Madeleine (3 page)

Grabbing her by a fistful of dark hair, he dragged her to the mattress and threw her on her back.
It was little more than a quick and brutal rape.
He mounted her, thrust his prick, by now aroused to monumental proportions, into a surprisingly moist vagina, and battered her mercilessly
as she lay passively beneath him, until, with a series of animal grunts, he discharged a copious warm, sticky wetness deep inside her and collapsed, panting, on her body, crushing her with his weight until she could hardly breathe.

After a short rest he lifted himself off her, and she filled her lungs properly with relief.

“Get up, you worthless bitch,” he growled, “you had your chance, and you muffed it.
I said you would be judged on your performance, but you didn’t even try to perform.
I gave you plenty of time to start taking my things off, but I had to do it myself.
You should have done it for me, and then set about arousing me and ensuring I got sensual pleasure, and full satisfaction.
You’ll get the full dozen for that and, if things aren’t a damn sight better tomorrow night, I’ll double the dose until they are.
Fetch the switch and get into position.”

Shaken by the anger in his tone, and trembling at the thought of having to take a round dozen of the full-weight strokes she could expect when presented in the formal toe-touching pose, rather than the casual slashes that had enlivened her labours, she hurried to obey.
The switch delivered to his unrelenting hand, she forced herself to bend, putting her fingers on her toes, and exposing her sore striped buttocks.
Until that morning, they had never known the excruciating bite of a whip, now they were bruised and lined by a score or more of livid purple welts, some as thick as a finger, all sore and throbbing, stretching from mid-buttock to the tops of the thighs, but mainly grouped on the under curve of the firm mounds, where the bruised mass on the right oozed bright droplets from the plum coloured ropes of bruised flesh.

Humiliated by his contempt for her performance as a sexual partner, or rather sexual object, fearful of the coming onslaught on her sore and suffering hinds, she felt her courage slipping, but held on to his promise that she could seek a respite in her straw after it was done.
She gritted her teeth and waited.

He did not spare her, indeed he seemed to set out to break her and, by the end, he had.
She held out while four fearful cuts mauled her bottom, but the fifth fell on skin that was already splitting and drew a scream where she’d only conceded strangled cries before.
Once the dam was broken she screamed at every stroke, and at the ninth, a terrible stroke that opened up the pulpy mass, her fingers left her toes as she arched back in a paroxysm of agony, her hands reaching for the wounded flesh.
Under his threats she went down again, was awarded an extra stroke for her loss of position, and shrieked her way through four more agonizing cuts which seemed to slice right through her. But she stayed down, for he’d promised a steadily rising tariff for each failure.
When all had been laid on her cringing flesh, she fell on her knees, wracked by sobs, until he seized her by the hair and dragged her to her kennel, where, chained and barred, she lay curled up in the straw, her shoulders heaving, and tears running down her cheeks.

‘Exploration’

Exhausted, beaten and sexually abused, caged, chained,lying naked on the straw strewn floor, she might have been expected to give way to despair through a sleepless night.
In fact, for the first time for a long while, she fell quickly into a deep, satisfied sleep.

Though her mind seemed to have accepted her fate without protest, indeed in some perverse way to have welcomed her degradation and abuse, her body was less successful, and she woke, as a thin light filtered down from two grilles set high in the end wall, to find her bruises stiffened, but still throbbing, and her limbs cramped from her hard bed.
More urgent was the pressure in her bladder.
Yesterday she had been able to deal with her natural functions among the bushes while she worked outside, but now there was no provision.
She dared not wet her straw, being uncertain if she’d get fresh, or would have to spend her nights lying on her own wastes and he would probably punish her severely for soiling her bedding, but neither did she dare risk disturbing him.
She clung on to her bursting belly in rising distress, hoping she could last out.
At last, agonising ages later she heard him stir and called out, almost hysterically, for permission to speak and, when this was granted, to be allowed to relieve herself.

“Hold your water, bitch,” he replied, “you’ll regret it if you foul your kennel,” and released her from her cage and chain.
Hunched over, clasping her belly, her knees turned in, she scuttled up the stairs to the nearest grassy spot, where she anointed the turf with a golden flood, groaning at the painful release after such desperate retention.

More composed now, she straightened, and walked with head high, to deliver herself to her gaoler again.
She revived the fire, set the porridge pot to cook, hanging from an iron hook over the flames, made her master tea, though she was only allowed water for herself, and cooked his breakfast of bacon and eggs.
Porridge again for her portion, though he fed her the bacon rinds and she was allowed to lick the egg stains from his plate when he had finished.
Housework then, the dishes to wash, his bedding to fold and put away, the chamber to be scrubbed and tidied, his boots to be polished by licking every inch of the supple leather and burnishing it with a cloth.
She was getting more adept at such work now and escaped with only a handful of stinging flicks of the switch.
Just as well, for the welts and bruises on her bottom had lost little of their soreness overnight, and had stiffened so that movement of any kind drew twinges of protest in her behind.

Domestic duties seen to, he led her up into the open again.

“Hard labour and discipline is the lot of a slave on this island,” he informed her, “and I intend to see you get both in full measure.”

He set her to work to rebuild the boundary wall, where she had first transgressed by picking blackberries.
It was arduous work for a naked woman, used to a city life.
She was not totally unfit, for she took care of her body, indeed sometimes worked out almost to excess in the hope that it would alleviate that empty feeling that troubled her, but lifting the large flat pieces which had fallen from the dry stone wall, and setting them back in place at the level of her naked breasts, soon began to make very taxing demands on her back, arms and legs, to say nothing of her sore bottom, though the enforced exercise did at least serve to take some of the stiffness out of the latter.
Nor was the muscular effort her only discomfort.
Her bare feet and legs were scratched and stung by brambles and nettles, and her soft white hands soon became sore from the rough stone, and the inevitable knocks and abrasions.
Nor could she relax her effort for a moment, for he stood over her with that feared thin whip in his hand, and punished any slackening in her work rate by barked rebukes, reinforced by vicious cuts to back, shoulders, aching arms, lacerated hinds, whatever part of her bare and vulnerable anatomy was most accessible at the time.

By the time he declared a break for a mid-day meal, she was weeping with exhaustion and the pain of her wounds, both deliberate and accidental.
Preparing his meal, and the portion of coarse bread which was all her reward for a hard morning’s labour, came as a blessed relief, but it was short lived.
Once more she endured the back-breaking labour, the soreness, the stings and thorns in her feet and legs, as she toiled at the endless seeming task.
Sweat ran into her eyes, and matted her hair, dirty and neglected, into rat-tails.
Her finger nails were broken, and her hands blistered, she ached in every joint, but now she could actually see progress, and earned full-blooded cuts into her welted buttocks when she paused to admire her handiwork.
Several yards of once amorphous stone heap now stood clean and straight, as their original builders, centuries ago, had planned them.
She felt a flush of pride in her achievement, and a searing flame across her thighs for the break in the rhythm of her work.

“You’re meant to be raising the wall, woman,” he growled, “not standing admiring it, like Hadrian, or the Emperor of China.”

Shortly after this he declared time out for a tea break, for him of course, only water for a work worn female slave.
When it seemed time to resume the unremitting labour, he surprised her by saying she was not to return to the wall but would, instead, be set to contemplate her deficiencies, and accommodate her mind to her status.
Thinking she would be put into her solitary confinement again, she prepared to move to her kennel, but he had other ideas.

“To the trestle, bitch, that’s where you’ll sit to meditate on your position in life.” He laughed coarsely.
“You’ll find the position makes a great impression on a woman’s mind, seeing she keeps it between her legs.”

The trestle was nothing more or less than that, constructed of solid timbers, with a triangular sectioned top rail, point upwards, and two lower rails, parallel to the first, joining the front and back legs a few inches off the floor.
Under his direction, she placed a short piece of board at right angles to the two lower rails and resting on them to form a step, which enabled her to swing one long shapely leg over the top rail and stand astride it with her weight on her toes.

“Pull your cunt open, bitch, and lower yourself,” he ordered, “I want to see the edge parting your fat lips.”

When she had done as instructed, he came behind her and tied her wrists together behind her back.
It would be an awkward position for prolonged contemplation, she considered, but at least she was spared the bruising labour of walling.
Ten seconds later she would have gladly returned to the heartless stone.
With no warning, he pulled the board out from under her toes and she found herself, literally, sitting on her mound.
With nothing else to support her, her body weight rested on the narrow pointed edge of the rail which drove with painful force into her soft parts until she could feel it cutting into her pubic bone.
She leaned back to ease it and found it pressing into her anus and her coccyx.

She tried to grip the rail between her thighs to take the weight off her vulva and the protesting bones, but could get little purchase: then what little ease it gave was snatched from her as he parted her legs and tied each ankle with a thong attached to the lower rail, the tension adding to the weight on her pussy.
She groaned as she felt the wood penetrating her flesh, and shifted cautiously, trying to ease her position without adding to her anguish.
It was impossible, nothing could mitigate the hideous action of the wedge as it cut and bruised flesh and bone.

She groaned again and again, and hissed between her teeth when some incautious movement accentuated the crippling agony.
Dear God!
Was she to be left like this until he required his meal preparing?
She had no means of knowing the time but, judging by the light, she would have to endure this fiendish perch for hours.
As the minutes ticked by the torment did not ease, but seemed to bore deeper and deeper into her very soul.
Perhaps he had been right, she thought, hysterically, we women do keep our souls between our legs.
The anguish made her mind reel and, panicking, she feared she might faint and fall, then realised that with her legs tethered to the bottom rails, she could fall neither forwards nor sideways, she was doomed to sit this terrible mount, conscious or unconscious, until her tormentor released her.

Time lost its meaning, there was only agony she could do nothing to ease.
She wept as she sat on her aching mound; salt tears ran down her face, and every now and again she burst into a paroxysm of sobbing whose hiccuping motion only served to make her torment worse.
She arched her spine and pushed out her breasts until the slight ease it brought to one part of her crotch was cancelled, and then exceeded by increased agony in another.
She hung forward, her belly creased and her bedraggled hair hanging round her face, until that position too seemed even worse than the previous horrendous pose.
Nothing gave any enduring ease, yet any movement must be paid for in additional pain.

Aeons later she heard his voice, seemingly from another world.

“Have you learned from your meditation?” he asked. “Are you ready to serve again?”
Incapable of speech, and uncertain if she was permitted, she nodded, dumbly.

Dismounted from her terrible steed, she knelt, sobbing, at his feet, her head bowed and her hands clasping her vulva.

“So what did you learn, up there on your airy perch?” he demanded. “You may speak.”

With her mind distracted by the protests of her abused body, and having used her voice so little for the last forty-eight hours, she had difficulty at first in framing a reply.

“I learned that there is a place where one can go, when there is pain unending, a place so cut off from everything around that it might well be another world.
In that place, that tiny spot with everything concentrated on a point, the inessentials of life are stripped away, and the problems that once seemed important, and intractable, become obvious and soluble.”

“Very good, wretch, you are learning, but I don’t hold with women’s tongues clacking too long.
Deeds, not words,” he directed. “I’ll have my supper now.”

Half crippled still from the assault between her thighs, sniffing occasionally as the tears slowly trickled down her nose, she set about her household chores.
A pork chop for him, barbecued over the fire and served with a tangy sauce, green peas and potato moistened with butter, for her potatoes only, boiled and bare, and his gracious offering of his part gnawed bone.

When his bed had been prepared, she profited from her butcher’s dozen of the previous night by taking the initiative and his semi-erect prick.
Carefully she coaxed it into full erection with soft moist suction of her warm mouth, and then mounted him as he lay prone,
impaling herself on the now rampant penis, riding him to gasping ejaculation and, to her great surprise, the first spasms of orgasm in herself, before his collapsing column denied her the last full measure.
He gave her grudging praise for her effort, and she took the mandatory six with only gasps and grunts, maintaining her toe-touching pose throughout, as each new cut whaled into her bruised flesh.

Sleep came easily, her physical exhaustion capped with a small measure of sexual satisfaction, more indeed than she had experienced for many months past.

With the morning she joined battle again with her bladder and, released and relieved, went through the morning round of breakfast, housekeeping, cleaning, though she was not allowed to clean herself. In fact she had not bathed her body since her swim to the island, two days earlier.
Since then she had worked most of her waking hours in the hot sun, and given sexual service twice.
Now, as her body warmed again, she was aware she stank.

Led outside once more to recommence her sentence of hard labour, she expected to be set to building the fallen wall again, but her captor had other ideas.

“An essential element of hard labour, if it is to penetrate to the offender’s soul- ,” as that fiendish wedge penetrated to where he asserts I keep mine, she thought hysterically,” - it must, of itself, be purposeless and incapable of providing any element of satisfaction to the labourer,” he declared, “and I’m aware that you were contemplating your handiwork last evening with something akin to satisfaction.
This will not do: today you will be set a totally purposeless task.”

He gestured towards the other side of the island to the spot where she had landed.

“When you trespassed on my island, you landed on fine shingle but over there on the other side, the sea has washed up much larger stones, some great boulders, most about the size of a man’s head, but all rounded and smoothed by the water’s action.
You will run to the shore, select a sea-worn rock that is a stone in weight, and bring it here, still running. Now git!” Reinforcing his command with a vicious cut across the front of her thighs.

With a cry of pain at the unexpected and unfamiliar stroke, she set off swiftly across the grass in the direction he had indicated, following a faint trail that led her down to the far shore.
As he had indicated, the shore was composed of boulders of all sizes.
The first thing she spotted, wedged among a group of oversized boulders, for security, and to conceal it from any observer on the far side of the loch, half a mile distant, was an inflatable dinghy, with outboard motor.
Well at least she knew now how he got himself, and his supplies, here even if she knew little else about him.