The Mortification of Isabel (10 page)

“You begged to be whipped, poodle.”

“Yes, master. I would be honoured.”

“Here or in the dungeon?”

“Wherever you decide, master.”

“Go then, wait for me at the door.”

He withdrew his cock and even in the pale lamplight I saw the shaft glistened with my juices.

 
He came down wearing just his white tunic, legs bare, and turned the key.

John took me to the pillory that was like built-up stocks so that when I stood at normal height my head and arms rested in the half moons before the top section was lowered into place and the moons were made whole. It meant I was unable to move any part of my upper body and that my back was fully exposed to him.

In the pause that followed I could not see him but imagined him taking time to make a selection from the variety of whips laid out across the bench, testing the weight of the handles in his palm.

When he’d chosen he walked round the pillory to let me see the whip and to let me see he’d dispensed with his shirt and his cock was jutting out as proudly as before.

When the first lash curled across my shoulder blades I cursed myself for my foolishness in inviting a whipping. How could I have been so stupid as to beg for such extreme pain? John came round to look at my contorted features and I saw the sardonic grin had returned to his face. His expression said:
You asked for it so how do you like it?
I knew from recent experience there was little or no pleasure to be had from the first few strokes of a whipping because the flesh is cold and unprepared. Only when the skin is warm and reddened is it likely one may cross a threshold between pain and pleasure but this is partly dependent on how the emotions are in play as well as purely physical responses. Being whipped by John was a different experience from being scourged by some anonymous flagellant.

He aimed lower and caught me full across the bottom with his next lash. I liked him to put his mark there and knew I would be aroused more quickly if he concentrated on that part of my body.

I knew John enjoyed the sight of stripes across my cheeks and I wasn’t surprised when I felt him press up against me, trying to ease his cock between my thighs. Although I widened my legs it was not easy for him to enter me from behind but he succeeded and I felt my juices run like rivulets, so much so that I was sure I was dripping onto the wooden base of the pillory. He must have put his whip down because he used both hands to feel the welt and caress my smarting cheeks as he rogered me, then felt underneath where his cock and my pussy were united.

  
He pulled out without coming and picked up his whip again.

  
Another lash stung my cheeks and made me cry out.

  
Soon the whole area of my bottom would be suffused with pain and I would sink into the sublime state I craved. In this state I was no longer Isabel Dance. I became a nameless
thing
existing only so that John had a female body to punish. It was the only purpose I served and it was sufficient. I counted myself fortunate that of all the women John could have used he chose my pale flesh on which to practise the potent alchemy of the flagellant’s art.

When I stood in the slave market there were as many women as men with a serious intention of buying as opposed to being there simply to ogle our bodies

I am fair-haired and light-skinned and the sun was beating down and burning my shoulders and back. Needless to say we were not allowed any head covering or any protection such as a parasol because nothing was allowed to impede the view of the customers. I was much troubled by flies but because my hands were tied behind my back I could do nothing to prevent them landing anywhere on my face and body and every so often I felt them bite.

I was sold into slavery because I’d fallen in love with one of the chief’s daughters. We had conducted a long love affair unknown to Jay’s family but when Jay finally asked her father for permission to marry me, he was apoplectic with rage, banishing her from the palace and sentencing me to slavery. Despite the fact that my family had some standing on the island and despite protestations and representations from my father, I found myself the slave of the black woman Bertha Kitts.

White people are in the minority on the island so when one is put up for sale in the market there is usually a good deal of interest whether the slave is male or female. There are indigenous people on the island who regard owning a white slave as a sign of their superior status. Some consider owning a white boy or girl as a way of redressing the balance because they know who much white people have oppressed other races on other islands and further afield. Stories of the excesses of white slave owners on the plantations in the
West Indies
and in
America
were told by seafarers from our own island.

The bare-breasted female slaves were subjected to more probing and prodding than the men but it was common for potential buyers of both sexes to put their hands under the grass skirts of male slaves to examine their assets. Sometimes a woman would nod enquiringly to the slave owner and if he nodded back she would pull the skirt right down to expose the slave’s genitals.

I make no boast when I say that nature equipped me with an impressive member and the word seemed to have circulated amongst the throng for many women asked for my skirt to be lowered. After a time, the slave owner took away my skirt and made me stand stark naked, obviously calculating that I would attract more interest and generate more business generally in the nude state.

Some of the women were as bad as the men when the slave owners back was turned and I had my cock pulled and my balls squeezed as well as having hands run over my buttocks and fingers probing my anus. It was difficult to resist an erection when this happened and more than once my cock stiffened and climbed part way to a full hard on.

I was in this state when a large black woman came to me and stood with hands on hips looking me over. She was taller than I am with thick muscular arms and large frame; not so much a fat lady as very powerfully built.

She had a black female servant in tow, carrying a colourful robe, a bright parasol, and a bag containing her mistress’s personal belongings.

As the lady looked at me her expression changed to disapproval as she surveyed my state of arousal. She went to have a conversation with the slaver and I guessed she had expressed a real interest in buying me because he came back with her to assist in a more thorough inspection. He opened my mouth so that she could examine my teeth. He made me lift each foot in turn so she could look at the state of my heels.

The lady took hold of the owner’s cane and tapped the underside of my cock for it had straightened and was now at attention.

“This is not a good sign,” she said in such a loud voice I thought the whole market would hear. “It seems he has only one thing on his mind.”

“You can soon cure him of that, madam,” the weasel of a slave owner said, fawning shamelessly.

“It’s disrespectful in front of a lady,” she boomed.

“Indeed it is, madam.”

This time instead of a tap with the cane, she struck my cock with force and I recoiled though of course I could not use my hands to protect myself.

“Get rid of that, boy,” she said. “We don’t want to see it.”

Of course the more I willed my erection to subside the more it stiffened until it was soon standing firm against my belly.

“If we can complete our little arrangement,” said the weasel, “you can take him inside the tent and deal with him now, madam.”

The lady beckoned to her servant who searched in the straw bag and produced her purse. There was some haggling before she reached agreement with the weasel but finally I heard the words, “he’s all yours, madam.”

My owner took hold of my cock and dragged me unceremoniously into the tent the slave owner had put at her disposal also giving her use of his cane.

She spoke English well and made herself very clear as she lectured me.

“Don’t get stiff in front of me,” she said. “It’s an insult to a lady. It’s like you’re an animal with no control of yourself. I have two daughters at home and I don’t want them seeing you in this disgusting state. Keep your mind on the work you’re given, not lusting after women. I’ll punish you if I see you hard and if I catch you playing with yourself your life won’t be worth living. There’s no excuse. You’re not a boy of fourteen.”

My cock was still stiff but had subsided far enough to be jutting out at a right angle. She cracked her cane down over the shaft and made me squeal; instantly a livid red line appeared. I could not help doing a little dance in the sand such was my agony and she watched me with a scornful expression.

“Goodness boy, you’re more like a girl jigging about because of a little pain.”

There was a pouf in the centre of the tent’s interior and my mistress told me to lie over it and raise my buttocks high. Then she applied the cane vigorously to my backside and to the backs of my thighs using the full force of her brawny arms. The young servant, who raised my manacled hands so they did not impede the cane, observed me with a slight smile playing on her full lips and being flogged on my bare bottom by two women caused me great embarrassment. It was also humiliating that I could not stop myself crying out with the pain which my mistress said betrayed me as a milksop.

***

It was soon apparent that living in my mistress’s house was going to present me with many challenges and difficulties. The daughters she had referred to turned out to be very beautiful twins aged about eighteen or nineteen so I now had to walk around naked in front of four women without showing any sign of arousal. My mistress who professed to be so concerned about my getting an erection in front of her daughters did not exercise the simple expedient of making me wear a skirt or other covering. She insisted I remained naked at all times, indeed I did not own any clothes or any other possessions for that matter.

The extent of the problems facing me became clear one evening when my mistress was visiting a neighbour taking the servant with her.

The two girls came to sit with me on the cushions, one on each side of me, and began to play with my cock, pulling back my foreskin, and teasing it to tumescence. I was upright in a trice because they were very lovely girls and being touched there was exquisite, complete bliss. They looked approvingly at my full erection and made flattering remarks about my size and virility. One of the girls even bent her head, her hair dropping in a lovely hazel cascade, and kissed the tip and I wondered if she was going to fellate me.

Then suddenly they heard their mother returning and both leapt up leaving me the only one seated.

Mistress was greeted by her daughters looking the picture of innocence and her slave looking idle, embarrassed, and caught with a cock as erect as a red-coated Guardsman in a Busby.

I stood up to bow respectfully but this only made my erection look bigger and more offensive from my mistress’s point of view.

“My poor angels,” she said. “Run to your room. I am mortified that I left you alone with him but I thought he could control himself by now. I see I was very mistaken.”

The girls obeyed their mother but I noticed they smiled to each other as soon as they were out of her sight.”

“Now, you worm,” she addressed me. “What orders did I give you?”

“Not to get an erection, mistress.”

“So what is this?” She had picked up her cane and tapped the underside of my cock again.

“An erection, mistress.”

“Exactly. Why do you defy me?”

“I don’t mean to, mistress.”

“Did my daughters touch you…down there?”

“No,” I lied, thinking that such an accusation would make things much worse for me.

“Then you were simply filled with impure thoughts?”

“Yes, mistress.”

Suddenly after dismissing the servant girl and hitching up her skirts and petticoats, she told me to lie on my back across the cushions and bolster and she lowered her pussy over my face. At the same time she leaned forward and grasped my cock, pulling it and wrenching it painfully. She had tossed the cane on the floor but now she was able to reach it and use it to whip my belly and my bare legs, even hitting me hard across my balls.

Her passage seemed cavernous but I did my best to fill the space by fucking her with my rigid tongue while her juice ran over my face.

I have said truthfully that she was not fat but she was a heavy weight and I felt crushed under her large bottom. She was bearing down on me as if straining on the toilet seat and I tried to cushion her weight a little by grasping the undersides of her mighty thighs. I licked and sucked furiously encouraged by more strokes across my legs and loins for she did not slow their speed or frequency.

I would be lying if I said I gained no pleasure from the demands she made on me. There was something very arousing in being treated so roughly by a woman, having to surrender to her, be completely submissive. She was strong enough to get the better of me if I tried to fight her off and I was not sure I wanted to despite the pain from her flailing rod.

However, another part of me rebelled, feeling it was unmanly to be under a woman in this way. It seemed more natural for the man to be on top in the act of love. She was turning me into the she-boy she then despised and ridiculed.

I was sure she knew my dilemma and was using it as a form of torture. She knew the more I sucked her quim the more aroused I became so my cock grew ever-stiffer rather than becoming flaccid which was what she claimed she wanted. I think in her mind she thought it was an effective way of controlling me.

My cock remained hard so she had an excuse to go on attacking it with her stick and flogging other tender areas like the insides of my thighs.

Only after her whole body shook and shuddered as she achieved her orgasm, accompanied by a crescendo of ecstatic exclamations, did she stand up and let me breathe.

Bertha came up with a plan to recoup the money she had spent on purchasing me from the slave owner. The slave trader was only allowed to keep a small proportion of the price paid by the customer, the rest going to the chief as Slave Tax. It had been in the chief’s mind that selling me into slavery as a punishment also made him money.

My mistress’s scheme was to hire me out to other women in neighbourhood who didn’t have their own slaves so that I could clean their houses and render any other services they required.

These women worked me very hard but there was hardly one who didn’t use me for sex as well. They all took pleasure in face sitting, some squatting for long periods while they gossiped or made clothes. Having my tongue up a wet pussy seemed an almost permanent state for me and I suppose I became quite skilled in pleasuring women in that style though I sometimes longed to fuck them in the more conventional way. Increasingly I found myself resenting women for ruling me and forcing me to be submissive. Another common experience when I was hired out was being subjected to severe physical abuse. The women seemed to think a naked slave was there to be whipped or caned and they didn’t want to miss their opportunity. Sometimes a husband would join in and I would receive a sound thrashing from both parties.

It became obvious to me that Bertha had passed on the message that I should be punished if I had an erection so this gave the women a ready-made reason to chastise me. They all seemed to use the same trick of doing something to arouse me and then punishing me when I showed a response.

No one whipped me as hard as Bertha, however, because no one had such a strong arm.

My mistress always asked for a score from the client when I was returned at the end of the day and I was punished if I received anything lower than five out of ten. I suspected that some of the women gave me a low score deliberately so they could watch me being flogged and humiliated by Bertha. A woman who only a short time before had writhed in ecstasy with repeated orgasms as a result of my tongue-work would suddenly decide my performance only merited a score of three or four.

A favourite method she used was to lie me across the kitchen table and require me to draw my knees back exactly in the position a baby is in when its bottom needs wiping. The client would then hold my legs to keep me in that position while Bertha applied her instrument of punishment to the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of my body. Pain delivered in this manner was far more intense than when I was chastised on my buttocks in the ordinary bending-over position.