kevin’s hands moved from her belt to her shoulders, and Alex’s took their place on the belt, and suddenly the firmness with which they gripped her became so terribly pleasurable, together with the pain of the filling and the agony of her caned bottom, that Sarah began to come.

Over and over her body tensed in orgasm, like some sort of timed display of fireworks. She felt Robert stroking her hair as she cried out the forced pleasure, and it comforted her though she had the odd sensation that he stroked the hair of another girl, and that neither that girl nor the one who just kept coming actually existed.

At last Kevin came in her bottom. He kept holding her tight and helping Alex move her up and down, as his cock pulsed inside her, and then began to soften. Their bodies seemed bathed in sweat now, and Sarah began to feel that every part of her might simply melt away. Alex came, too, in her pussy, and they lifted Sarah off him.

Things began to seem disconnected then. Turned over, yet again, and re-secured to the bench. The chair with the knee stirrups brought forward, empty, so that its seat rose just under Sarah’s face.

Robert’s voice: “Nupta Grace, make this bellatrix crave her whipping.”

Grace, walking around the bench. A pause, and then her friend’s lips and tongue between her legs so that Sarah cried out again. Writhing against her bonds. Helpless pleasure. A girl’s mouth on her clit, her pussy, before she must do the same to her domina.

Around her, the whipping and fucking of the other Ostia girls ending at last, and all the guardsmen gathering in a circle, holding torches, beginning the chant she remembered from the video. The girls rising and stepping behind the red-robed men, standing and watching along the walls of the hall.

Without warning, the strap: Claudia’s strap. Lash after lash. Sarah screaming and crying and pleading.

Then the twelve-tailed mastix, in alternation, wielded by her loving pater for her own good. Sarah’s bottom aflame. The pain too much; they were marking her backside to show the gravity of her crime. They were making sure she learned a terrible lesson, of a kind that would last for many days, as she caught sight of her whipped rear end in the mirror. As they called her attention to it. As they displayed it to other girls as an example.

“Nupta Grace, make her crave it more.”

The mouth again. Screaming now because she couldn’t tell pain from pleasure anymore. More strap, more whip.

The chant: “
Solus vir verus nates puellae bellae habeat futuit futuat futuit fortiter futuat nates.
” The memory, locked in her mind, of what it meant.
Let only a true man have the bottom of a beautiful girl. He fucks. Let him fuck. He fucks. Let him fuck the bottom strongly.

The lube on Grace’s fingers. Then Robert’s cock in her bottom, driving hard, to punish her. His hands on her belt keeping her absolutely still for thrust after thrust of his stiff manhood. The terrible fullness that made her sob in shame and discomfort to be enjoyed that way, without thought for her pleasure, a bottom for the fucking.

And a mouth: Claudia sliding into the seat, spreading her legs, pulling Sarah’s head down into the tight triangle of wiry hair.

Kissing, licking, lapping to make her domina coo with pleasure. All the while, the cock fucking her, civilizing her. Where was Grace? Rubbing her pussy on Robert’s leg? Did that feel good?

“Does that feel good?” Claudia asked.

“Very good, domina,” Robert said.

Claudia coming, holding Sarah’s face down in her soaking pussy, to smell the wicked smell so strongly Sarah thought it must be the only smell in the world, and the only taste the taste of wantonness between female thighs. The domina’s hips bucked and she gave a little cry, shifting in her special chair.

Then, “Again,” from Claudia, and Sarah must bathe her mistress’ clit again, again dip her tongue inside, where it tasted of the mineral earth.

“Now,” from Robert in a grunt and with a savage final thrust. His whole body shuddering against her backside.

The chanting louder. Sarah’s hips held firmly, as if her master, her lover wanted her to feel bound more tightly even than leather could bind her.

“
Consummatum est, agna. Bene fututa es
.”

It is accomplished. You have been well fucked.

Carried from the hall, still on the bench, then carried in Robert’s arms to his bed. Lying on her belly there, weeping softly.

Her hair stroked. Her pater saying, “Good girl.”

Sarah traveled to Rome as Robert’s agna for the first time two months later. She had already given her first report to her handler, the blond man from the Long Island party, whose name turned out to be Jeff. At a party in Westchester he had reserved her; his cover was as a wealthy art dealer, it appeared. When he took her upstairs to one of the bedrooms set aside for guests to enjoy the Ostia girls they had reserved, he had asked if she wanted extraction, and then, when she declined, recorded her report on his phone.

The report, of course, consisted of exactly those facts the Pretorian Guard wanted the working group at the CIA to know about. The inflection point would hit very soon, and the markets would undergo an upheaval. The guard wanted anyone who thought them criminals to be looking in one direction—a direction where there would be something to see—while they strengthened their position in another direction, and buried themselves further from scrutiny. Seth Goldberg and Joe Harkins would think they had uncovered the League of Mithras (for so Sarah confirmed, falsely, that the organization was called) and the Pretorian Guard and the Order of Ostia would continue their work.

“Okay for me to reserve you at a party a month from now, and we can do this again?” Jeff asked when she had finished speaking the tissue of lies into the microphone.

“I’ll be traveling with my new boss, I think,” Sarah said. “I’ll still be doing parties, but they might have to have someone find me in Rome or Hong Kong.”

Jeff frowned. “I’m not sure the group has resources for that. Are you sure you don’t want extraction?”

“No,” Sarah said, putting on her best brave face. “I know the intel I’m getting is just too valuable. When the group takes down these criminals, I’ll be able to walk away.”

But she wouldn’t, Robert had decreed. The paters predicted that the CIA working group would pounce on the fake League of Mithras in six months or less. At that time, Sarah James and David Chilton would disappear, leaving behind the strong suspicion that in the final moments of the league’s existence, Sarah, her back against the wall, had killed her director out of revenge for his betrayal, and then been slain herself by his henchmen.

Identity alteration would be a pain in the ass, but nothing truly out of the ordinary, and Sarah would lose whatever new last name she acquired before too long, anyway, when she married Robert. With Chilton leaving the CIA, things would be receiving a shake-up in New York, and Robert had requested and received a transfer to Europe.

He proposed their first night in Rome. He actually went down on one knee, in front of
their hotel-room window overlooking the Spanish steps.

“Sarah, my beautiful agna, we both know it won’t be an ordinary marriage, but I’ve never met a girl more capable than you of appreciating the sort of marriage it will be.” In the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, he held a ring that bore an enormous diamond.

Sarah, who as an agna was now entitled to wear whatever she liked, when not told by a superior to wear something else, or to wear nothing at all, looked into his eyes as she unzipped the blue cocktail dress she had worn out to dinner with him at the incredible restaurant by the Tiber. Silently, without breaking eye contact, she shrugged it to the floor to stand in her black lace garter-belt, sheer stockings, panties, and bra before him. Robert smiled.

Sarah held out her left hand, and Robert slipped the ring onto her finger. Then she knelt down herself, still looking into his eyes. She pictured herself, and meditated for a moment on how much lacy lingerie, intended for a man’s eyes, resembled in its own way the leather with which a man like her future husband liked to bind girls to civilize them.

Robert’s face had grown a little puzzled, but a smile played across his lips. Fighting hard, but mostly successfully, against her own smile, Sarah opened her mouth as wide as she could and put out her tongue. Robert’s smile grew wolfish as he figured out how Sarah wanted to consummate their engagement: a ring for her finger, an o-shaped mouth for his cock.

He stood up, beginning to unfasten his belt. In a moment, his cock sprang free, and in another he was inside Sarah’s mouth, lost in his pleasure the way she loved, just using her body to make himself feel good. One hand came around her head to hold her mouth still for his fucking, and the other took hold of her bra strap at her shoulder.

He hadn’t fathomed her whole plan, though. When he withdrew from her mouth for a moment to make her kiss his balls, Sarah said, “Pater, isn’t there another ring you’d like to put your manhood in?”

Robert looked down with another wry smile. “Shall I civilize you, agna?”

“Yes, pater,” Sarah said softly.

“Go to the bed, then,” he said, “and offer that ring to me.”

Sarah rose and obeyed. She knelt on the bed, bent over to put her cheek to the covers. She reached back and offered the little ring. Robert came over and pulled her lace panties down, so that she felt even more bound by her lingerie than she had before.

“Do you know the Latin word for
ring,
Sarah?” he asked softly.

“No, pater,” she said.

He put his finger on the place she offered, covered in lube. “It’s
anus,
” he said.

“Oh,” Sarah said, a little startled by the revelation.

“Shall I fuck your ring then, my dearest agna?”

His fingers prepared her so thoroughly that Sarah whimpered her answer, rather than speaking it.

“Yes, pater.”

As he crouched behind her on the bed, as he pressed against her little ring with the head of his hard cock so that she cried out, he said, “I love you, Sarah. Will you save civilization with me?”

The cock pressed in, filling her bottom. “Yes, pater,” she cried. “Oh, yes.”

The End

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The Count’s Discipline

When Robert de Lourcy’s wife spurns his desire to spank her, the young count contents himself with disciplining other women of the court, until a rash decision to chastise the women of a captured castle arouses the ire of the local bishop and Robert is forced to seek absolution. In an act of penance, he visits a cathedral and stumbles upon a young girl named Sophia who has been set upon by robbers. Remembering his promise make amends for his sins, Robert takes pity on the destitute child, placing her in a convent so that she may be properly educated.

When Sophia comes of age, the nuns at the convent grow more firm with her. The young woman is simultaneously drawn to their discipline but also unconvinced that their motivations are particularly noble. After Sophia’s education is complete, Robert brings her into his household to serve as his secretary. Though he has decided to never spank another woman again, when Sophia begs him to chastise her as the nuns did he cannot resist the opportunity to take her over his knee.

The two begin a happy relationship based on Sophia’s acceptance of the count’s discipline, but he remains devoted to his wife until she dies tragically in childbirth. After that sad event, Sophia expects the count to marry another noblewoman, but will that new wife be jealous and send her away? Is she doomed to be cast back onto the streets from whence she came, or will Robert break the shackles of society and wed a commoner?

Geoffrey’s Rules

For as long as she can remember, Chloe has imagined what it would be like to be utterly and completely dominated by a man. When she meets Geoffrey—a man who can make her blush red with shame and quiver with lust at the same time with nothing more than a word or a glance—Chloe begins to wonder if her fantasy could become reality.

As hot as her desire burns, though, Chloe struggles with herself. How can a modern woman feel this way? Should she not berate herself for longing to be taken over her man’s knee for a bare-bottom spanking? No matter how she yearns for it, does she really belong on her knees at Geoffrey’s feet, naked and waiting for him to take her any way he pleases?