Not a star could be seen in the midnight sky. Only the full moon added light to the darkness, but the moon was floating behind clouds and mist.
The wind howled up from the hollows, the sunken cavities of the earth.
Angelica shivered. Ordinarily, she would never venture out on a night like this, but the eighteen-year-old beauty had a reason. She was accepted as a trainee at the Veteran's Hospital out in Fort Howard. She was the only female chosen for the traineeship, which meant that she would study speech therapy at the hospital, and receive a salary for the training as well.
Since she would be able to use the experience as part of her college work, Angelica had it made.
She was going to see the hospital for the first time the next morning. Fort Howard was said to be an hour's drive from her parents' house, and since she had never traveled the route before, she decided to set out on a trial run.
She didn't want to be late for the first day on the job, and she assumed that she would arrive on time in the morning if she practiced the route this night before. At night there would be no pressure from heavy traffic, and if she turned off at the wrong curve, she would know what not to do when she actually had a time schedule to keep.
Angelica giggled to herself when a gust of night wind blew up her skirt. The white flared skirt had to be held down so that her nylon panties remained covered. Angelica was a modest girl, despite the abundance of her figure. And yet, when her skirt blew up she was more concerned about the neatness of her mane of blonde hair.
"Don't give me any trouble tonight, baby, please," she whispered to her car. She patted the dashboard gently. The pretty girl had taken to talking to her car since it began stalling at intersections. It didn't happen all the time, and when it did, it was only for a moment or two.
She had meant to take the car into the garage for repair before setting off for Fort Howard, because she knew that the drive to the hospital was a long one. But when she realized that there wouldn't be too many lights to stop for once she got beyond the city limits, she decided to postpone the visit to the garage.
Her father had sold her the metallic blue Chevy for a dollar, so she couldn't complain about not getting her money's worth on the car.
She tuned in her favorite station on the dashboard radio, and with a turn of the ignition key, she was off. At first the drive seemed easy enough, but when she arrived at Carnation Boulevard she was stumped.
Angelica stared at the direction sheet. Just as she thought, Carnation Boulevard did not appear on the sheet. There was no mention of it at all.
She tossed her blonde hair behind her and looked in both directions. The boulevard had exit ramps on the right and the left. She was at a fork in the road, so to speak.
She knew that she shouldn't stay on the boulevard, and yet she was confused about which exit to take. Both paths seemed to lead to darkness. There were apparently no lights on either road, and the moon had hidden itself behind dark clouds again, making Angelica shudder.
Oh well, she sighed. The very reason that she was making this trial run was to avoid these problems in the morning. This was the time that she felt free to make mistakes because now a mistake could be corrected.
Or so she believed.
It was a choice between Bliss Avenue and Lagoon Road. Something told her to take the latter.
Almost as soon as she started along Lagoon Road, the car radio began to wander. She lost her favorite station, and the indicator needle swayed aimlessly. She was unable to find the station again.
"Oh, the things they play on the radio at this hour of the night," she said. Almost every station sounded the same to her. It was this damned chanting which reminded her of church, although the melodies were unlike anything she'd ever heard in her church before.
The chanting filled the car and Angelica finally had to turn the radio off completely. She hit her right ear with the palm of her hand a few times when she heard that chanting in her head even after the radio had been quieted.
There was something eerie about being out on the dark Lagoon Road. There were no cars in front of her, no cars behind. The road curved and was becoming too narrow to accommodate more than one car. She hoped that nobody would be coming in the opposite direction.
Although the road was narrow, it seemed to stretch on into infinity. She had been out on it for at least ten minutes, and not once did she pass any sign of light or life. She kept thinking that something would have to come up sooner or later, but as she continued to drive into the night, the stretch of road ahead remained bleak and black.
"Now, don't get nervous, Angelica," she told herself. "You have plenty of time. It's not like anybody is waiting for you anywhere. If there's nothing at the end of this road, you can always turn back and return to where you started."
She believed that. Almost.
After another ten minutes of the same spooky darkness, with only the howl of the wind and the rustling of the trees to comfort her, Angelica decided to stop and see if she could find anything on the road map which her father had left for her in the glove compartment.
She had resisted looking at the map until now because she wasn't very good at reading the thing. In fact, her sense of direction wasn't very good at all.
But there seemed nothing better to do, and she flicked on the inside light, and observed the maze of lines which represented the geography of the area. She found Fort Howard easily enough because it was located at the very tip of the map.
She found her parents' house on the map, too, because she had circled their street on that map before.
As hard as she searched, however, she was unable to find Lagoon Road. In fact, even Carnation Boulevard was not to be found, and Carnation Boulevard had been the point from which Angelica had started out on Lagoon.
Sighing, she decided that the best thing to do was to continue down the road until she found a place wide enough in which to turn the car around and head back toward the boulevard. If she couldn't find any signs leading toward Fort Howard from there, she would simply have to go home and hope for the best in the morning.
Angelica replaced the road map in its compartment, and she turned the ignition key. The mechanism groaned.
"Oh, no, not here," she said, feeling a flush of heat rush over her body. Being stranded in the middle of the night on a strange, deserted road was the worst thing she could think of. Even if she were able to make it through until dawn, she would be in no condition to face the first day as a trainee at the hospital.
"Please don't die on me," she said to her car. "Not now. Tomorrow, maybe. But please, please not now."
She never imagined that she would be pleading with her car. The machine had reduced her to subservience. She was begging it to work for her.
Try as she did, she could not get the motor to turn over. She'd stop and give the car a rest, and then she'd try again. Each time she hoped her luck would change. Sometimes she even prayed. But finally she broke down in tears at the wheel.
"Oh, what am I going to do now?" she asked herself. "There's probably no telephone for miles."
She was afraid that if she left her car in the middle of the road, someone might eventually come through, but bang the bumper in the process. She was totally frustrated because she seemed to have absolutely no control over any of this.
To make matters worse, a bolt of lightning streaked through the night sky, signaling a pouring rain. Angelica was desperate.
The rain began pouring from the sky in torrents. It was beating down on the car and bouncing back up again. Angelica sat at the wheel and held her ears. The pounding of the insistent rain was echoing in her head.
Thunder quaked the earth. The trees along the side of the road bent to the will of the wind. A branch cracked in two, and the limb crashed down on the windshield of Angelica's car.
"Oh, great," she said aloud. "What's next?"
She expected almost anything. Almost.
Angelica was, not one to give up that easily. When the situation seemed hopeless, she was ready to give it another try. She gave herself a little pep talk, and just then an intense and long-lasting tremor of lightning illuminated the sky and the road before her.
She couldn't be certain, because she wasn't certain of anything at this moment, but she thought that she saw something further on down the road. It looked like a house at the side of the road, shrouded in trees and bushes, perhaps out there was a refuge. Maybe.
Once more she tried the motor, but it was as cold as the chilled night air. Although she had no coat, no umbrella, no covering for her head at all, Angelica left her car and walked in the rain in hope of finding shelter, or a telephone, or something.
With the sky opening up and pelting her as it was, Angelica trotted along down Lagoon Road, getting soaked as she ran. Her hair was hanging in rivulets down over her voluptuous breasts. Her white dress was clinging to her body with the wetness. The front of the pleated skirt hugged her private part.
Another bolt of lightning cut through the sky, and this time Angelica's eyes were focused on the spot ahead where she had seen the house. This time she was sure of what she saw. It was still a distance away, but it definitely did appear to be an old house at the side of the road.
In the moment of illumination she saw a shudder flap in the breeze and she hoped that the house was occupied. She prayed that it wasn't deserted, as was everything else along this God forsaken path.
She was so soaked now that she didn't even care. All she was thinking about was the refuge she might find if anybody lived inside the old house. When she got closer to it, she heard sound. It was the sound of singing. Strangely, it reminded her of the chanting she had heard on the radio earlier, only this was even more bizarre.
Angelica wondered for a moment if she should even dare knock on the door. That chanting frightened her. And yet, with the rain and the wind and her aloneness on the empty road, she decided that she had better knock at the door and see what the knock would bring her.
There was a slight overhang which finally protected Angelica from the downpour. She stood under the protection and used the brass knocker to rap on the door.
She knocked more than once; more than twice. Finally the door was opened with a creaking noise which sounded like a rocking chair on an old back porch.
"Come in my dear, we've been expecting you," an ancient woman in a long black robe told the wet and shivering girl.
"Oh, no, you don't know me," Angelica explained, not wanting to lead the old woman on to thinking that she was someone she wasn't.
"Of course I know you," the woman answered. "Now come in out of the rain."
There was a towel on the bureau in the hallway which served as the entrance to the house. It was almost as if they really had been expecting her. But then, it was only thoughtfulness to have a dry towel waiting for wet visitors who might come in the night.
The woman handed Angelica the towel and suggested that she dry her head.
"Thank you very much," Angelica replied, "but about my identity, I'm afraid there's some mistake. I wasn't expected here. I came here by accident when I took the wrong turn in the road."
The woman laughed a little laugh. "Oh, my dear," she sighed. "When will you young girls ever learn? My dear, there are no mistakes and no accidents. How could you have taken the wrong turn in the road when you are here?"
Angelica was puzzled.
"Nobody comes here by accident," the woman continued. "You may not yet know the reason that you're here, but soon it will be clear to you. Now get out of those wet clothes. I have some dry things waiting for you."
"Oh, no, I can't stay. I'm only here for a minute. I wonder if I may use your telephone?"
"We have no telephone," the woman said. "Now come inside and change into the clothes I have for you."
This was all very peculiar to young Angelica, but she did want to change into something warm, and the woman did seem friendly, even if a bit odd. Angelica followed the robed woman into another room.
When Angelica got inside the room, the woman quickly moved around her. Angelica looked down on the small cot in the otherwise bare room. There was a grey-colored rag on the cot.
"That's your uniform," the woman said. "Get into it and wait for one of the Whipmasters to come for you."
"What do you mean?" Angelica asked, her face showing her worry and fear. Something was very strange about this place, about this night, about the rag on the cot which was supposed to be her uniform.
But the woman didn't turn back. All Angelica heard was the slamming of the heavy door, and then she heard it being locked and bolted on the other side.
"Wait, you can't do this to me!" Angelica protested, running to the door and trying to open it. "Let me out of here. There's some mistake. You can't kidnap me and keep me captive here. It's against my will. Somebody, listen!"
She banged on the door but it wouldn't budge. She rammed her little fists on the heavy oak, but to no avail.
She sneezed, and realized that she must have been coming down with a cold on top of everything else. The eighteen-year-old blonde felt really lost.
Looking around the room she noticed that it was more like a cell than a normal room. Only the cot filled the space. There were strange clamp-like fixtures in the floor and on the walls and ceiling. Some of the hooks of heavy metal had rings inserted through them. The hook-rings seemed to be placed in pairs. Angelica couldn't figure them out.
The only other things in the room were equally bizarre. On the wall opposite her cot, there was what appeared to be a peephole. It was about three inches in circumference. It was a circle, the only passage leading to an adjoining room.
There was no other light in the room except the light which flowed from the adjoining room into Angelica's quarters. That was how she noticed the small hole so readily, because of the light streaming through.
She placed her eye close to the hole. What she saw amazed and shocked her.
Lying on the cot in the adjoining room was another girl, a girl who appeared to be close to Angelica in age and appearance. The girl in the next room had dark hair, though, which she wore long and straight. She was a pretty girl, although there was a strange look on her face. She looked as if she were waiting for something.
She was dressed in the 'uniform,' the same rag that had been left for Angelica, on Angelica's cot. The dull rag was barely covering the voluptuous body of the girl in the next room. One of her breasts was completely bare.
And that was when Angelica noticed the sight that shocked her the most. The girl's left breast, the exposed one, bore a tattoo on the tender flesh. Several inches above the girl's stiffened, rosy-tipped nipple, a red star had been emblazoned.
The red star was perfectly obvious, since it created a striking contrast with the white cream of the girl's breast.
Angelica was going to call into the room when she noticed something else. The girl's left ankle was wrapped in a steel cuff of some kind. It was obviously closed tightly around the ankle, keeping the girl in place on the cot.
Attached to the cuff was a heavy chain connecting down to a ring in the floor. A ring! Angelica glanced quickly at the ring in the floor near her own cot. She looked at the tattered cloth which was to serve as her uniform. She looked at the other rings and clamps which were fixed in the cement walls and poured concrete floor.
The old house which creaked in the wind was far more fortified on the inside than one would ever imagine when seeing the decaying place from the outside.
From the outside it looked like a haunted house, but inside it was even more horrifying than that. It didn't seem to be haunted, unless one said that it was haunted with leaders of some bizarre cult.
What they wanted, was still unknown to Angelica. But she was certain that it had something to do with young, innocent girls.
She heard a door being unbolted, and she rushed to hers, awaiting its opening. It didn't happen. The sounds were coming from the room beside hers. Angelica moved to the peephole, and watched in awe.
"Oh, my God," she whispered. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. Her heart began racing and she could feel every beat as if her heart were going to jump from her breast. Instinctively she placed her hand over her breast, very near to the delicate place on which the girl in the next cell had the red tattoo.
"Mary Jane, you know why I have come," a man's voice said deeply.
"Yes, Master. I know why you are here," the girl answered.
Through the peephole, Angelica was unable to see the man's face. He was standing too close to the other side of the peephole for Angelica to get a full length view of him. But she did see that the man must have been naked except for a thick black belt around his waist. His bare buttocks were close to the hole, and on the left cheek he had a red star tattoo!
His arms were muscled. In his right hand he held an evil looking whip.
"Tell me why you need to be punished," the man demanded.
"I am to be punished for my thoughts," the girl answered softly. It was almost as if she were hypnotized. Angelica saw the girl, chained to the cot, in the V between the wide-stanced legs of the man the girl called 'Master.' Ah, one of the Whipmasters the old lady had spoken of, no doubt.
"What are your thoughts, Mary Jane. Tell your Master why you are to be punished in detail," the man said, fingering the long bull whip as he spoke.
"I am only seventeen years old," Mary Jane replied. "Although I have never done anything with a boy, I have been tempted. From time to time I've found myself feeling, well, sort of tingling in certain places when a handsome boy passed my way and gave me the eye. I felt that I wanted to, well, be with him if you know what I mean."
The Master, obviously infuriated, cracked the whip against the floor with a fury. The whip struck so forcefully, Angelica thought that it must have bitten into the cement floor. She recoiled. Her sex lips were damp with fear.
"What was that you were feeling when you felt yourself desiring intercourse with a young man of the street?" the Master snarled.
"It was lust, Master, it was lust!" Mary Jane answered. She began to weep.
"Yes, Mary Jane. Very good. Cry your sins away. You'll cry much more before you have learned your lessons."
"It was lust, it was lust," Mary Jane sobbed repeatedly.
"Yes, Mary Jane. It was lust. It was nothing but primitive animal attraction. But we are here to give you much more than that, aren't we, Mary Jane?"
"Yes, Master. You are here to train me to serve with love. You are here to teach me the difference between sex and love," she answered, half in true belief, and half in the parroting of phrases which had obviously been drilled into her. At least, that was Angelica's appraisal of the utterance. Angelica, repulsed by this scene, assumed that poor Mary Jane had been coaxed by the whip.
"Are you being trained to serve your ultimate Master?" the man with the whip asked Mary Jane.
"Yes, Master. I am being trained so that when I am presented to him I will pleasure him in all ways. My answers will be as pleasing to him as my physical gifts. They will all be gifts for him. I will give myself unto him in the name of pure love."
"Very good, Mary Jane. You know that you will be a virgin gift to the Master, do you not?"
"Yes, I will be a virgin gift."
"To insure that you are not tempted to lose your virginity, I am going to whip you now. You will receive ten harsh strokes for that. And then you will receive another five for your sins. You will feel much better after I am through."
"Yes, Master," Mary Jane replied, and she obediently placed herself face down on her cot. Her full breasts pressed softly into the surface of the cot. She remained in the humbled position and didn't move at all when the Master opened the back of the cloth which barely covered her. He exposed her bare buttocks and finely curved back.
Angelica watched as the Whipmaster took something out of the pouch attached to the leather belt which circled his trim waist. It was a thick cone-shaped object.
"Place this where it belongs," the Master told Mary Jane.
"Yes, sir," she answered obediently. She took the object from the stern man and arched her buttocks up. She placed the object beneath her. It looked as if she placed it in her sex lips.
"You know what that is for, don't you, Mary Jane?" he said.
"Yes, Sir. When the ultimate Master takes me, I will have to be stretched wide enough to accept his huge member. The f-piece is designed to work my lips apart."
"That is correct, Mary Jane," the man said. "But what must you watch for?"
"I must be careful not to let the tool slide too far in. It must remain at my outer lips. I must be a virgin on the day I am taken."
"That is correct," the Whipmaster repeated. "There will many trials for you here. Many times you will meet temptation. It is for you to resist, if you expect to offer yourself unto the ultimate Master. Even when I beat you now, the desire to move your buttocks away will be great. But if you press your buttocks down in an effort to escape the lash, you will force the f-piece into your cuntal realm."
"I won't let that happen, Sir," Mary Jane whispered. "I'll take the full force of all of the blows," she told him.
"Good, Mary Jane. Good. I present your mouth with the whip."
He stretched the black leather whip between his hands and placed it at Mary Jane's mouth. Obediently she took the menacing leather in her mouth, and got it slick with her saliva. The man told her that the more wet the whip was, the better the crack would be when it landed on her bare flesh.
Angelica's hand found her own moistening sex lips. She felt the soft flesh and she trembled to think that her private place might be used for the insertion of an f-piece, as Mary Jane's was.
She ran her hands over her body, feeling the tender breasts, and stroking the stiffening nipples and the fragile area where Mary Jane was tattooed. She felt her soft white skin and shivered to imagine that a black whip could be used to cut into it.
"This is for the Master," the man in the next room announced. "Take the whip for the Master and know that this is only an introduction to its sting. If you misbehave before the ultimate Master, he will give you something much more hurtful."
"Thank you, Sir," the young teenager sighed. "I am ready for black whip."
There was a moment of silence when everything was still. Then the man raised his muscled arm high. The whip was raised with it, like an evil snake with a wicked bite. Angelica trembled even more than Mary Jane did. Mary Jane was already on her road to slavery, while Angelica was still a novice to pain.
The man stepped back to give himself as much room to swing the whip as the confined space would allow. Young Mary Jane looked up at the Master's face as he swung the whip down on her flanks. She heard it whistle through the air, and then she felt the stinging first crack.
"Oh, oh," she groaned when it hit. She had been whipped by this Master before, and she knew to expect severe treatment, but this first stroke was more than she expected it would be. Signs of previous abuse still remained on her posterior, but her memory of the intensity of the blows had mercifully been weakened with time.
It all came back to her, however. It came back again and again, and she thought that she would never be able to forget this whipping.
Just as the black whip striped her bare bottom, another stroke would flail her, leaving still another strip of pain to burn on her flesh.
Her rounded globes were white, at first, but each new stroke was carefully placed to make her entire posterior ache from the red hot punishment strokes.
The Master was not called Whipmaster for nothing. He was an expert disciplinarian, who specialized in the disciplining of young girls. The girls who somehow found their way to this house were always beautiful girls, and the Whipmaster did his good work with a sense of pleasure.
Often he was aroused. His heavy organ would fill with blood as he turned the bare buttocks of a girl like Mary Jane into a cherry red expanse of soreness. He would make no attempt to hide his arousal. Since he was bare but for his utility belt, his monstrous erection would be temptation for the punished slavegirl.
So it was with Mary Jane, who had admitted to feeling a stirring in her crevice of pleasure when she was in the company of a male. The Master was giving himself to Mary Jane in the form of the whipping. He was doing more than simply giving the girl sensation within her young vagina, as most men would do.
He was laying sensation all over her body, and he placed his power wherever he chose. Mary Jane was there to take it.
Young Mary Jane felt the sweat pouring off the hard-working Master. When it dripped onto her well-beaten flesh, it practically sizzled. The whipped slavegirl watched her Master's blood-engorged Manhood bounce up and down each time his body lurched with the force of the expertly-administered whip strokes.
Her tender body bent to the will of the whip. She bent, but she forced herself to keep her bottom raised high enough to please and satisfy. She didn't dare sink her weight down into the cot. That would mean deep insertion of the f-piece, and she couldn't even imagine what punishments would befall her if that happened.
"How many has that been, Mary Jane?" the man asked her.
She was aware that she should have been counting the number of strokes in her head so that she would be aware at every moment of each detail of her punishment. She had been distracted by the sight of the Master towering above her, and she prayed that she came up with the correct response.
The Master, of course, had been counting the strokes he gave, and he would start from the beginning if Mary Jane hadn't done the same.
"That was number nine, Master," Mary Jane said hopefully.
"Nine? Are you certain?" he said harshly.
Mary Jane trembled. She wasn't sure. She wondered if the man was testing her. She knew that she hadn't responded with much conviction.
Deciding that she might get away with it if she stuck to her original answer and said it with conviction, she answered him again.
"Yes, it was nine, Sir."
"Good, Mary Jane. It was nine. And now I will give you the tenth blow."
"Please, Master. May I have the tenth blow?" she asked.
"Stick your bottom up," he said. "Get it up high."
She raised her round rump. It was perfectly curved. Two perfect half moons, all peachy and smooth. A deep cleft, quivering as the whip kissed the flesh, covering it with its scarlet kisses. Heat radiated from the soft behind.
Swish. Crack!
A tenth blazing sting burned into the bottom of young Mary Jane.
That was only the beginning. There were still five more to go. And the final five were always the hardest.
The black whip was placed at Mary Jane's mouth again.
"Kiss it. Kiss the whip that trains you," the Master told her.
"Yes Sir," she answered respectfully. "I will kiss the whip that trains me for the ultimate Master. I know that this is being done so that I will learn of love. I want to love. I want love. I want to serve a man who cares for me."
"And then you shall have no wants," the young Whipmaster told her. "Your body will be his body. Your entire being will belong to him. The purpose of your body will be only to serve him. Now suck on the whip."
Mary Jane felt the braided leather of the bull whip scrape across her tongue. She wrapped her pink tongue muscle around the whip which beat her. She could feel the heat from her punished posterior on the tip of the whip.
She closed her mouth around the punishing weapon of pain. She was unwilling to part with it.
But when she had soaked it, the young Whipmaster ripped it from her oral grasp. He pulled it out and flailed her with it, giving her the final five strokes in a volley of rapid fire. If there had been an inch of unmarked flesh on her buttocks, it was red hot and, well marked now.
She gritted her teeth and took the terrible punishment. All the time she watched the hefty tool sticking out eight thick inches from the hairy crotch of the disciplinarian.
She wanted to take hold of his thing, just for the comfort and support. It would have helped her get through the beating. She wanted to feel that thing in her hands and in her mouth. She wanted to feel it down her throat, and ... but she didn't want to even think of such things.
The man had warned her about temptation. He had told her that it would show itself many times before she could be presented to the ultimate Master. She would have to learn to resist, despite the fact that the Whipmasters would be more than happy to oblige a slavegirl with a dose of their sex when provoked.
It was only that the girls would then lose their virginity, and they would forfeit all that they had worked for.
It was work to take those whippings. It was work to be the object of torture as the girls were, for there were more severe practices going on in this house than a mere whipping!
For Mary Jane it was perhaps most difficult to avoid temptation. A pearl of semen appeared at the slit of the Whipmaster's tool. Aching for it, the teenaged girl licked her lips.
"I saw that, Mary Jane!" the Whipsman declared. "It's a good thing that chain is securing you to your cot. You're going to punished for that gesture, young lady!"
Mary Jane felt the hot tears fill her eyes. She knew that she deserved to be punished for that indiscretion.
Still peeping through the peephole, Angelica assumed that the punished beauty was crying tears of pain and humiliation. Angelica had much to learn. Mary Jane was feeling the pain and the humiliation. But she was crying tears of joy.
Mary Jane knew that she was being prepared for the ultimate Master. He would only accept perfection.
Fate had chosen Angelica for similar rewards. She too would cry grateful tears.
For now, Angelica trembled and rubbed the tender flesh of her back as she watched Mary Jane get beaten again.
"I'm going to spare your bottom new bruises over the old. This time I will work on your back and upper thighs," the Whipmaster told Mary Jane.
"Thank you for your caring," Mary Jane answered softly.
The fierce bull whip, slicked with her own saliva, smacked wetly into her virgin flesh.
CHAPTER TWO
Angelica turned away from the peephole. The whipping was continuing, but she couldn't watch any more.
It was bad enough that the sound of the whip resounded off the bare flesh of the captive girl in a volley of strokes which seemed to grow more and more intense. The speed at which these strokes were delivered was growing, too.
Angelica held her stomach. At a time such as this she kept running her hands across various parts of her body as if to comfort herself and make sure she was all there.
She thought about punishment. She'd never thought about it much before.
Her parents had been extremely lenient with her. She had a way of twisting her father around her pinky finger. She knew how to sit on his lap and coo. She'd done that from when she was Daddy's little girl, and now that her bottom had curved out into alluring, teenaged contours, she continued to use her pouty charm as she sat her father's lap and explained how someone else must have rammed into her car, or that she would be staying out late with a 'girlfriend' to 'study.'
Even knowing how late it was, and wondering what her father might do if he discovered she was gone now.
Many fathers would have spanked their daughters for staying out late without explanation, as Angelica was doing now. But when Angelica imagined her father discovering that she was out in the car at this hour beyond midnight, she started to weep.
It wasn't that she feared punishment. It was just that she wondered if she would ever be coming back home.
There was that terrible finality of slavery about this place. The hooks in the walls and the floors suggested that bondage would keep a girl there forever.
Angelica realized that she had done things which should have been punished. She was a pretty girl, but she was not entirely good. She, too, had experienced teenage lust, and she knew that there must be something wrong in that. When the Whipmaster next door said as much to Mary Jane, it struck a chord in Angelica.
There were other things, too. Mostly they were just thoughts; desires she had fantasized about. Some she hated even to think about. Like the time she undressed in the school locker room, and observed the tender curves of the young girl beside her.
She had been unable to control her thoughts. She had been curious about the girl's young breasts. They were round and small, and Angelica had thought that they were just the size to cup in her palms. She even thought about taking them in her mouth, one at a time, to savor the flavor of another female.
She wanted the girl to rub against her, sex lips to sex lips. She wanted the girl to kiss her, and to fondle her breasts, which were fuller and more ripe than the girl's budding mounds.
Oh, yes. Angelica felt that she needed to be punished for this.
And there were other forbidden fantasies in which young Angelica had indulged. She had imagined herself in bed with one of her male teachers, with a male cousin, and even with a family pet. All of these thoughts were sexual, and as the Whipmaster had told Mary Jane, they had nothing to do with pure love.
Angelica wondered what this special pure love he spoke of was all about. She wondered if it was exhilarating, the way she heard that love would be. She had never experienced that exhilaration, but her body yearned for it.
Lost in her thoughts, she unbuttoned, the buttons at the back of her white dress. Her clothes were soaked through to the skin, and she had already sneezed more than once since her peculiar arrival in this dark house.
She dried herself with the towel, rubbing her soft breasts with the fluffy material until the friction made the pale flesh glow. She rubbed her breasts until the tips were hard and pointed.
The towel dried her inner thighs, and she moved upward. With one hand behind her, and the other in front, she worked the towel back and forth across the private place. She thought about Mary Jane, and about the lack of privacy the poor girl had been given. Her privates were no longer private. Everything belonged to the Master.
That part of the arrangement seemed a bit sick to Angelica. She was not educated in the art of Master worship. She knew nothing of giving herself up as a total submissive.
Rather than remain nude, she fastened the tattered rag of a uniform around her full figure. She knew that she was well developed for an eighteen-year-old girl, but she was surprised that the skimpy thing barely covered her at all.
No matter which way she arranged it on her body, she was unable to cover her left breast. This disturbed her, because it reminded her of the red star which she had seen emblazoned on the left breast of young Mary Jane.
The same tattoo appeared on the left buttock of the Whipmaster, making Angelica wonder what it was all about.
That strange chanting was in the house. Sometimes it would be barely audible. In fact, Angelica had thought that it was only her imagination playing tricks on her.
But other times the sound would swell up through the house, and it became so loud that Angelica imagined the body of the house simply heaving with swelling breaths of its own.
Angelica wrapped the white towel around her head, piling her blonde hair up under it, as if the towel were a turban. She sat on her bed and listened to the chanting, and to the whipping which echoed through the house on this night of the full moon.
The whipping was coming not only from the chamber beside her chamber. Other girls were being whipped throughout the house, Angelica was certain of it. She heard the smacks and she heard the whimpers. She heard the moans, and felt a tingling in her loins.
Before long there was a rustling of the latch and the bolt on the outside of Angelica's door. This time she was certain that the sound was on the other side of the door which imprisoned her. A moment later, the door opened up.
There in the doorway was another teenaged girl. She was wearing a tattered loincloth just like the one on Mary Jane and Angelica. She was also wearing some other things which Angelica had never seen on a young girl before.
A wide leather band encircled her neck. The black leather was studded with shiny metal triangles. It was like a dog collar, only it was larger and it was around the neck of a girl!
Each of her wrists bore similar black bands, and there were rings in the leather. The same thick strips of leather were wrapped tightly around each ankle.
"They're padded on the inside," the slavegirl told Angelica when she noticed the way Angelica was staring. "They dig in a little bit because they're tightly snapped and they remain on me all day and all night."
"All day and all night?" Angelica exclaimed.
"Yes, I've worked up to the second level of slavery," the girl replied.
"Whatever are you talking about?" Angelica questioned.
"You are a novice. You have just arrived. That means that you are pre-first level slave," the girl told Angelica.
"Look, it was a mistake that I arrived here at all. I don't even know what I'm doing here."
"It couldn't have been a mistake," the second-level slavegirl laughed. "There are people who are out looking for this place. They try and they try, but they can never find it. It's not meant to be for them. They have something that the ultimate Master doesn't want."
"This is all so confusing," Angelique sighed in frustration. "The whippings, the clothing we have to wear, the bondage instruments in the floor, and everything. And this talk about an ultimate Master! Do you mean God?"
"He is a god to us," the slavegirl replied. "Have a seat. I'm here to talk with you to explain things before we go to chapel."
The two young girls sat down on the cot and the girl in the dog collar spoke.
"My name is Gweneth. I'm going to be seventeen years old in November. I've been here for three weeks, and already I'm a second level slave."
"How did you get here and tell me more about this level business," Angelica said.
"I was brought here by my parents. They said that I was unruly. They didn't know how to handle me at all. My father tried spanking my bottom with a flat-backed wooden hairbrush. I jumped off his lap and ran screaming. Finally he had to grab me and bring me here. I don't know how he found out about this place, but I'm glad he did.
"It's a little bit tough here, especially when a girl first comes in. You have to get used to the constant beatings, but that's easy enough when you know that they're for your Master."
"Yes, who is this Master? I think I saw one of the Masters next door. See, there's a peephole, in the wall."
Gweneth giggled once again. She was well aware that the rooms all had peepholes in the walls.
"One thing that we must learn is that we have no privacy. Anyone can look through the peephole at any time and see whatever is going on. That includes our daily and nightly punishment sessions."
"How terrible," Angelica said.
"Better not let any of the Whipmasters hear you talking like that. They'll whip the skin off your bones. You see, the ultimate Master tells us that we've learned everything backwards. It's as if we were taught how to drive a car, but every time we try to go forward, we go backward instead."
"You'll have to explain it to me better than that, Gweneth. I'm new to all of this," Angelica said.
"Well, we've forgotten that our purpose as young girls is the satisfaction of our men. We've been thinking too much about ourselves. Especially us girls in the United States. We're pampered. We're used to our bubble baths and our fluffy beds, and everything. We're used to our privacy and our fancy clothes. The ultimate Master tells us that these things will never bring us happiness."
"So we've driving our cars in the wrong direction?" Angelica asked.
"That's right. The ultimate Master tells us that we won't be happy until we submit to the domination of a man. The trouble is, the men of our society have also been going in the wrong direction. They've been programmed to get soft. They've forgotten that the purpose of a man is to be serviced by a woman, and bring her pleasure as she serves him."
"You mean that we girls are supposed to worship the Master, and take his abuse?"
"It's not abuse. It's correction. The ultimate Master is training us for his purposes, and we'll only be happy when we bow down to him. Look at me. I'm wearing the leather bondage of the ultimate Master. As a second-level slave I get to sleep on the floor beside a Whipmaster all night, while you, a novice, remain in this cell."
"Then the Whipmasters, like the man I saw through the peephole next door, are servants of the ultimate Master?" Angelica said.
"In a way of speaking, I guess you could call them that. To us, they are hardly servants, though. We are their servants. They break us in so that we'll be ready for the greatness and the bigness of the ultimate Man."
"How many levels of slavery are there before you reach the peak?" Angelica asked.
"There are several levels, and you will learn about them in time. First you must take several punishments. The knowledge of slavery demands that you pay some dues before you learn of it. You must be worthy."
"I thank you for your information, Gweneth, but how do I get out of here?" Angelica asked in a whisper. She leaned closer to the girl so that her words could be heard by nobody else. Privacy, as she had learned, was prohibited here.
"I have a life on the outside. I have parents, and I have my traineeship at the hospital to consider," Angelica explained.
"You must forget about the outside world now, Angelica," Gweneth told her. "That is the past. Now you are here where there is only time. There is nothing more than time here, except, perhaps pain and love."
"You don't understand," Angelica persisted. "My parents, my traineeship!"
"The Masters are your parents now. They will give you the discipline you've always deserved and needed, but never had. As for your traineeship, consider yourself a trainee. This is a training cult. Here you will be trained by your Master's love. You are a slave of the black whip. Put out your hand. I am going to give you a slave bracelet."
Angelica didn't resist. As much as she disagreed with much of what was said, she found herself offering her wrist for the slave bracelet. Indeed, the inside of the bracelet was padded, as Gweneth had said. The leather band was fitted tightly around Angelica's left wrist.
"This is part of my work as a slave," Gweneth said as she fastened the clasp on the outside of the leather and snapped a small padlock into the closed position. "I earn points toward higher levels of slavery when I introduce other girls to the delights of this place."
"But I don't want to be a slavegirl," Angelica said softly, despite the fact that she was now wearing a slave bracelet.
"You'll learn, my darling," the second-level slave told Angelica.
Angelica suddenly noticed what the dim light of the room had caused her to overlook until now. The light from the cell next door filtered in through the peephole and rested on the left breast of young Gweneth.
Her breast was marked with the red star tattoo!
"Follow me," Gweneth told Angelica, and she pulled the girl by the ring in the slave bracelet. "We're going to chapel."
The chanting grew louder as Angelica followed like the obedient puppy she was becoming. She still was confused about so much of this, but she felt compelled to learn why the other girls in this house were eager to present their white flesh for the deep red lashes of the dominating Masters.
* * *
The girl in the dog collar led Angelica into the chapel. The chapel was a room with a strange roundness to it. What should have been two squared off walls was circular. A black curtain was draped across the room, making it, like the rest of the house, separate from the time and space of the outside world. They were secluded on a lonely stretch of road, but they might as well have been floating in the atmosphere.
There was an attitude of reverence among the gathered girls. Each girl who was still a novice or first-level slave was led into the chapel by another girl who had advanced further in the training.
Angelica noticed how all of the girls who brought slaves in were wearing the thick black collars and wrist and ankle bracelets. Their tattered loin-clothes were all ill-fitting, at least by normal standards, and their left breasts were all marked with the red star.
There was an air of hushed respect as everyone took seats in the circular chapel. An ornately carved altar stood in the center of the room. Only females were seated in the chapel.
"Where are the men, the Whipmasters and all?" Angelica asked Gweneth.
"They'll be coming soon. Hush up now and listen. You have much to learn."
The chanting which had filled Angelica's head for most of this night was growing louder again. Then she turned and saw a procession of followers, all walking slowly, step by step, into the chapel. The room was very hot, and Angelica's beautiful body was damp with female sweat, despite the brevity of the 'uniform.'
The heat came from the many candles which were held in the" hands of the people who solemnly entered the chapel. They were males and females. They were dressed in robes with hoods over their heads.
They chanted in some foreign tongue, at least it was foreign to Angelica, and they lit the room with the candles, while other lights were dimmed to darkness.
The entire affair sent shivers up and Angelica's spine and she felt a terrible tingling in her wrist beneath the slave bracelet.
Some of the robed men were the Whipmasters who were usually seen in the nude with belts around their waists and whips at their sides. The females were slavegirls, girls who had started out like Angelica.
Maybe they too had 'stumbled' upon the place, or maybe they'd been brought by their guardians. Maybe some had been kidnapped. It didn't matter. These girls were all high-level slaves, and Angelica was sure that the bizarre red star was tattooed on all of them.
All the robes were black, except for the robe of the head Whipmaster who stepped forward to speak.
"Tonight, on the event of the full moon, we are gathered for the giving of a black virgin. Tonight we shall watch the rapture of pure love."
Many people felt faint. The very words intoxicated them and made them dizzy. Their heads were spinning because they knew that their purpose in the house was to work their way up the ladder until they too might someday be chosen as a black virgin.
Apparently, the virgins were not represented by white, as ordinarily practiced in the outside world. These virgins were robed in black, and this made the ritual both bizarre and evil, as far as Angelica was concerned.
She observed in awe. The head Whipmaster, the man in white, asked the congregation to join him in prayer.
"We are dedicated to the pursuit of pure love. We worship the night, and the full moon. We males are here to train young submissives, for only in total slavery can a woman find the freedom of happiness," he said.
The members of the congregation repeated the words after him. Angelica did not quite know what to say, but she followed the lead as best she could.
Hymns were sung and then there was total silence. In a dramatic gesture, the curtains parted, and there stood the ultimate Master!
Angelica didn't need to be told who he was. She could see it immediately. He was a massive man, with muscles rippling down his body. He was naked under a red cape. And on his forehead, the bright scarlet star gleamed wildly.
Angelica gasped just to see him. Even his eyes seemed to glint with red stars.
When he appeared, the females in the room all bowed their heads in submission. The higher-level slaves didn't even cast their eyes upon him. They didn't dare, for he was that holy to them. They worshipped him.
The newer girls were hungry to see him and to feast their eyes on him. Angelica certainly was, but she had to shield her eyes from him. He was too powerful for the naked eye.
The attention of the assembled slave girls was next focused to the chapel door. It opened, and a bizarre sight appeared. A half dozen men in black robes walked in with their arms raised high. Resting atop their hands was a giant gold tray, and on the tray was a young virgin!
This was the slavegirl who had progressed far enough in her submissiveness to be chosen as the slavegirl of the ultimate Master. The ritual was beginning to make some sense to Angelica now.
In a way, Angelica wished that she were the girl sitting naked on the golden tray. She wished that she could be the one to sit on a bed of rose petals and offer herself to the ultimate Master.
But she had seen enough through the peephole to know that she would have to go through many tortures before she would be ready. She would have to learn to humble herself and she would have to learn how to submit as a total slave.
And when she saw the delicate girl seated on rose petals in a golden tray, she could hardly believe that a girl as petite as the virgin on the tray, would have been able to stretch her canal of desire to accommodate the reputedly gigantic member of the ultimate Master.
But if the girl had managed that feat, everyone would see it now.
The girl on the tray was placed, still on the tray, at the feet of the ultimate Master. She was not in bondage, although she did have the red star on her left breast.
The bondage was coming, and it was a painful bondage. The Whipmaster in white brought forth a bunch of branches. The branches were laced with sharp, prickly thorns.
"These are the branches from which the petals were shaken," he announced to the congregation. "They will be used to bind the black virgin to her ultimate Master. They will be used to beat her."
"Do you want it?" the ultimate Master asked the virgin.
His voice was like thunder, his breath like the wind.
"Yes, oh, Great One. I want to submit to you, totally, so that we shall both know happiness," the beautiful, pale-skinned virgin sighed.
"Good. Prepare yourself for me," he intoned.
Angelica watched as the girl humbled herself at the Master's feet. The girl didn't look that much different from Angelica herself. They were both blonde and they were both voluptuous for teenagers.
One of the Whipmasters took the thorn-covered branches and wrapped them around the virgin's wrists. A rope was fastened to the branches, and the rope then connected to the rings in the heavy wrist bands worn by the ultimate Master himself.
He held the reigns, so to speak, with his wrists. It was apparent that the wrist restraints worn by all of the girls in the room were fashioned after the restraints worn by the ultimate Master as a means of keeping his slavegirls on a leash.
The rose branches were digging their thorns into the flesh of the virgin. She shed a tear, and the expression on her face indicated that this was a painful experience for her. But she seemed to glow with desire, as well, and the assembled slavegirls felt far more envy than pity.
The virgin looked up at the ultimate Master. This was the moment she had been waiting for, and working for, since her arrival at the house. This was the big one, and it was now upon her, as her naked body writhed in the hot gaze of the powerful dominant.
"Have you learned to submit as a slavegirl?" the big Master asked in a voice that was a bellow.
"I have, Master," she replied, her head bowed down so that her nose pressed against the toes of the man.
"This we shall see," he said. He snapped his fingers, and two men in robes brought forth a decanter of deep scarlet wine. The ultimate Master poured a glass of wine for himself. He poured a second goblet for the virgin.
"Come here, virgin child," he said, and he presented her the goblet from which to sip. She took it to her trembling lips and drank.
Then she presented her virgin flesh for the deep scarlet kisses of the ultimate Master. He didn't kiss with his lips. He kissed with his whip.
Everyone gasped when the whip was presented to the Master by one of the Whipmasters. It was thick and long. At the handle, it was so wide that Angelica simply knew she would be unable to grasp it with one of her hands. She would need two hands if she were to ever hold the magnificent whip.
Angelica couldn't even imagine how severely such a whip would treat the flesh of a young girl. She watched and felt faint as the ultimate Master toyed with the virgin, treating her as if she were a kitten.
He ran the thick whip over the girl's body, giving her goose bumps as he traced a path over her flesh. She knew that every inch of flesh touched gently by the tip of the whip would soon be marked with the violence of that very instrument.
CHAPTER THREE
Everyone gasped as the whip came down across the bare back of the virgin slave.
It landed with a crack, and blood trickled down from the first terrible blow.
This was the kind of a stroke that could knock a girl unconscious, but to the relief of Angelica, and certainly to the relief of the girl on the receiving end of it, the ultimate delivered only that one blow. One was enough.
The young Whipmasters took over with their milder whips from that point on.
Tears streamed down from the face of the virgin girl. The barbs of thorn were digging into her skin and the pain and humiliation of this treatment were incredible.
At the same time, there was great glory in the ritual. It was an honor to be chosen as a virgin for this powerful Master.
The flesh on her body was cracked repeatedly with the whip, for this was the cult of the black whip, and every slavegirl had to pay her respects to the instrument of pain. There was only way to do that.
Two naked slavegirls were led into the room by Whipmasters. They were forced to participate in the ritual taking place between the ultimate Master and the virgin by giving the young virgin some new pain. One girl was assigned to the virgin's right breast, and the other took charge of the left.
They held on to the girl's nipples and pulled, gently at first, but finally they were pulling so hard that the virgin's face turned blue from the agony.
"Know that young women have teats," the Master announced to the congregation. "Do not try and hide the contours of your breasts with brassieres," he warned them. "A woman must know that she has breasts, and the breasts of a woman are there for the pleasure of a man."
The Master held a tiny black whip. This was about thirty times lighter and smaller than the heavy whip he started out with. This was a breast whip, and he used it to flick the girl's breasts to redness.
Angelica watched as the white flesh of the virgin girl's tender breasts was turned red with constant flickings of the breast whip. The nipples were whipped to arousal. When they were good and stiff, the Master worked on the rest of the slave virgin's body.
Each time he stroked her with the delicate whip, she writhed from the sensation. Each flick of the whip was sending sensation directly up the girl's nectar-filled love hole. She moaned and she moved her body in the throes of sexual desire.
Her virgin core was lathering, and the sweet nectar dripped over her smooth, soft, freshly whipped skin. Each time her young body writhed under the will of the lash, the girl felt the thorns of nature digging into her. They pierced her and she cried, but she wanted more and more. She wanted to feel the little whip, and she prayed to herself and to the Master. She prayed that he would never stop.
Angelica wondered about the frenzy of this girl. She didn't understand that the girl had a right to be totally frenzied now. This was her ultimate moment.
How many females get to stretch naked before the punishing whip of a man as powerful and as adored as the head of this bizarre cult? How many have the strength and the willpower to make it through a series of build-up punishments, finally to reach this point of being taken before a cult of worshippers?
Not many. The virgin was one. Other girls in the room had a chance to reach that peak, and the ceremony was designed to encourage them. It showed them what pleasure they might someday reap.
Although she writhed in anguish, it seemed that she was at the height of voluptuous pleasure. This was a peak that few women ever reached. It was as if she had been in a state of prolonged, continuous orgasm since her entrance on the golden tray.
Her naked body was warmed by the candles which formed a seemingly endless pattern of flickers around her. Her body was warmed by the hot breaths of the enraptured throng, and by the pain of the flicking whip.
Her breasts were still being stretched. She was learning to be aware of every part of her body in the way that only pain can make a girl aware.
But the pain was pleasure for her, and that was her power. She was feeling the painful sensations that many women felt at one time or another. But the difference was that this virgin had learned to convert pain into pleasure.
She had been taught to recognize the greatness of the body, as only a woman in pain could understand. She saw that she was able to experience pleasure from the pain, almost as if each cutting stroke of the whip were a caress.
If she were hurt, she would not complain. Instead, she would revel in the wonder of the body. She knew that she had learned everything backwards, as Gweneth had tried to tell Angelica. It was backwards to think that pain was bad. It was opposite of the truth which the virgin was feeling.
And how much better it was to welcome pain, than to fear it.
The ultimate Master addressed the congregation as he whipped his virgin captive, this time using a thin switch.
Swish. Swat! "Notice how she told the gathered slavegirls and Whipmasters." Swish. Swat!
"Notice how she begs for more, even when the strokes leave welts, like this."
Swish. Swat! He smacked her bare bottom hard enough with the thin switch to leave a welt which rose to the surface immediately after he delivered the stroke.
Swish. Swat! He hit her again, only a fraction of an inch from the first angry red weal. Swish. Swat! Again. Swish. Swat! Swish. Swat! Again and again.
"More, Master. Please give me more if it would please you," she begged tearfully.
"She lives for my pleasure," the Master announced. "She is still a virgin, but she is no longer a girl. She is a young woman. Once I give her the man's ultimate gift, she will be a true beauty, a true woman."
Angelica felt a quiver in sex lips. She knew what the Master meant by the man's ultimate gift. She was sure she did.
And although the sensation was sexual which coursed through her when his voice spoke those words which she would never forget, she realized that it was more than sex which motivated her desire. She was aware of the love which the Master bestowed upon his virgin slave.
The love took the form of well-applied pain. To some that might seem perverse. But Angelica realized that they would think it was perverse only because they had been raised with the reversed understanding of the facts of life.
The Master spoke again, still accenting his words with flicks of the switch across the bare bottom of his naked slave virgin.
"No bondage is required for her, except the thorny branches which remind her of the bondage we could inflict if we so desired," he said. Swish. Swat!
She begged him for more. He gave it to her, and he continued his discourse.
"No hands are required to hold her down. She accepts my loving discipline of her own free will. She knows that the more marks I see on her flesh, the more I will give her the ultimate gifts." .
Several of the slavegirls passed out. This was very heavy for them. The sight of it was intense, and the idea that they might soon have to go through such an ordeal of pain frightened the novices and first-level slaves.
That was why they had to progress in stages of training before they would be ready to appreciate what the virgin slave girl was obviously appreciating to the fullest extent.
The Master continued in his education of the group. The girls hung onto each syllable he uttered.
"This girl is appreciating the sensations her young body has to offer. She is feeling them fully, although she has progressed beyond the need for her survival. All of our primitive instincts are rooted in our need to survive. We feel that if we do not have this, or if we are not that, we will not survive as a body."
Angelica listened attentively. It was true that if she didn't have the new dress she so admired in the store window, or if she didn't achieve the grades she wanted, or if a certain boy didn't telephone her when she wanted to hear from him, that she felt she would just die.
It was true that when she came down with an illness, she feared that it would kill her, and when she misbehaved, her survival was at the root of it all.
"You girls must learn that you will survive. You have all survived thus far, haven't you?"
"Yes, Master," many of them replied.
"Look at my beautiful virgin offering herself to me fully now," he said, accenting his words with the whip on her body. "She is enjoying this fully because she has no fears. She has no fears of not surviving as a body, because she is beyond that primitive stage.
"She is a top-level slave, and she responds with her spirit. She knows that the spirit shall survive through many incarnations. And she knows that the place for a virgin girl is at the feet of her strict Master, taking his generous whipping."
"Let me be your whipping post," the girl begged and pleaded. "If it pleases you, whip me with a dozen instruments until you find the one which cuts most."
"No, my child. I have punished you with the whip and switch enough. It is time to move on."
The girls who were holding the virgin by the nipples let go. Everyone stood back and allowed the Whipmasters to raise the girl on the golden tray, until the tray was sitting on top of the ornate altar.
She looked differently than she had when she had first been brought in. Her once flawless body was now covered with red marks which criss-crossed over her in a symphony of pain. v
The ultimate Master was going to give her the ultimate reward for having taken the whip and the switch so well. She had performed for the audience the way a top-notch slavegirl would be expected to behave. She had earned her title. She had earned the gifts of the Master.
"The greatest gift any man gives a woman is the loving intercourse of his powerful rod. My rod is like the lightning rods you all saw streaking through the midnight skies this night. It will hurt the small organ of the young virgin, and when the powerful head of it enters the protected region, breaking it like an eggshell, it will be a symbolic sign of life, just as the egg yolk symbolizes life."
"I know that it will hurt me Master," the virgin announced. "A woman's very nature has always submitted to the pain in that special area which makes her a woman. And from that pain comes joy, as every true woman knows."
"The difference is that you have learned to accept the greatest of gifts, and you shall accept it from the greatest of men."
She wanted it from him. She believed that he was the greatest of men, and indeed it was a magnificent honor to accept what he was about to give her.
The Whipmasters who held candles all around the altar, illuminating it up until now, blew out their candles at the nod of the ultimate Master.
There was only darkness. And then a scream penetrated through the night.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh," she shouted. "Ahhhhhhhh!"
The door to the chapel was suddenly opened, and light from beyond the chapel sprayed into the chapel itself. The second and third-level slaves knew what to do. They took their novices and first-level slaves by the bracelet rings, and led them from the room.
"But there is more to see," Angelica said. She was so aroused that she was wet, and her breath came in gasping pants.
"There is no more to see," Gweneth replied. "It is time for you to return to your room."
Angelica felt cheated. She hadn't even seen the man's enormous tool. She had only seen the light fade away, and then she'd heard the screams.
Now she was told that it was time to return to the room she had been given. She wondered what awaited her there.
"It's not right for a girl of your humble stature to see the ultimate the act of love," Gweneth told Angelica. "Your time shall come, soon enough."
"Soon, I hope," Angelica said, strangely hypnotized to the power.
"Soon enough," Gweneth replied. "Now, wait in your room. One of the Whipmasters will be in to see you. He will give you some discipline. You need some discipline for your soul, don't you?"
"I guess so," Angelica replied.
"Don't let the Whipmaster hear an answer like that. He'll consider it utmost disrespect, and punish you accordingly."
With that, the young Gweneth left the room, and bolted it behind her. There must have been a Whipmaster waiting for her outside the room, because Angelica heard the deep sounds of a male voice. The man outside was talking to Gweneth.
Angelica was unable to make out the words, exactly, but she heard the man talking to Gwen, calling Gweneth by name and evaluating the manner in which she had led the newest novice to slavery. The next thing she heard was screaming, from Gweneth, and there was no sound of whip or belt, or smacking of any kind. Angelica could only imagine what horrible thing was happening to the girl. She felt terrified, and wanted to help Gweneth, but of course, the door was bolted.
Then, after the crying from Gweneth ceased, the smacking started. It sounded as if the Whipmaster was knocking the girl around with his hands.
"Take that, you young bitch," Angelica heard him grunt. There were some sounds, like the hard palm and then the backhand of a strong man slapping a helpless girl back and forth and up against a wall.
"Thank you, Master," Angelica heard a tearful Gweneth say. "I am so grateful to you for this. I am so glad that you care enough to train me for him.
When the door opened, Angelica saw Gweneth standing there with a dreamy smile on her face. She also saw the handprint of the guard, smacked into Gweneth's skin.
Then the door closed on Gweneth, and Angelica was alone with the young Whipmaster.
Angelica didn't know if this was the same Whipmaster she had seen through the peephole, because she hadn't seen very much of him. She had only seen his naked rear and this man was wearing his robe.
But as soon as he entered the room he removed his robe, and he was naked, except for the black belt around his waist. His penis was erect, possibly from the stimulation he received in giving Gweneth her licks.
Angelica looked at the pulsating organ, and to her shock and amazement, she saw that it was tattooed with the same red star!
"What is that red star?" Angelica asked.
"You will learn what it is. Once the star is emblazoned in your flesh, it is there forever. And it marks you as a slave of the black whip."
"Are you a slave of the black whip, too?" Angelica asked, knowing that he had gone through the pain of having the red star imprinted in his flesh.
"Yes, I am a slave to the ultimate Master, but I am a Master to a novice girl such as you."
He demonstrated his power on Angelica. He told her that she had much pain to go through before she was ready to be a slave of the black whip. She would have to learn to love the whip. She would have to kiss the whip, and then feel the whip kissing her bare bottom, over and over again.
He presented the whip to her. He gave it to her in her trembling hands.
"Explore it. Play with it. Run it over your body like a snake. Feel it. Get used to it. Make love to the black whip."
Angelica held the whip against her flesh. She hugged it close to her as if it were a lover. She ran it gently up and down between her breasts.
"It feels like a rattlesnake against my breasts," she whispered.
"Have you ever had a rattlesnake on your body?" he asked her.
"No."
"Then you will receive a lash with a real rattlesnake. Maybe then you'll think twice before you speak untruths," the Whipmaster said.
"But, I ... " she decided not to continue. The Whipmaster had made a statement. It was not to be refuted by a slavegirl. Especially not a slavegirl on her low level of development. She remained silent. She realized that she had said something that was untrue, if taken literally.
"It is for your own good. Do you understand?" the Whipmaster said.
"Yes, I understand. When I speak with the ultimate Master I will have to speak only pure truth."
"Exactly. You understand. You are learning well," the Whipmaster said.
Angelica closed her eyes and let the leather whip explore her body. She felt the sensation of the leather warming up to the heat of her nearly nude body.
The black leather stood out from her white skin and it snaked around the curves of her breasts, of her shoulders, her neck, and on downward.
"Oh," she moaned softly, when the black leather whip caressed her most female realm. It felt like nothing she had ever felt before.
"You have never taken the time to feel the sensations of the whip, or of anything," the Whipmaster told Angelica. "You did when you were an infant. Then you grabbed things and played with them. You put things in your mouth. You explored and experimented with the world around you. But you've grown backwards. That's what the ultimate Master tells us. We grow backwards, forgetting what it is we originally set out to be."
The words entered Angelica's mind as her body luxuriated in the splendor of the whip. She was moaning with passion arousal as the whip touched every private part of her teenaged body. She snaked it over the creamy white curves.
"Where has this whip been all of my life?" she asked. She was enraptured.
"You are only feeling one part of the whip. You are feeling its caress. Just think how wonderful it will be when you feel the whip's kiss," the Whipmaster said.
"Oh, yes, yes. I want the whip to kiss me!" Angelica moaned.
"It will. It will. But you mustn't rush these things. You must get the whip accustomed to your flesh, and you must learn to know the feel of the whip, too. Now it is being gentle to you. Later it will kiss you with passion. Let it get to know you intimately. Then it will warm up to you, and make you its slave."
Slowly, Angelica moved the black whip to her most private region. The tip of the whip tickled her there, and it became damp from her nectar.
"Oh, oh, it's tickling me," she cried. "It's teasing me."
"When it really teases you, you'll know it," the Whipmaster grinned.
"I'm feeling the black whip inside of me. I know that when it's wet, it will hit me harder and better," Angelica said.
"Just don't let it go in too far. You know that you must be a virgin to win the ultimate Master's love, don't you?" the Whipmaster asked.
Angelica didn't answer. She was near orgasm from the tickling sensations.
"You had better learn to answer when you're spoken to, young slavegirl," the Whipmaster told her. "I'm going to have to teach you."
He pulled the whip away from her and she pleaded for it. It was like a narcotic that she had become addicted to. She wanted it. She wanted to make love to the whip.
"You don't get to make love to the whip," the stern, naked Master told her. "The whip gets to make love to you. It will kiss you until you are covered with kisses. Each kiss will leave a mark for you to remember the love session."
He stood back and pushed Angelica to the floor. She was on her knees before him.
"Take your ring, the one in your slave bracelet," he ordered Angelica. "Take it and fasten it into the ring on the floor. Go ahead. You'll see how to do it when you try. The manacle around your wrist will secure you to the floor."
He was making Angelica put herself in bondage. That was really humiliating, or at least it would have been had Angelica not been bitten by the desire to reach the peaks of her natural femininity according to the teachings of the cult of the black whip.
But after discovering this place and learning more about it, she was fascinated. It was much more interesting than high school. And it was probably more interesting than that job at the hospital.
Suddenly it was the most important thing she could think of. It was right for her.
True, many girls would have gotten out of that house the first minute they stepped inside the door, for it only took a minute to discover just how strange this place was.
Most girls, in fact, would never even get to the house. They would never make such turns in the road which 'accidentally' brought them to such a place. The black whip was not for most girls. They would rebel against it. But once a girl came to this house, even if she rebelled, she would soon be brought down under the dominance of the lash.
That was Angelica's fate, and she was not resisting. She was giving in, and making it easy on herself. She was growing fond and desirous of the black whip. She wanted to know it more intimately. She wanted to have it make to her.
"As I told you, you have to be punished," the Whipmaster said, fingering the instrument of pain, and flicking it against the floor every few minutes to hear the cracking noise it made. It sounded like a shotgun going off.
It was a fearsome sound, like the hiss of a jungle cat.
"Yes, Master," Angelica answered. She had been in the house a short time. It was still dark. Dawn hadn't crept in as yet.
But Angelica had already taken several steps down the road to sexual slavery. The first step had been to turn the car onto Lagoon Road. She didn't have a purpose in life. She had no direction. She thought that even when she turned her car down the road that she was making a wrong turn.
But it was hardly to be considered a wrong turn. She brought herself under the influence of the house of dominance, and the cult of the black whip. The aim of the Whipmasters, working for the ultimate Master, was to make Angelica submissive and subservient. Only then could her life have direction. Only then could she be happy.
The Whipmaster told her that she would be punished. But he was not going to punish her for no reason at all. He was sensitive and intelligent. He had been trained by the ultimate Master to carry out the task. He did his work with care, and everything was done for a purpose.
"You kept saying that you wanted to make love to the whip," he told her. "You didn't realize that you were being dominant when you spoke like that. It is never for you to do such a thing. It is for you to be submissive, as a young virgin such as you must be to a man."
"Yes, I understand," she replied obediently. "I understand, Master," she said, quick to add the word Master before she was beaten for omitting it.
"So what am I going to do?" he asked her.
"I'm going to feel the whip. You are going to inflict pain on me with the whip, and my life will be determined by the will of the whip, and by the Masters who wield it."
The Whipmaster smiled and made certain that Angelica had secured herself to the ring in the floor. He saw that when she tugged to one side, she remained held in place by the heavy rings. Since she was down on her knees, she could not get very far. She was his bound slave, and she would have to stay at his feet while he used his whip on her.
"If you take this whipping well, I will give you a special painkiller," he told her.
"But I don't want a painkiller," she said. "I want to feel it all. I don't want to dull my senses. I want to experience them fully."
The Whipmaster was surprised to hear such a mature answer from the naive virgin. She was totally correct, and she had obviously followed what he had told her about the explorations of a baby, and she had seen how she had dulled her senses too often.
"Good. I want you to feel the pain to the fullest," he told her. "But what I had in mind as a painkiller was something else. Sex."
"Sex!" the virgin shuddered. "But we must be virgins in order to service the ultimate Master. I can't let temptation make me lose my maidenhead," she said.
"Good," he repeated, for the girl was really learning well. "But there are other ways of having sex besides taking it to the point of losing your virginity."
"There are?" she asked.
"Yes. And I will show them all to you. But first I must punish you for being so aggressive. You must learn to be submissive at all times. Think about that when you receive these punishment strokes. And don't cry out. This time I don't want to hear your whimpers. I want to watch you grit your teeth and take this punishment as a method to mold your character. You'll be worthy of my special rewards if you do."
"Yes, Master," Angelica said. She was nervous, but she was willing to take it. In fact, if it would make her a better girl, she was anxious to take it. She was eager to resume this love affair with the black whip. She had felt it caress her. Now it would kiss her.
She felt as if she were being watched, although she didn't turn to look at the peephole leading into her room. If other eyes were on her, that was part of the discipline.
"Do you want my hindquarters?" she asked, willing to give her posterior to the Master.
"Not now. Since you are being punished for sexual aggression, and since the sex organs which make you female are all in front, I think I'll punish you on your breasts and nether regions. That will prepare you for the heat of the red star."
The red star! It was glowing on the Whipmaster's erection. It was becoming associated with the sex and pain that were about to come to her.
The whip had been coiled in the Master's hand, and it seemed limp. But with the movement of the master's wrist, it became like an erect organ, and it was ready to do its hurting work. It was ready to teach Angelica about pain, until the borderline between pleasure and pain no longer existed.
The whip cracked against her, like nothing she had ever felt before. It struck her just above her right breast. And then a second stroke came cracking down, even before the first stroke cooled. It cracked her directly on the tip of her nipple. The nipple became swollen immediately, with a combination of pain and desire.
"Already you have come to love the whip, and you haven't even seen all its glories," he told her.
"Yes, I love it, already. That is why I want it to take me. I want it to take me like a dominant lover, and hurt me, making me submit to its power."
He raised his arm back and then he brought the whip cracking down again. This time he went for her left breast, finding the bulls eye of his target in that hurting stroke. The tip of the leather whip, the thonged part, tied into a knot at the end, hit her square on the other nipple, swelling that one up as much as the other.
"It may seem cruel, but my task is a large one. I have to create a submissive girl from a spoiled one."
"I'm not spoiled," she defended.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The Whipmaster gave her three extra hard strokes for talking back.
"The proof that you are spoiled is there in your defense of yourself. I told you that you are spoiled. That's all there is to it."
"I'm sorry, Sir," she said, her head bowed in submission.
"Now you are only beginning to awaken to your haughty, spoiled ways. You have upper-class beauty, but you need correction. You are spoiled. Did you arrive by car?"
"Yes, Sir."
"There! You should have walked. You have gotten away from nature entirely." "But,
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The whip came down three more times in quick succession. The girl shouldn't have started her sentence with the word 'but,' and he told her so with the whip. She should have bowed her head and thanked him for the correction.
The newest strokes landed across her white stomach. Her flesh was especially white and untouched there. The new strokes brought welts to the surface of her stomach. They were deep red welts, very much raised and very painful. She felt that they were really stinging and pulsating down below the surface wounds.
She didn't consider herself a spoiled girl. She rarely cursed her mother, and she had excellent grades. She had even won the traineeship and she was kind to old ladies and animals.
But the man wanted to show her that she was spoiled. If her life didn't revolve around pleasing a man, then she was spoiled.
If anything in this house of discipline seemed even the least bit odd to Angelica, then she was spoiled, by the standards of this cult, at least.
The narrow cots, the bare rooms which were no larger than a closet, the peepholes, the constant disciplining. All of that was for the betterment of character. Luxuries and foolishness would not be tolerated. The Whipmaster spoke to Angelica about that.
"You are here to experience some sacrifice. Everything will not be a bed of roses for you here. You will have to feel the thorns. You look like the type of girl who needs her bubble baths, and her soft music."
"Yes, when I'm home I turn on my stereo as soon as I get in the house. I even do my homework to the background of the music. And when the water system in our home was on the blink, I thought I'd absolutely die without my fresh bath water."
"You'll learn to get over that," he told her. "You'll learn to do without makeup and perfume. You'll learn to accept the basics of life, and you'll appreciate them much more than ever before."
"I want to learn about the things that are everlasting," she sighed.
"This is everlasting," he told her. He gave her pain. He gave it to her where he wanted her to feel it. The evidence of his success in placing the strokes exactly where he wanted them came up in thick red weals.
He wasn't going to let her stop feeling the pain for a moment. He criss-crossed the weals, making patterns to suit his desires. Every stroke disciplined her and trained her. Often he reminded her why he was punishing her.
She was completely under his control. At first each stroke was like a sting of fire and she felt each stroke burning into her. When she looked down, she was horrified to see that the tattered loincloth had been ripped from the whip.
In several places the fierce whip had cut right through the cloth, and the flesh below offered only minor protection.
Soon, however, the individual sensations created by the individual strokes disappeared. All that was left was one throbbing redness which covered her entire body, wherever the whip did its work.
He whipped her time and time again, each stroke landing next to or directly over a previous stroke. One did not exist in separation from the next. Each striking welt blended into the next. She was nothing but an aching mass of pain.
She looked up at the Master. He continued to lash her in a steady, calculated manner. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was not disciplining her with anger. He was disciplining her with love.
True, he was harsh. He was cruel. He was a hard man and not about to be swayed by the pleadings or the tears.
But he was doing this for her own good. And as it happened, he enjoyed his work. He felt it was of benefit for all who would ever come in contact with the girl. She would be so much improved after she went through further stages of development as a slave. She would be obedient. She would be ready to offer herself for the pleasure of men. And she would learn to follow orders. That was a must. He took her up on that particular quality.
"I told you to keep your mouth quiet," he said firmly. His voice was not raised. He didn't have to yell. He got his point across. If there were any doubt, the whip would correct it.
Again, Angelica's first impulse was to defend herself. She was about to say that she had remained as quiet as physically possible.
But a few moans had escaped from her lips. A few whimpering cries had gotten out, and once she had even asked him to stop. That was forbidden, and she realized that even as she said the words.
She saw that she couldn't get away with much from this man, and he was only a junior Whipmaster! But she didn't really want to get away with anything. She wanted to surrender. She didn't want to try and escape punishment. She wanted to feel it all so that she could improve herself.
"I'm sorry, Sir," she sighed, instead. "I was reacting to the pain the way a girl must act when she feels the hardened organ of a man entering her for the first time. I let the cries out involuntarily."
"Don't you know that there is no such thing as involuntary action?" the Whipmaster told her. "The ultimate Master tells us that we are responsible for everything that happens to us. We are the cause of all of those things."
"Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Sir."
"I'm going to still have to give you more," he told her. "But this time I'll have to gag your mouth so that I'll know that you'll stay quiet."
Angelica lowered her head until it rested between the floor and her Master's feet. She awaited the gag.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Master's naked foot wiggled into the girl's mouth. He stuffed her mouth, stretching her lips at the corners so that she could accept his wide foot into her narrow mouth.
He only did this long enough for her to feel his flesh inside her mouth. After her beating, he would give her more flesh to eat.
His utility belt was stocked with various devices designed to help him in his training tasks. He started by taking out two small clips.
"Give me your breasts," he said to the slavegirl Angelica.
She stretched her bust upwards toward him, even though the connection of her wrist to the floor was a straining one. She put her lovely breasts up for him. He stroked the nipples once or twice, and they became hard, stiff, red, swollen, ready.
Then he snapped the metal clip on her left, exposed, tit. It stung like fire when it first clamped itself on her. It was like a set of biting teeth, digging into her nipple, first with a terribly sharp sting, and then with a dull, throbbing pain which pervaded her entire breast area.
The young Whipmaster gave his slave a look which seemed to say, "I warned you to keep quiet."
She did just that, biting her lower lip until she broke the skin. She scratched the nails of her free hand on the floor. Anything to help her take the inevitable and prolonged pain.
Then he went to the other nipple, pulling it out of the ripped material of the loincloth by holding onto the nipple. The nipple was then clamped.
A guttural sound came from down deep in Angelica's throat. She tried to stifle it, but the pain was just too great. She had not yet become desensitized to pain. She wanted it, but it still hurt.
"I'm sorry, Sir," she apologized. "I didn't mean to make a sound."
"But you did, Angelica. You did. I told you that there were no accidents; no mistakes. The ultimate Master tells us that. It's one of his major sayings."
"I've heard it since the moment I arrived here," she replied.
"And yet you still resist," he parlayed. "You say you didn't mean to make a sound. If you didn't mean to make a sound, you would have stayed quiet. Obviously you meant to make a sound."
Angelica thought about it. He had a strange point there. Always she had heard people say that they had meant to do this, or they had intended to do that.
Then she remembered the ultimate Master's saying, "Everything you learned before was backwards."
Now she was beginning to learn some of the truth about life, under the domination. of a whip. She was a young girl, and she was able to learn. Older girls were more difficult to train. They were resistant. They had been practicing life backwards for too long.
But the ultimate Master promised that any girl who arrived at the house of the cult of the black whip would make progress. The very fact that a girl had arrived at the house, through whatever method she might have come, was a sign that this was meant to be for her.
Just like Angelica, any girl who arrived had already taken the first step in training.
"Master, how do I know what my intention actually was?" Angelica asked. "I thought that I wanted to stay quiet, and then I uttered a sound."
"Then you know what your intention was. You intended to make the sound. To know what it is that you intend, merely look and see what you've got."
"You mean, what I've got, and what I do, is what I intended?" she asked.
"What else?"
"But why?" she asked.
"I don't know the reason. Reasons don't really matter all that much. In this case, I'd guess that you wanted to be given more pain. You knew that I would beat you extra hard and extra long if you uttered a sound. And so you uttered a sound, even though you wouldn't even let yourself know the truth as to why you did it."
Angelica listened and it made some sense. She wanted to be fully responsible for all of her actions. She wanted to take control over her own life, rather than allow her life to take control over her. She asked the Master how she could do that.
"Submit," he told her. "Submit totally. Then you will be in control of yourself. You see, the only way that you will be able to be in control, is to give up wanting to control yourself. Give yourself up unto the Master. He will direct you. He will give your life meaning. And then you will see that you are doing what you've always wanted to do. You will be submitting to the will of a dominant man. Every girl wants that. Especially the haughty, snotty, rich and arrogant girls."
Angelica didn't think of herself as haughty or snotty. She wasn't really rich or arrogant. But according to the strict standards of the cult of the black whip, perhaps she was and had simply not realized that.
"Speaking of intention," the Whipmaster told the girl, "it is my intention to make you burn with pain. I am going to give you twenty-five more strokes with the black whip. They will leave your body a mass of welts and cut marks. I will hit every part of your body, from the top your head to the bottoms of your feet. And this time I will gag your mouth so that you'll stay quiet, as you were told."
Angelica swallowed hard. She was afraid that she might pass out, and she feared that even if she fainted, this strict authoritarian would continue to whip her. The rules he dictated were harsh ones. Punishment for breaking the rules was even more harsh.
She was looking up at the shaft of genitalia standing out proudly from his hairy crotch. The red star was plainly visible, and the idea of the pain that the man must have withstood in order to be tattooed on his penis made Angelica want to take all of the pain he had to dish out.
She wanted to take the pain from her Whipmaster's body into her own.
And she knew that she would be rewarded for her submission. She would be rewarded with the painkiller he had spoken about. She didn't want him to withhold it from her because of not taking a punishment fully. She wanted to earn it.
He reached into the leather pouch on his utility belt. This time he took out a thick, rubber f-piece, like the one she had seen being used on the slavegirl in the room through the peephole.
She watched in awe as he took the pliable f-piece and teased her with it. He placed it in front of her face and squeezed it. A liquid dripped from the soft rubber, and she wondered what the liquid was and where the f-piece had been before to have soaked up such juice.
She started to writhe and moan when he took the f-piece and ran it over her face. He ran it around her chin, and over her lips.
"Open your mouth," he told her.
She obeyed, and she felt the f-piece spread her lips apart. She felt her mouth being propped open by the f-piece, just the way the sex lips of the girl next door had been opened.
"That's it, that's it," he said as he fitted the f-piece further and further into her mouth until he had her mouth shaped just the way he wanted it.
She tried to speak with her eyes, since her mouth was now useless. She tried to let the Master know that the way he had propped her mouth open was making her ache at the sides of her lips. She thought she would die because she was so dry down in her throat, and she could no longer swallow.
The f-piece absorbed the saliva, and she realized that any moist place in which the f-piece were placed would provide liquid for the stretching device.
She wondered what kind of a thing the f-piece was modeled after. It was terribly wide, which was why it pained her so. The Whipmaster seemed able to read her mind.
"This is like the head of the cock of the ultimate Master," he told her.
Oh no! She wondered how she would ever be able to take such a thing down her throat. The length of his tool must be incredible, matching the width.
But that was not for her to consider at the moment. Now she had only to keep her mouth opened around the f-piece, and in addition she would have to do that while taking a whipping. Twenty-five more strokes!
Twenty-five strokes with that powerful whip, wielded by the powerful man, were nothing to take lightly. They hurt like hell.
He pelted her with the twenty-five, giving them one after another until she was flooded with pain. True to his word, he started at the top of her head, landing the length of hot whip across her. He worked his way down her fragile body, treating her the way he wouldn't treat a dog.
The back of her neck took the whipping along with the rest of her. Her back, her breasts, her stomach, her buttocks, the backs and fronts of her thighs and her calves, right on down to the bottom of her feet. Each foot received three cracking strokes, and if it weren't for the gag, she would have been screaming her lungs out.
Tears flowed from her eyes and dripped into the absorbent material of the f-piece.
Twenty-five! She had taken twenty-five hard lashes after having already endured nearly that many on her tender breasts.
Her breasts were still clipped, and the nipples were now swollen twice their normal size. They strained achingly beyond the metal clamps which the Whipmaster had placed on each pinkish-tan piece of flesh.
Once the whip had cracked down directly on one of the pushed up nipples. Another time the stroke of the whip threatened to dislodge the clamp entirely, but it didn't.
That was just as well for Angelica because if the clamp were removed by the whip, there was no telling how painful the result would be for her. She needed the clamps removed with care, and that was just what the Whipmaster was going to do.
Although Angelica still writhed about in pain, her body still expecting more, her punishment was over for now. She was to be rewarded with sex.
Various Whipmasters employed various techniques to train their girls. All of the Whipmasters were trained by the ultimate Whipmaster, himself, but each one of them had his own style and his own individual approach.
Some of them pulled the nipple-clamps off roughly, the way some people remove a band-aid. This Whipmaster placed his fingers on the lowest part of the aureole, and then undamped the clip itself with the other hand. He would place his own human pressure on the pulsating nipple as soon, as the metal clamp was removed.
Angelica felt the most pain when the clip Was removed. But the Master's fingers soothed the pain and restored the circulation to the tender area.
Her eyes were filled with tears as she watched the Whipmaster handle her. He took care of her other nipple in the same manner, and she was for once glad that she had the f-piece in her mouth because she would have certainly cried out were it not for the gag which the f-piece provided.
Also, she did stop to remind herself that the f-piece was patterned after the ultimate organ of the ultimate man. She had to accommodate her mouth to the hugeness of such an organ. Such an organ could certainly not accommodate itself to her. Again she thought about the purpose of her training and how she was being taught to serve a man.
He held the girl by the sides of her face. His hands were strong, and the right hand was damp and warm, having been grasping the handle of the punishing whip.
He felt her salty tears running into his flesh and he smiled because he knew that the whipping had released much of the badness from her. Goodness had been whipped into her in its place.
His fingers moved to the f-piece, and gently, he removed the thing from her mouth. Her jaws ached when it was removed. She tried to close her mouth and grind her teeth together, but even that was difficult at the beginning. The f-piece had really stretched her. She now knew what the girl in the next room had gone through. Well, she knew, almost.
"You did very well," the Whipmaster told Angelica after the whipping. He ran his fingers all over her flesh. Sometimes she winced when the gentle touch was too much pressure on the bruised flesh.
But his head cocked to one side and his eyebrow raised when that happened. His expression was telling her not to wince. She was to accept all of the pain into her body. His hands were there to soothe her and to make her feel better.
He fondled her breasts, feeling the heat he had stroked into them with the black whip. He felt the nipples and they were very swollen, distended, and hot.
He brought his mouth down to the abused nipples and licked them back and forth. Even that made her ache, and so he placed his lips around the sore flesh and sucked gently, swirling his saliva around the points to calm them.
Angelica's head tilted back and her eyes half-closed, as she writhed about in pleasure. This was not the pleasure of lust. This was the pleasure of gratitude. She wanted to thank her Whipmaster for the administration of the whip. She wanted to thank him, and what better way did this beautiful teenager have to thank him, than with her body.
"I want to give myself to you," she sighed. "I want to be broken in by you so that I can work my way up to the ultimate Master."
"We'll have to make certain that you are actually responding out of love, and not out of lust," he told her.
"I feel that it is love and gratitude, and desire for the pure love of the ultimate Master that is making me feel this way," she told him.
"I have ways of seeing if that is really so," he said.
Without further ado, he brought forth another slave bracelet. This one was for securing her other wrist to the rings in the floor. That way she was tied down by both hands.
"Now put your ankles together," he told her.
Of course, she obeyed, and when her ankles were close together, the Whipmaster took a length of rope from his utility belt. The thick rope was wrapped around her ankles several times, fastening them together. The rope was like straw, and it dug into her flesh and bones.
"The more you move around and try to squirm away, the more the rope will burn you," he told her. "Stay still, and you won't suffer rope burn."
It felt like rough sandpaper scraping her ankles when she moved her ankles or feet even a fraction of an inch in any way.
Then, when the Master was certain that the girl was fastened by her ankles and wrists, he began to test her to see if she was responding out of love or lust.
He stroked his massive organ, bringing the blood into it even more than it had already been. It was standing up and out, curved like a mighty spear. He squeezed the f-piece which had been removed from Angelica's mouth, and used the saliva to coat his hand which he methodically brought to the veiny shaft.
Angelica lurched forward in her bonds when she saw him stroking himself. The monstrous thing was spitting, and he let the drops of pre-orgasmic fluid fall near Angelica's body. They fell close enough to her to tantalize her. Close enough to be seen and perhaps even smelled in that tiny, enclosed room. But not close enough for her to touch.
She tried to get at the cock which he placed near her face when he crouched, but she couldn't move beyond the limits of her bondage.
"Tell me how much you want this gift," he said to her.
"I want it so much, Master. I want to feel it in my mouth. I've never had one of those in my mouth before, Sir. I want to start now, so that I can be ready for the ultimate Master in every way."
Her Whipmaster grinned. He enjoyed seeing her strain like a bitch dog on a leash.
He took his heavy organ and placed it close to her face. He placed it close enough for her to really breathe it in. Her tongue flicked out to taste it, but he slapped her tongue away.
He was wearing a ring in the shape of the star. It was a red sapphire. The stone was used to slap her tongue. For a moment, the indentation of the cut shape appeared to rise on her wet tongue muscle.
She felt the pain in the form of a star, and that was, in fact, the reason the star-shaped rings were given to the Whipmasters. Some of the girls had marks from those rings all over their buttocks and upper thighs, the areas which accepted a deliberate marking of that kind with the most facility.
"Not yet!" he told her sharply after smacking her longing tongue away.
"I'm sorry, Sir," she said.
"You'd better be. If you try that again before you're instructed to do so, you'll get something that you haven't asked for. When I tell you to lick it, you lick it. Now you just sniff it and watch it and long for it."
He took the head of his tool and pressed the slit. A liquid pearl oozed out. Placing the wet head at the girl's lips, he moved the organ around her lips in a circular rotation propelled by the slippery drop of semen.
He kept squeezing the fluid out and using it to lubricate the path he traced with the head of his red starred erection. He moved from her mouth, down her neck, to her cleavage. He watched the trail of wetness which flowed wherever he placed his prized organ.
Angelica had never been treated to such eroticism before. She had to hold her special muscles back from orgasming just from the feel of his warm slime trailing over her bruised flesh.
His semen was so strong, it burned several of the wounds which had cut through Angelica's flesh, even if the cuts were minor. The liquid bathed the red and welted flesh with a very special ointment.
Sliding on up the rounded curve of breast flesh, he slid his opening on her swollen nipples, one at a time. The hardened protrusion of her breast flesh pushed forward to enter the gash from which his gism had flowed in pre-orgasmic drips.
The thick ropes wrapped more than a few times around the girl's ankles were digging into her and abrasing her delicate skin, even cutting through to the bone in several places. She didn't care. All she was thinking about was the thing he teased her with.
"Tell me what you want," he said, taking it away from her and playing with it before her eyes.
"I want that thing between your legs. I've taken my punishments. Now I deserve to be soothed with the painkiller. You promised," she cried.
A sneer came to the Whipmaster's handsome face. He placed his hand down in the entrance to Angelica's nether region. His palm became moist with her teenaged dew. He used the sweet nectar to massage his tool in front of her.
"Please, please, please," she cried, lurching at her bonds. The metal of the rings tugged at the leather bands around her wrists. The thick and coarse rope which bound her ankles dug into her. The knots were expertly tied and would not yield to her pressure, even though she became more violent in her desire.
"Please, Master. Please give me the gift you promised," she cried. "I'm hungry and thirsty. I haven't had anything to eat or drink since I arrived here. I need the nourishment of the gifts of your organ!"
The Whipmaster stroked and stroked. He didn't let Angelica get at his organ. He only allowed her to watch in torment. She was beginning to wonder if he would actually deprive her of what she had worked so hard to earn.
"You have done well in taking discipline," he told her. "But you have forgotten some of the basic teachings already. You were told that you were to be in a state of love, not lust. I've been testing you for that. I find that you've been lusting."
"Oh, Master, please tell me how I've been lusting," she cried. She wanted it so badly, she could almost taste it. But almost wasn't enough. She really ached for it. She allowed the rope to cut into her ankles so that she could be nearer to it. She didn't think that she was lusting.
"You've forgotten that your ultimate goal is total submission. You were told that you have no needs here except your need to satisfy the Masters. Your sex life is determined by me and by the other dominants. You are to perform for me in whatever manner I tell you to. If I tell you to perform with other Whipmasters, or with other slavegirls, you are to obey."
"Yes, yes, I understand, Sir," Angelica replied.
"That is why I must deny you the prize. You were lusting for it to satisfy your own desires. You have no desires except the desire to please your men! You are our property, our plaything, and you must submit. Instead you have again expressed your desire to dominate; your desire to be aggressive. That is forbidden of a submissive. Therefore, you must watch as I deny you the very thing you craved."
Now Angelica really started to cry. She cried and cried.
The Whipmaster opened the door to her room. He leaned his head out the door and called out to the other Whipmasters who were working on the training of slavegirls down the long corridor of discipline.
"Is there are slavegirl who needs to be rewarded, or needs to be punished with semen?" he yelled.
Several doors opened up. Masters, dressed in only the utility belts, or robes, looked out. They were mastering young girls who were bound and beaten, as Angelica had been. In fact, looking down the peepholes, one could see the punished girls and their Whipmasters straight through as in a hall of mirrors. The sight of all that teenaged flesh, red and sore from well-deserved abuse, was bizarre, indeed.
Three Whipmasters responded to the call.
"I haven't given her any for two days. I've got a heavy load built up," one Master called back.
Two other Whipmasters came forward. They brought their respective slavegirls with them, tugging at their leashes to pull the girls along.
It was easy to spot which girl was in need of semen for punishment, and which deserved it for reward. (The same substance could be used as reward or punishment, depending on the way it was given.)
One Master had a beautiful dark-haired girl. She was part-Oriental, as evidenced by her almond-shaped eyes. Very exotic. And her hair was long, hanging down below her posterior. When she was whipped, the whip sliced right through her long hair. The straight hair didn't provide much of a cushion for the beating she took.
Her Whipmaster was an especially strict one. He had left her black and blue from her thighs up over her buttocks. The bodies of his young charges always stayed well-marked. Jade was evidence of that. Jade was seventeen years old.
She was slender, but her breasts were rather large and upturned. The nipples jutted off the soft flesh like missiles about to be launched, indicating that her Master had paid special attention to breast discipline.
She was obedient to a letter, having been trained well. Her left breast was marked with the red star. A thin rope was wrapped around her waist. It trailed down into the cleft of femininity, and then moved up the crack of her bottom.
She was trussed-up like an animal, which was the way her Master treated her.
Jade had not been brought up in the Oriental tradition. The Oriental tradition, from which the ultimate Master gathered much of his material and knowledge, taught females to be subservient. They were to serve the men, and wait on them hand and foot.
The geisha girls, for example, were taught to be humble and bow before their men. They were trained in the art of massage, even to the point of walking over the backs of their men. It was part of the treatment.
They were trained to speak in whispers, and to walk several yards behind their men in a gesture of their inferiority to the male.
Jade, however, was raised as a whore on a houseboat in Tokyo. She had been exposed to things that most females never see in their entire lives. It was nothing for Jade to speak in Oriental curses. She was too wise for her own good, and she needed the discipline offered at this house of pain.
Her Master used special Oriental punishments on her. He beat her with bamboo cane. The bamboo that he used was thick and strong enough to give her fleshy, meaty buttocks a good series of raised marks.
He pulled at her long hair and even went so far as to use Chinese water torture in her womb!
As a result of his efforts, he had produced a perfect lady, where once a spoiled gutter tramp stood. She had been picked up in Tokyo by the ultimate Master himself, when he visited the low life there to find potential slavegirls.
He had decided that Jade and her sister were ready for training. Jade was already a second-level slave. She hadn't seen her sister since their arrival except once in the chapel. The building was larger than it first appeared to the naked eye, and since the girls were placed in rooms which were little more than cubicles, many girls inhabited the place, and some never got to see the others, until they were presented to the ultimate Master on the golden platter.
It was obvious that Jade was in need of semen discipline for the purpose of reward.
The other slavegirl was another story. Her name was Lulabelle, and she was a flaming redhead. Her flesh was pale. Bruises had come up. She was marked with many bruises, some blue, some brown, some in almost every color of the rainbow. She was a virtual rainbow of bruises.
It was immediately obvious that she was unruly and had a dirty mouth. Her Master had made her open her mouth, stick out her tongue, and keep it out while he whipped it with a delicate whip. This was more effective than washing her mouth out with soap.
Now her mouth was covered with a wide strip of tape.
Although her mouth was hidden, the expression in her eyes revealed her anger. She resented her punishments. She had still not gotten over her upper-class, snotty background. She still had no firm purpose in life, other than getting her own way, and that, of course, was backwards, according to the ultimate Master.
Her red hair hung in rivulets, as it had been sweat-soaked during the voluptuous writhing incurred during punishment sessions that evening. When her Master pulled her toward Angelica's room, she fought back. She kicked him, which resulted in her Master kicking her back.
He kicked her hard enough to send her doubling over onto the floor. She didn't dare try it again, but she'd done it once, so she had a long way to go in her training. She was making it rough on herself, protesting, when her mouth wasn't taped, that she had been brought there against her will.
Lulubelle had been caught masturbating a horse in the stable of her parent's estate. Her frustrated father, unable to cope with the girl's ever-increasing misbehavior, found out about the school of discipline through a dream. One night he saw Lulubelle being dominated by a Whipmaster, and the next day, as if by black magic, Lulubelle was kidnapped.
She was never reported missing by her father, because the man had a feeling that the girl was better off. He believed that his dream had come true.
Lulubelle wouldn't accept that she was responsible for having brought the kidnapping upon herself in some way. She didn't understand how her vibrations had attracted the Whipmaster to the estate to take her as a hostage.
Anyway, the redheaded vixen had not yet responded to discipline, which was why she had not yet been honored with the red star.
She had been given a thorough shaving of her privates, as a discipline. She had been warned that if she writhed about or tried to resist, the sharp blade of the shaving razor would cut her where no girl wants to be cut.
Now she stood side by side with Jade outside the room of young Angelica.
Angelica's whipmaster had to choose which slavegirl he would use in his semen punishment. He intended to deny Angelica his wet gifts, giving them instead to one of these two girls before Angelica's envious eyes.
That was his stated intention, and, the Whipmaster always got his way.
CHAPTER FIVE
"I'd like to see you give Jade some special reward," her Whipmaster said. "Look at her. She's almost ready for the next stage."
The dark-haired beauty lowered her head in submission. The rope cut into her private parts, but she kept her legs close together, like a perfect lady, feeling it dig into her.
"I wouldn't mind you giving this one some semen discipline," the other Whipmaster said. "I've been beating her all night, and giving her the information she needs to know in order to be a better slavegirl, but she's a hard one to crack. She just doesn't respond. Perhaps she needs a different Whipmaster."
"The ultimate Master says that we should be able to trade girls if our personalities would mesh better with another Whipmaster's slave. I think it's good that you realize that you're not suited to this one."
Angelica wanted to speak out. She didn't want to lose the Whipmaster who had beaten her with his black whip this evening. The wounds he inflicted were still throbbing and she wanted more from him.
But she remembered that she was to have no wants of her own while in the house of discipline. She was there to be trained to the will of her dominants.
"I'll take Lulubelle under my wing for a while. I can't handle Jade, too, so she'll have to miss out. Goodness will always be rewarded. As for a bad girl like Lulubelle, discipline must be given out at once!"
So it was going to be a double punishment. Lulubelle was going to receive the sperm of the Whipmaster in a punishing way, while Angelica was to be denied it, also for the sake of her punishment and remorse.
The redheaded girl started to rebel. She was spoiled and arrogant, even when stripped naked with her pussy shaved.
"Tie her up so that she can't move at all," Angelica's Whipmaster said to the Whipmaster in charge of Lulubelle. "I want to see bondage that keeps her in place so severely, she won't be able to move a muscle without straining. She hasn't yet learned that a true slave needs no bondage at all to keep her in place. Correct, Angelica?"
Angelica was puzzled. There she was with rope wrapped several times around her ankles. Her wrists were encased in rings which held her to the floor. Should she have been in that position without the benefit of bondage? Was that what her Master wanted of her?
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Master," Angelica replied honestly.
The Master undid the knots which fastened her ankles with rope. He unsnapped the rings which were attached to her leather slave bracelets. He allowed her to remain on the floor without any bondage holding her down.
"If you are a true slave, you will stay there like an obedient dog for whatever I offer. If I bring a flaming hot whip down across your slit, you will keep your legs open when I command that. As much as it hurts, you'll take it for my pleasure, and that will bring you ultimate pleasure, making you a woman."
"Yes, Master," she replied.
"Meanwhile this disobedient bitch will learn through bondage what pain really means. And you will suffer, also, in punishment for your aggression which you demonstrated when you wanted only your own desires satisfied," the Whipmaster told Angelica.
The Master of Lulubelle took rope from his utility belt and wrapped it around the bucking bronco of a girl until she looked like a mummy. Each time the rope was wrapped around her the Master pulled it more tightly. Her flesh bunched out between the tightly drawn ropes. She felt the pressure digging into her, and her flesh was very white where the rope made" it jut out beyond the bondage.
Below each tightly drawn rope, the flesh was red.
There were hooks in the walls so the Whipmaster fastened the girl to the hooks, but he was told by Angelica's Whipmaster that he should use an imaginative disciplinary method.
The Whipmaster lifted the slender girl in his arms. Although she must have been cursing him under the tape which was fastened across her mouth, she was silenced by that tape. And although she must have wanted to claw and kick, she was restrained by the ropes which circled her body from head to foot.
Her fleshy breasts were sticking way out with the rope criss-crossed over them, but they weren't what the Whipmasters were interested in at the moment.
Lulubelle's Whipmaster turned the girl upside down. That's how strong he was. He fastened her to the hooks in the wall, keeping her in the upside down position.
With her head on the floor, the core of her femininity was centered, and easier for the Whipmasters to reach.
Angelica's Whipmaster was pleased with the creativity of the upside down bondage. He reached into his utility belt and brought out one of his most favored items for inflicting special pain. It was a sheet of fine sandpaper.
"Her privates have been recently shaven, I see," Angelica's Whipmaster said, observing the bared flesh of the girl's most delicate area.
"Yes, you should have seen those red curls come off and leave the skin below. Take a feel of it. It's as soft as baby skin."
"I'll feel it using a sandpaper glove," Angelica's Whipmaster replied. He was always thinking of his work. He was there to discipline girls, and training was accomplished when he kept his mind on the task at all times.
Angelica rubbed her aching ankles, trying to get the circulation back into them. The skin itched where the rough rope had scratched her.
She stayed still, despite her desire to grab her Whipmaster around the waist, sink her head in the pillow of his hairy crotch, and kiss him up and down along his red star!
But she realized that doing something like that would only earn her punishment. That would be being aggressive, and she had been warned about that. That would demonstrate her giving in to her desires, and she was being trained to suppress her own desires so that she could better serve her Masters.
The incentive for doing so was the promise that she would happy if she gave freely and completely of herself. If she pleased her Masters, in that way she would find the happiness which most girls her age were searching for, but never found.
It was right there in the ability to please a Master. Perhaps even the males she had met in the outside world were masters of a sort, although they did not command respect the way the Whipmasters did.
So she stayed firmly in place, holding herself back from earning punishment strokes on top of punishment strokes.
She watched as her Whipmaster disciplined another girl. Angelica felt some pangs of jealousy at first, but she suppressed them.
She was beginning to see how many negative emotions lived inside of her. She was definitely beginning to believe that she had been going backwards since her birth, and that it had been the source of any distress she had felt over the years.
Jealousy, for example, was a feeling that didn't make her feel good. It had been programmed into her somewhere along the line. She wasn't quite sure where or how. But it was definitely there. She recalled the feeling she got when another girl looked at the boy she was dating back a few weeks ago.
It wasn't even that the boy meant a terrible lot to her, but she felt the jealousy just the same. When the boy smiled back at this other girl, Angelica really felt her stomach churning with mixed emotions.
And now the same sensation was coming up for her again when she watched her Whipmaster working on another girl. She wanted his punishments all for herself, and she feared that he would leave her to work on this other girl, as he had indicated he might.
At the same time, Angelica realized that she didn't want to experience this jealousy. It was hurting her, not anybody else, although if it was discovered, it would bother them too, and she would probably be punished for it.
It wasn't part of the ultimate Master's way. He advocated being totally free with the Masters, and having no desires other than desires to please. If that were true with Angelica, if she were really doing that, she wouldn't be feeling jealousy over this. She would be glad that the Master was aiding in the training of another girl, because that would make everybody happy and fulfilled.
Angelica saw that she had far to go before she would actually be a perfect slave. But she was learning very fast. She had only been here for several hours on a night of the full moon!
She released the feeling of jealousy. She held herself in place without bondage.
As the Whipmasters and the ultimate Master had said, when a girl gives herself up to her Masters, then she will be in control of herself. Angelica was beginning to see the proof of that.
By staying perfectly still to please the Master, she was controlling her own body. By releasing her jealousy so that she would be a good slave, she was controlling her own emotional feelings and well-being.
She was making progress in her journey into slavery, while Lulubelle was resisting. Perhaps that was why Lulubelle was receiving the punishment that Angelica's Whipmaster was dishing out with sandpaper.
"That must really hurt her," Lulubelle's Whipmaster said as the other dominant rubbed the delicate virgin lips with sandpaper. The soft, tender flesh, puffed out as sex lips are, was feeling the scraping.
The area had been sore since the close shaving which made her private place look like the private place of a girl several years younger than Lulubelle was. Lulubelle was only fifteen!
The sandpaper caressed her smooth, teenaged sex lips, scraping the delicate white flesh of the redheaded girl until the area was so red, it looked as if it had been painted with rouge.
The girl tried to buck herself away, but it was impossible because of the heavy rope bondage which made her like a mummy, standing on her head.
In a way, Angelica's heart went out to the girl. She could only imagine what the poor girl was feeling.
But she knew that this was for the girl's own good, and that the girl deserved every ounce of punishment she was receiving. When Lulubelle was a better slave, then she would understand and appreciate the generous discipline she was being given.
They all watched as the lips became more and more red. They were being scraped raw. The flesh had been shaved clean and smooth. When the fingers were run across the lips, it was like baby flesh.
But now the flesh recoiled as it became like raw meat. There was a reason for this serious punishment. It would be Angelica's punishment, too; because she would be forced to stay still and watch it taking place.
When the Master had gotten through with the abuse of Lulubelle's privates, he gave Angelica a special treat. He was going to reward her, after all.
"You've been very good," he told her. "You need more punishment, which you shall receive. But you deserve some sexual reward, as well. So I want you to place your face near the privates of Lulubelle."
Angelica ordinarily would have winced at such a command. She didn't want to place her head near the crotch of another girl. For one thing, it would be humiliating for the girl, if anything could be more humiliating than being bound, trussed-up, hooked into a wall in an upside down position while a naked man massages the cuntal realm with a piece of sandpaper and others watch on!
But she obeyed the order because she was there to serve the Master. Feeling pity for the girl would not benefit anybody. It was another of the backward teachings which had become part of an unsatisfying way of life.
If each person was responsible for his or her own evolution, as the ultimate Master taught, then Lulubelle was responsible for what was happening to her now. After all, her behavior was what determined that she should receive punishment of that nature.
And it was time for Angelica to start taking responsibility for herself by knowing that what she wanted most was to serve as slave to her Masters, working her way through more and more intense discipline, and larger and larger sex organs, on up to the sexual punishments of the ultimate Master.
She placed her head beside the abrased lips of the bound girl. The Whipmaster rewarded her by giving her a taste of his marvelous tool.
"Stick out your tongue," he told her. "Stick it way out."
He was going to put her through her paces, telling her everything he wanted done. He told her to lick the head of his tool. He wanted her to get the whole thing wet first. When it was good and dripping, he put it in her mouth.
Inch by inch he gave her the prize. She sucked on it hungrily at first, but she was slapped across the face for that. It flew from her grasping mouth with the impact of the hard slap.
"What have you done wrong?" he barked.
She thought for a moment, going over the action she had just performed. She came up with the correct response.
"I was thinking of myself again by sucking it that way. You want me to make love to it, Master," she replied softly and apologetically, feeling the sting of the handprint on her cheek.
"You were lusting for that big, beautiful thing. Of course I want to tempt you with it, but you must resist the temptation. Suck it slowly and gently. Make love to that magnificent mauler. Make it feel so good. Let it puff out your cheeks with its hugeness. Suck it long and deep."
She took it into her mouth with adoring suck motion. She took it down into her throat, even though its enormous length caused it to press into the back of her throat, causing her some pain.
Making love to it was more rewarding than her mad lust for it. It was a lesson she would not soon forget, accentuated in her memory by the slap, but brought home by the exciting sensation of her first oral contact with a man.
And to think, it was the shaft of her powerful Whipmaster!
She felt honored. She felt honored to be given her Master's cock. Especially when she was given it in the presence of another slavegirl and another Master.
The man began to push his weight forward into Angelica, causing the teenaged girl to press back into the dampened core of the upside down Lulubelle. He pushed his organ deeply into the girl's cheek, which caused Angelica's face to sink into the other girl's private flesh.
Angelica didn't pull away. She continued to take the hot tool into her body, and she felt a tremendous pleasure surge through her body. She was young, she was a slave, and she was being trained for ultimate pleasure.
Oh, it was more than she had ever imagined would happen to her. Earlier in the night she had been nothing more than a teenager on a trial run, trying to find the route to a job. That had been her glory up until now.
To be evaluated as a good slave of a demanding Master was true glory! It was far better than anything she had ever felt before. That was because she had been thinking backwards for eighteen years. Now she knew that the pleasure of her Masters was her pleasure. And she took the probing monster down her throat. She sucked it lovingly, even when the thing rammed the back of her throat to remind her that he could always turn pleasure into punishment.
The line between pleasure and punishment was becoming finer and finer for Angelica, proving that she was progressing along the lines of her training.
As for poor, bad, Lulubelle, the line between pleasure and punishment was clearly marked. It seemed to be marked with a wide brush dipped in very red paint. She was experiencing no pleasure in this treatment. The blood would have been rushing to her head, since she was standing on it, except that the ropes were pulled so tightly around her, that the blood stayed captive of the ropes!
Angelica could feel the pressure building in the loins of the Master. He was pushing into her with a fever, and the temperature of his organ was burning the soft walls inside her mouth. His massive thing was seeming to grow harder and stiffer, as he tensed every muscle in his body.
Angelica continued to caress the full length of his tool with her mouth and tongue. She licked the red star, and was surprised to find that it was no different to the touch of her tongue than the rest of his mighty organ.
Still, when that red star pressed down into the walls of her mouth and throat, she felt a burning heat and power rush into her.
The Whipmaster was beginning to groan. "You love that rod, don't you slave?" he said.
She responded by taking it all the way in, until she felt the wires of his pubic patch at her lips. She wanted to let her hands fall down between her legs, so that she could work herself to her own relief, but she didn't. She had been spared bondage for the purpose of pleasing the Master. She knew that she should not enter her own body, but should instead place her hands on the body of the Master.
She held his pumping testicles in her warm hands, coaxing the liquid fire up from them. She wanted very much to receive the liquid gift. She wanted to feel it burning down her throat and into her stomach.
But just when she felt the stiffening of his member to its fullest potential, and just when his groans became the groans of uncoming release, he pulled his prong from her clutching portal, and directed the head of it at the abrased sex lips of Lulubelle.
"I told you that this would be punishment for you both," he groaned. "Watch me give it all to this bound slave," he screamed lightly.
The seed poured forth in a torrent. It was a flood which spewed hotly on the scraped virgin lips of the bound captive. The Whipmaster was moaning and groaning from the orgasmic feeling which poured from his being.
Angelica was holding back her cries, knowing that she had previously been told to keep quiet and refrain from such noises. She did her best, despite the fact that her heart was aching. She had wanted to drink the seed of her Master.
It hurt her as much as the flaming whip, to see him spew the load onto the quivering lips of a girl who wanted none of it. The hot lava burned her scraped-raw organ of sex. She felt it stinging itself into her, and she gritted her teeth beneath the wide tape which stretched across her mouth.
Angelica had been instructed further in the art of being a slave. The act itself had taught her more than words could ever teach her, and yet the Master cemented the lesson when he caught his breath after the release of his seed.
"Did that hurt you, Angelica?" he asked. "Did it hurt you to see me give my liquid fire to this slave?"
"Yes, Master. It hurt me as much as the whip which you flailed on my buttocks and legs."
"Then you know that you are not yet ready to progress levels," he told her calmly. "If you were ready to be a slave for my pleasure, then you would have not felt the pain. It would have been alright with you. You wouldn't have cared."
"But how could I not care?" Angelica asked. She was tearful and sincere. "I love you, Master. Naturally I wanted to drink the sweet juices from your masterful rod of life."
"Yes, sweet Angelica, but you reveal that you were in a state of desire when you say that to me. You wanted my juices. Yes, that is understandable, of course. But you are to have no wants. Your only want and desire is my satisfaction. When you learn that, then you will be able to watch me satisfy myself, and you will only feel gratitude for my joy."
"Yes, Master. I understand," Angelica replied. She did understand, but it was an intellectual understanding. The true slave would learn from experience. She would not really know what he was speaking of until she had given herself up completely and had experienced the joy of being a total slave, living only for the Master's pleasure.
Indeed, that would be the only way that she would earn the golden platter and the candles and the band of Whipmasters dressed in robes, offering her body to the ultimate Master.
She would have to remain a virgin, do her services as a slave, and work her way up to the Master's feet!
Then she would understand true love. Then she would understand that the love she had learned about in the backwards world was not pure love. It was not true love, no matter how many romantic songs wailed that it was.
All those sentiments about caring and wanting were scorned by the cult of the black whip. The ultimate Master explained, "If you care about someone, you can't love that person."
It made no sense to Angelica. She hoped that someday she would understand.
CHAPTER SIX
Sheree was only fourteen years old. She was not the youngest girl to ever feel the whips of the Whipmasters, but she was perhaps the most lovely.
In the house of discipline, among cultists of the black whip, Sheree wore only freshly applied welts; the scarlet stripes of the angry whip.
Bondage was part of her now. She could hardly remember the days when she went without slave bracelets locked around her wrists. It was almost as if they had always been there, making her a slave for pure love.
She had been bought by the Masters, one of the few girls to be bought as a slave, handed down from other Masters. Her mouth had been opened and her teeth and gums looked at and felt with fingers, just as any man would look at a potential slave, or a piece of cattle.
She had been owned by a cruel Master who tortured and abused her, but the clink of her chains did not make the depths beyond her maidenhead stir. She had not become aroused by the feel of cold iron warming to her chafed flesh.
Her distress seemed to be for no purpose, because the whiplash was not explained to her. She was beaten for transgressions, but she had never been instructed in the art of slavery.
Now, at the house of the Masters, she-was learning what slavery was really about. When the whip curled about her curved flesh, she was told why she was being punished, and the bands of fire which the Masters gave her were all for a reason.
Now she wore her bruises proudly, feeling naked without them. .
The sight of old whip strokes on her peachy body aroused the Whipmasters. They gave her fresh strokes constantly. The put her in shackles and fed her their pain. She was like a dog who had been abused by her first master. She was frightened, but so very willing to learn and to love.
There was a Whipmaster named Culver. He was a handsome fellow with a very hairy body. Dark and olive-skinned, he was in striking contrasting to the pale-skinned, blue-eyed Sheree. The ultimate Master himself had spoken to Culver.
"Take care of Sheree. Give her what she deserves. She is soon to be presented to me on a golden platter."
A message from the ultimate Master was to be taken seriously. Culver replayed the words over and over again in his head. He was so impressed that the Master had actually addressed him individually.
He followed many of the teachings of the ultimate Master. Of course, the ultimate Master had proclaimed that all should worship him, and Culver was swept away by the powerful glory of the ultimate Master.
The Whipmasters did not live in barren cubicles, as the slavegirls did. They had small rooms, sparsely furnished, but of a cleaner, more inviting nature. For one, the rooms of the Whipmasters were equipped with mirrors. The slavegirls were forbidden to look at their own reflections, and mirrors were denied them.
The ultimate Master had ruled that depriving the girls of mirrors would be more painful for them than having them see their own battered reflections, or forcing them to watch as they were beaten.
It was enough to see the welts and the punishment on other girls. That was hurtful enough until a girl got over her feelings of the backward world.
Culver looked at himself in the mirror before setting out to begin on young Sheree. He smiled at his image, noticing the tiny dimple in his cheek, which made him so very dashing. And the cleft in his chin was appreciated by the girls. They loved to run their tongues across the sacred indentation and lick his cleft the way the tongue slides over the slit of a hairless pussy.
He was different from the other Whipsmaster's. He was smaller of stature, and not nearly as well-hung. He was certainly endowed in every way, including his sexual muscle, but the other men who served as Whipmasters were giants. They were cartoons of the macho man, while Culver was more sensitive, more real.
His main problem was said to be that he became soft in his punishment techniques and applications, if a girl impressed him in a certain way.
If she was innocent and gentle in any way, he didn't go so hard on her. He had compassion. He was understanding of her point of view, because he put himself in the other's place.
The other Whipmasters had been trained in that direction, too. A Whipmaster without sensitivity was not to be found in the cult of the black whip, for intelligence, sensitivity and other high qualities were essential in the ultimate Master's Whipsmen.
It was just that Culver had more of all of this than the other Whipmasters. He tended to follow his feelings a bit too much. Some whispered that he was even ruled by his feelings, and that, according to the ultimate Master, would be any man's downfall.
There had been stirrings among the other men from time to time. There had been complaints about Culver. It was said that he should go; that he should be dismissed because he was too kind to the slavegirls.
The ultimate Master himself had heard the whispers, and had been given direct reports. Once the whispers grew into shouts, when an angry Whipmaster complained bitterly to the ultimate Master. That one was thrown from grace.
The ultimate Master kept Culver there. He even gave Culver some of the more unusual assignments. Some of the most lovely girls were placed in Culver's care.
Culver looked at his cock in the mirror. He admired the red star which moved back and forth in the skin when he wrinkled the flesh of his shaft with his fingers and pulled it back and forth.
He took a brass cock-ring from his drawer, and warmed the ring in his palms before placing it on his person. The ring had been given to him by the ultimate Master. Not directly, but through a messenger. It had been measured to his specifications.
Culver slipped his penis through the ring, and then pulled his balls through, too. The ring slipped up to the hairy patch, and he held it close.
He would stay aware of his cock when he felt the ring up against his groin.
Next he donned his utility belt, closing it in front so that the brass buckle glinted in the light. Gleaming black boots were waiting for his feet. They were highly polished with the tongues of young virgins. Half-moons dotted the tops of each leather boot. The decorations were placed there by the teeth of young girls who stayed down at his feet while he flogged them.
Biting into the leather was the only restraint he allowed them, and still they strained to raise their golden buttocks higher and higher, until the perfect globes met the stinging bite of the whip, repeatedly.
He really taught them how to give themselves up unto him, because he was such an appealing bait. They swallowed it all.
Closing his robe around him he walked down the hallway, into the corridor where the girls slept and were taught about pain and love. He heard the clicking of his left boot, circled from toe to sole with chain.
The cold chain links had pressed into the bodies of misbehaving slavegirls, and had served for the connections with hooks attached to the discipline-wear of girls who needed to be fastened to the foot of the Master.
He was on his way to see Sheree.
Wanting to be as mean as so many of the guarding Whipmasters, Culver unbolted the door to Sheree's small room without knocking. He caught her on her cot, in the midst of an act of masturbation.
The offense of masturbation, as far as the teachings of the ultimate Master was concerned, involved the pleasure that a girl gave to herself. It was, by nature, a selfish act, and although men were permitted such indulges, females were not. Not in the cult of the black whip, anyway. The girls had been told that they wouldn't be able to feel total satisfaction from such a selfish act.
Other Whipmasters would have started their flogging at once upon seeing such a sight. But Culver was moved.
He watched the beautiful, sandy-haired girl, and he wanted to soothe her wounds, the wounds which had been placed upon her. She immediately reminded Culver of another girl, a girl he had loved when he lived in the backwards world.
Culver had never quite gotten over her. Every time he saw a slavegirl in the cult house who was blessed with sandy blonde hair and a sweet smile, he thought of the gentle girl he had loved.
That, more than anything, was the reason Culver was gentle with his slavegirls. He felt that their delicate flesh deserved tender care. They needed discipline, that he strongly believed. He felt that they needed it for their satisfaction. But he wanted to be certain that he did it with love.
Sheree brought that emotion out in him. He wanted to protect and love her from the first. Her fingers were damp with her own golden syrups, those thick female fluids which might have existed in many a cunt, but which were uniquely Sheree's to the taste.
She removed her slender fingers from the moist honey pot, but not with any rush or fear. She recognized the goodness in the eyes of Culver, and she trusted him from that moment on.
Not that there weren't moments when the trust was questioned. She had difficulty trusting people, due to the abuse of her first master, outside the cult of the black whip. He had said he loved her, and at the time she'd believed it.
But later, when she looked at the deep punishment marks upon her once-flawless body, she resented him. She hated him. She wanted his pain when he gave it, but later she wished the marks would fade.
The pain was not intense any longer, but it remained in each sore spot, just as the pain of any blow is said to stay within the body.
Culver could see all that within her. He could see it in the expression which stayed on her young face. There was sadness there and fear, and he didn't want to give her any more. He wanted to support her, and to make her feel good about herself.
He didn't want to demean her.
At the same time, he knew that her happiness could only come with her submission. That was what they had both been taught. That was what they were both trained to accept fully, without reservation.
He was confused.
Female masturbation in the rooms was strongly prohibited. It was a serious offense, for it rocked the very nature of the training. These girls were being trained to receive their pleasure from the giving of pleasure to men.
And yet, as soon as Culver saw the girl there on her cot, when he saw her fingers inside the lips of her sex, his own sex organ began to throb. Blood came into it and it grew fat and heavy. It grew so that it could penetrate her. That was nature's way, and nature's way seemed now to defy even the commands of the ultimate Master.
Culver knew that it was his duty to punish Sheree for her offense. But all he really wanted was to make love to her.
He solved his quandary by giving her sex as punishment. It was an act which went against the rules of the ultimate Master. The ultimate Master had said that sex was to be deprived girls who did not obey. But this Whipmaster, Culver, was going to give her sex as punishment. It was peculiar, but he had to try it.
"Take your hands away from that hole," he told her. "You know that frigging is prohibited by the ultimate Master, and punishable by whipping."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Whipmaster," Sheree sighed, and she smiled a little Mona Lisa smiled. She smiled that smile always, just because she had been doing it for years. It was almost a nervous reaction which came to her lips in many situations.
And it captivated Culver. He looked at that innocent face. She was so young and so lovely. Her lips were full and shaped so that they just invited the lips of another to kiss them and kiss them again, but gently and lovingly.
Her eyes were long-lashed, and now they were like slits, because Sheree was feeling passion, first with her own five finger exercise, and now with the entrance of Culver, who had come to take her in the night.
"Attack me," the girl begged. "Attack me!"
Culver's rod was like a weapon and he felt the energy in it. He felt like a mountain of strength beside the fragile, pale-skinned blonde.
Brandishing his weapon, he climbed on top of the cot and straddled her body. She began to writhe below him, tossing her head back on the dirty, feather pillow. She closed her eyes and waited for him to take her.
Her breasts were small, but Culver's fingers found them and massaged them, squeezing the tan nipples as he went. Then he held the girl down on the bed by her wrists, and placed his organ at the entrance to her girlhood.
There was little lubrication other than the cunt juice which she had provoked with her frigging and he felt the tight passageway open at the insistence of his force.
Sheree closed her eyes more tightly, then, and tried to stifle her cries. This was punishment for the girl. She knew what was happening, and she didn't stop the Whipmaster.
She was getting his tool inside of her. And he was pushing at the maidenhead! In outright defiance of the strict rule of the ultimate Master, Sheree's maidenhead was being taken. That membrane which defined her virginity was about to be broken.
All of her work as a slavegirl in training for the ultimate Master would have been for nothing as soon as the hymen was broken like an eggshell. She would find herself pinned to the cot like a butterfly on a pin, and all of her dreams for happiness in the realm of the ultimate Master would be over.
They both knew this. Both Culver and Sheree realized that this act was going against the teachings of the black whip cult. If they were discovered, they would both be banished from the cult or worse! God and the ultimate Master only knew what the punishment would be for this act.
But they had to do it. Their good sense and their devotion to the teachings of the cult were fading fast. The stiffness of the man's erection, and the undulations of the girl's cherry pot, had no conscience.
They had to have their satisfaction, even if it was against the Master's way.
Culver looked down at the girl's smooth legs and thighs. Although she was slender from her waist up, her hips were full and her rear was meaty. Those white hips received a few slaps from Culver, who had been trained to find pleasure in the administration of hurt.
Each slap showed on the girl's body, despite the light force exerted. Her flesh was pale and easily marked. The slaps caused her breathing to go heavy and a low moan began to escape from her throat.
She wrapped her legs around the waist of the man entering her. She looked up into his face and begged him to plug her deeply.
He pressed his weight forward into her. Deeper and deeper he went against the thick hymen. Hers was not that easily broken. It was resistant. But after a smack to her thigh, the mighty tool plunged through.
It had happened. Her virginity was gone in that instant. The flow of blood was taking place and with it, all of Sheree's work as a slavegirl went for naught.
He almost felt sorry that he had allowed himself to go all the way with her, despite the intense warmth and wetness of her depths. But it had been done, and since there was certainly no turning back from that point on, he gave her a fucking which made her know the joy of that kind of sex.
He arched his pelvis and gave her his manhood in and out until she cried.
The sound of their bodies having sex on the cot aroused the sleeping Angelica, who was in the adjoining room. She awoke in the darkness and stared at the barren ceiling. She looked into the darkness and heard the sighs and moans and sobs from the room next to hers.
She assumed that Sheree was receiving discipline. Even at the late hour of the night, it was not unusual to hear discipline being administered and received.
Still, there was something different about these sounds from Sheree. There was a difference which Angelica could not define, and yet, as another girl, she could sense it.
Then she heard the rhythmic groans of a man's voice. It came in a steady rhythm, and it was louder each fifth time than the four times before or after.
Angelica's curiosity was aroused even more than her clitoris was at these sounds. Since it was happening in the room adjoining hers, she placed her ear up against the wall to hear more clearly.
Still she was unable to confirm her belief that this was something more than a punishment session. She wanted very badly to open the peephole and take a look, but she feared that she was being tested for some reason or other. She thought, perhaps, that she would be punished for looking through the peephole.' Perhaps curiosity was a sin in the cult. She hadn't heard about that, but anything was possible in this place.
The sounds were getting louder and more frenzied, despite an obvious attempt to keep them hushed. It was the attempt to keep the sounds quiet which aroused Angelica to the point that she could hold back no longer.
She heard Sheree moaning softly, saying something like "Take me all the way. I don't care about the ultimate Master, now. All that matters is you and I together like this."
Angelica couldn't be certain that she had heard every word correctly, but it did seem as if that was what was being said. And she thought she heard the man's voice saying, "I know this is wrong, and we may risk even greater punishment for doing it, but Sheree, I want to feel that heat of your inner soul around my trembling organ."
Angelica opened the peephole and stared in. What she saw confirmed her greatest fears for Sheree and the Whipmaster. It was true.
The insertion of an erect penis into the quivering quim of a virgin was permitted by the ultimate Master, as long as the erection did not go beyond the protective shield of the maidenhead.
However, Angelica could see the full length of the man's organ when he pulled it nearly out of the girl each time on his back strokes. It was glistening, and it was long. When it went back in, it was obvious to Angelica that it was penetrating into the bottom of the young girl's pussy.
And every fifth stroke given Sheree, went very deeply. Angelica could see the hair from the Whipmaster's crotch get soaked with cuntal lubrication each time. She knew that the man and the girl had broken the rules.
Angelica's heart was pounding and she felt fevered. The sight was arousing, but it was forbidden. The combination of elements made it all the more exciting for Angelica to see.
She hoped that Sheree and Culver would not see her peeping on them. That would involve her in the terrible act, and she didn't want to risk further punishment. As it was, she had been beaten severely several times, and she was said to be making good progress as a first level slave.
Angelica remained about the hole which magnified the sight she looked at. It was a strange phenomenon, but the sex organs, in full view through the hole, did seem to be very close to Angelica's eye; so close, she could almost reach out and touch them.
It was too much for her. Knowledge of what she saw was maddening for her. She felt that it was her duty to report this to one of the Whipmasters, or even to the ultimate Master, himself.
She hated to tell on another girl, knowing that it might just as easily have been she who had given in to sexual desire and thus relinquished all rights to the ultimate Master and the satisfaction of the cult.
But if she was to serve the ultimate Master, she felt that she should report such a thing to him. Besides, it might elevate her stature as a slave if she did.
This was too much for her to consider at the moment. She stood up from her kneeling position. This placed her vagina at the level of the peephole.
In the next room, Sheree continued to take the sexual gifts of the young Whipmaster, Culver. Their young bodies were moving together, and sometimes the pattern of their arousal would become intense, causing sweat to pour off them, and their breaths to come quickly and deeply.
Then they would rest for a short while, while Sheree covered the Whipmaster's body with wet kisses. His organ remained embedded deep in her velvet-lined box.
Culver now knew why the vagina was called a velvet-lined box. It was so soft, but not really like velvet, because there was a dampness to the warm softness. It was like wet velvet, really, hosed down with the nectar of youthful femininity.
He pulled his prong out of her young passage and fed it to her.
"Clean it off," he told her. "Those are your virgin juices on there," he told her. "If I have my way, and we live through this, I'll fuck you many more times, and you will clean my tool with your mouth many more times. But never again will you be able to taste the cherry juice I give you now."
The fourteen-year-old doll sucked the rod clean. She was warm to the touch all over her sweet body, but her mouth was hot. She gave the man a loving suck job, for she did worship his body. In that respect, she had been perfectly trained.
In that respect, she was a perfect slave; a cock-loving slavegirl.
She didn't need the ropes or the lengths of clothesline around her breasts. She didn't need the chains, or the encouragement of the whip. She was willing to be a slave to his cock, and to do everything she could to make his cock feel good.
While she sucked, he held the sides of her face with his hands. He snaked his fingers down to her slavegirl mouth and inserted them into her as she sucked. It made it more difficult for her to keep her lips wrapped around him, but she didn't stop. Instead, she worked all the harder to satisfy him fully.
When his fingers were wet with the saliva from her mouth, he used them to run through her hair and to fondle the delicate tissues inside her ears. But he wanted more. He had taken this girl sexually, and he wanted all of her.
He pulled out of her and turned her over so that her body was prone on the cot. First he allowed her to continue sucking his cock for a while, because she was begging for that so. He sat propped against the wall and spread his legs.
He could look down at her perfect buns wiggling around as she thrashed her newly fucked sex organ on the cot and sucked at his cock. Even her toes were curling, that was how excited she was. He thought she was the most passionate girl he had ever known.
The cheeks of her buttocks looked like a heart to him. A great big valentine heart. On the right cheek, just beyond the crack, a rash of red marks appeared. This was the evidence of a previous beating.
Even though he didn't want to be responsible for hurting this girl, the sight of the marks appealed to him. It meant to him that she had taken abuse from other men. It caused his erection to grow stiffer in her mouth, just to know that she had been strong enough to take such a heavy workout. The idea that there were Whipmasters who were that dominant and forceful, appealed to him, too.
He began to thrust his erection down into the softness of her throat, causing her to gag and nearly choke on it. He kneaded the flesh of her girlish globes, feeling the dampness in the crack between them.
He pulled out of her throat and climbed over again. This time he went down on her behind, spreading the cheeks, biting them, and going for the hole between them.
He looked at it, the hole, and saw the lines of it. He ran his wet tongue around the circular pattern, and Sheree arched her body up for the stroking of his tongue muscle. She began to moan again.
He licked her hole and felt that the puckered rosebud of delicate flesh was like a tiny pussy, all puckered and equipped with a variety of soft and lovely folds of sensitive flesh.
Extending his tongue muscle, he licked the entire region of her privates. He started back on the pussy which was peeking out between the lower part of her cheeks and the upper thighs. His tongue then caressed all the girl flesh between Sheree's pussy and her ass.
The entire area was sensitive to his touch, and once it was slicked with saliva, it responded all the more. He worked his tongue along the entire area, making certain to press down into the brown asshole when he reached it.
He continued on up after sinking into the hole for a moment. He licked the crack, and settled his chin in the hole. He pressed his chin into the hole, as if burrowing into it. Since his chin was thicker than his tongue, the slightly pointed, slightly rounded chin was taken in a little bit more each time by the clinging, grasping asshole of the passionate young teenager.
When she was able to, Sheree ran her hands all over the body of the Whipmaster. She wanted to explore his flesh, and she wanted to give him stimulation all over, simultaneously. There was more to sucking a cock than simply using one's mouth. She used her hands, as well, fondling his balls, stroking his hairy thighs, pulling at the pubic fur.
She even used her feet, running them up and down his inner thighs, or over his own feet, or wherever she could reach in her position at the moment.
But as Culver explored the fine blonde hair which surrounded her privates, her hands were free, up above her head. When Culver's tongue entered her, she had to hold onto something, simply so she wouldn't fly off the cot in high excitement.
She reached out to either side of her, and the room was so tiny, she was able to touch the walls on both sides of her.
Her fingers found the peephole, and from there they found the soft wetness which was pressing against it. It was the pussy of Angelica!
At the very first touch, it was not possible for Sheree to know what she was feeling. She thought that it might be a mouth, or ... . could it be?
She recognized the undulating membranes of female desire, because they were like the membranes of her undulating sex organ. She felt the fine and tightly stretched membrane of protection which had just been taken from her own sex channel.
Sheree knew that the girl on the other side was writhing against the wall, her breasts pressed up against the hardness of it. She fingered the delicate slit and heard the obvious arousal on the other side.
She didn't tell Culver the Whipmaster what she was feeling there, because she didn't want to frighten the man. If he suspected that anyone had observed them through the peephole, engaging in an act which was strictly forbidden by the ultimate Master, it might have stopped him from the luxurious tongue lapping he was giving her.
But the feeling of the girl-organ on the other side of the wall, and the feeling of the man at her bottom, was causing Sheree to enter a new phase of arousal. She felt her climax approaching.
She had been trained at the house of the black whip to hold off her orgasm until her male sex partner had given her a sign that he wanted her to climax. She had been told that she could experience her ultimate satisfaction from giving pleasure to males, and that her clitoris had nothing to do with it.
But now she wondered about that. How could a male say that to her? A male didn't have the sexual equipment which she had. Only she, as a female, could know what would bring her pleasure.
She became selfish. She had broken one of the highest rules of the cult by losing her virginity to a Whipmaster. They had both sinned, in the eyes of the ultimate Master.
But even a man as high as the ultimate Master couldn't tell Sheree what brought her the ultimate pleasure. Not as far as she was concerned as she felt the stirrings inside of her. She had kept that place sacred and virginal for fourteen years. But now all barriers were broken, along with the hymen.
She didn't care about her training as a slave. She disregarded everything she had been taught as a slavegirl of the cult of the black whip.
In fact, all of her submissiveness flowed from her body, with her virgin blood. She pulled her finger from Angelica's hole and tried to wriggle her bottom away from the mouth of the licking, biting, probing Whipmaster.
Culver thought that she was just showing her female muscle power, at first. He forced her back down on the cot with his mouth. His chin was inside the ass of the girl, and he began to bite her over the red belt markings on her cheeks.
He held her down with his hands; his fingers digging in her flesh.
That wasn't even enough to keep her down. Sheree thrashed, using all of her strength. She managed to escape the grasp of the Whipmaster. She jumped on top of him! He was stunned. Never had any slavegirl shown such determination at that stage in her progression to slavery.
But she was now on top. She went for his feet and began tickling them. She held him in place as best as her fourteen-year-old body could.
* * *
Hearing the change in the sexual activity on the other side of the wall, Angelica moved back down on her knees to observe the happenings. She was stunned, too.
Culver wasn't resisting! He was letting the girl take over.
Sheree removed the belt from around Culver's waist. She opened the utility pouch and took out a thin riding crop. She began to thrash the man's strong back with it!
This behavior was highly unusual inside the doors of the cult house. Culver didn't fight her off. She remained on the cot and allowed her to whip him.
He began to let out man-cries. His manly voice was floating down the hallway, waking up several of the sleeping slavegirls. They heard the sound of the cracking whip, which was not uncommon, but the man-cries were making it obvious that it was a male receiving the abuse.
Angelica watched in amazement for a while, but the sight repulsed her. She was able to remain silent when the young Whipsman had penetrating intercourse with Sheree. But this was going too far in the breaking of the rules.
This reversed the entire system of regulations.
Since Sheree's room was located at the very end of the corridor, there was only peephole in the room, the one through which Angelica had been observing. The intensity of Culver's groaning and grunting was growing, alerting many of the girls, although only Angelica was certain of what was going on, since she had the benefit of the peephole.
Suddenly, it became obvious to Angelica that there was only thing for her to do. She had to report this incident to the authorities of the black whip. It was one thing to spy through the peephole. That might earn her punishment strokes.
But it was another thing to ignore something like this. There would be no way that she could get away with saying that she slept through such a display of noise without looking through the peephole.
Angelica had not been allowed to sleep without bondage. One of her wrists was secured to the cot springs by a heavy brass ring. The bondage allowed her to move only from her supine position to a sitting, kneeling, and standing one. Therefore, she was able to achieve those positions at the peephole, but she was not able to do so without straining. When she stood, the cot rose with her.
She was, however, unable to get to the door, which was bolted, anyway. But she did have her emergency bell.
The emergency bell in each girl's room was wired to the chamber of her personal Whipmaster. Angelica had been given a strict instruction about the bell. She had been warned that she would be flogged until the blood flowed if she used the bell to disturb her Whipmaster regarding an event which he considered to be less than an emergency.
The emergency bells were used very seldom in the house because of that warning.
But Angelica watched the aggressiveness of the girl who was actually dominating a Whipmaster. Angelica had learned enough in her passage to slavery to know that this was an emergency.
She rang the bell, and prayed that her Whipmaster would arrive in time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
All the young slavegirls bound to their cots felt their hearts in their mouths, so to speak. Their instincts had their young cunnies quivering, for they knew that something was happening in the house of the black whip, and it was something that would have terrible repercussions on them all.
The sound of the whip continued to crack, and the man-cries echoed through the corridor known among the girls who lived there as the corridor of pain.
Then the feet of a man were heard trotting down the hall. The emergency board in his chamber indicated that the emergency call had come from Angelica's room, but the sounds from the room on the end, the room beside Angelica's room, caused the Whipmaster to head straight for that door.
He barged in to find the act against the house in all its depraved glory. He called for the ultimate Master, not afraid of waking the ultimate Master since the flagrant act was such a crime, according to the rules of this house of discipline.
The ultimate Master came down the corridor minutes later, having been alerted to the need by the Whipmaster's emergency bell, the buzzer located in his utility belt.
He did not get to see the whipping, which had stopped by this time, but he did see the back of Culver the Whipmaster, with the whip markings on it. And he saw the virgin blood on the cot.
"You have chosen to disregard all of the teachings of the cult!" the ultimate Master boomed. His voice carried down the hall, and all of the girls trembled to hear it, though they trembled not nearly as much as young Sheree.
Culver tried to be strong and protective.
"Ultimate Master," he said, "I am your humble slave. I understand the teachings of the black whip cult. But I feel that there may be exceptions. Sheree is different. She will respond to love. Punishment does not work with her."
"Punishment is love," the ultimate Master replied. "That is what your kind cannot comprehend. But it is the key to obedience and to the working of the world. The world outside those doors," he said, pointing to the atmosphere beyond the house, "is backwards! And it doesn't work! Just look around you. Look at the things that are happening out there. Look at the war and poverty and destruction. Look at the rebellion and unhappiness. The world lacks the discipline of love."
"But this girl ... " Culver protested.
"This girl needs to be dominated. She had no purpose in life, until she came to us. We bought her, body and soul. She is ours to train, so that under the influence of our discipline, she can find herself. The true nature of every female is to be submissive and subservient to the male."
Culver realized that he had gone in reverse of the training and its goals.
"As a Whipmaster you have been trusted and trained to create submissive girls from spoiled, directionless ones. You have been given the task of using punishment to train and mold these girls. But it is obvious that you have chosen to ignore all of this," the ultimate Master said. "You have abused your power. You have indulged in sex for your own pleasure, rather than using it as a tool in this girl's training. And you have allowed the girl to seek her own pleasure in an aggressive manner. You have deprived her of her happiness as a submissive."
Culver hung his head. He had followed his own dictates, ignoring the demands of his position as a Whipmaster. He had also ignored the vows he had taken; vows which bound him to the teachings of the black whip cult, as much as the handcuffs bound the slavegirls to the walls and floors and cots.
"For this, there is only punishment for you," the ultimate Master announced gravely. "You are to be banned from the house of the black whip. You shall spend the rest of your days out in the outside world. We are giving you your freedom, Culver, because that is the ultimate punishment we can give."
Culver looked at Sheree. He thought that he loved her. But now he was confused. He had wanted to protect her from what he believed to be abuse. Her body was so smooth and tender. He couldn't bear the thought of the whip biting into her.
"Ultimate Master," Culver said softly, "I understand that I am to be banished from the house of the black whip. But please, Sir, answer me this question."
"Go ahead, you may ask it," the ultimate Master replied, "however, if you are asking to take Sheree with you, the answer will be no. You must go. She will stay. She is still young, and she can still learn to submit to what is best for her. After you are dismissed, I shall tell her what her punishment will be for this offense, for she is responsible for it as much as you are."
Culver swallowed hard. He felt terrible knowing that Sheree would be receiving much more abuse than he would ever have given her, all because he wanted to spare her. It was a backward world, he agreed. He tried to do something, and he achieved the opposite of what he hoped for.
"Ultimate Master," Culver said, beginning another question. "Where did I go wrong?"
"You did not fully accept the teachings of the black whip cult. You started to return to the thinking of the outside world, forgetting that the outside doesn't work, while life within the confines of this house works for the slavegirls and their Masters. We have our own rules, and they work. That is the proof of the power of my teachings.
"You began to care about this girl, instead of loving her, and I have told you that there is a difference between loving and caring. You can't love a slavegirl if you care about her."
"But that is my confusion," Culver replied, his voice cracking, his eyes tearful. "If you love a girl, you care about her."
"No, that is where you fall under the domination of the outside world. If you follow the teachings of me, your ultimate Master, you will be showing your love for the slavegirls. You will be training them for the happiness they can only achieve by serving males.
"Look at that wall," the ultimate Master continued, pounding on the wall of the tiny room. "It doesn't care about the girls. It doesn't care if they have long hair or short. That wall doesn't care if the girls cry or not. It doesn't care if their beatings bring welts to the girls' flesh. All it does is keep its commitments as a wall. Just as you were instructed to keep your commitments as a Whipmaster.
"But you didn't trust my teachings and you must hand over your utility belt and leave this house forever. It will be your fate to suffer the damnation of the free world. The free world is not free. It is backwards."
Culver looked at Sheree one last time. "I'm sorry," he told her.
He handed over his utility belt and its contents. Then he was escorted, naked, from the house. Two Whipmasters took him to the front door, and booted him out into the night, which was growing into morning and lightness.
Culver wandered down Lagoon Road. He had no place to go. His life had no direction. He had no aim any longer. Even as he took his first steps from the house of the black whip, he regretted what was happening.
But he could never return.
* * *
Everyone was gathered for the ritual.
The ultimate Master waited until the night of the next full moon to perform the ritual of punishment on Sheree, and the ritual of reward on Angelica.
Angelica had progressed in her journey as a slave. By reporting the incident she observed through the peephole, she had earned the right to wear the brand of the black whip cult. The red star was going to be put on her left breast.
As for Sheree, she had been beaten severely and kept in the solitude of a lower dungeon. She had been given only water with a bit of lemon juice in it. This was enough to keep her alive, but barely.
By the third day of the forced fast, Sheree was feeling light-headed. She began to hallucinate, imagining that the very boards from the floors were rising to whack her repeatedly across the flanks.
She had been told that she would receive a torturous punishment on the night that Angelica would receive her red star of merit. Her captive wrists ached from the tightness of the handcuffs around her wrists. She feared what would come to her.
The ultimate Master had told her that there were several offenses for which she would be punished. He had said that they would be administered not by a Whipmaster, but by him, the ultimate Master!
"I will not tax your tolerance," he told her. "I will break it! And still I will give you more. But you will kiss the whip because that whip shall teach you lessons you will never forget. Your body will provide a feast for the whip; a ripe offering for the lash. And each stroke will train you further, so that you will never again make the mistakes you made that night."
She knew that she had made it impossible for herself to ever receive the manna of the ultimate Master. She would never be presented to him on a golden platter, because she had wasted her virginity on the weak Whipmaster, Culver.
But there was hope for her happiness, the ultimate Master had told her, because she would be receiving her punishment before the entire congregation of the black whip cult. The sins would be absolved from her body, washed away with pain and tears, just as they had been put in her with the lips and tongue of Culver.
It seemed that she had been down in the damp, dank dungeon for an eternity. Without food, she became dizzy and deluded. It was as if they had fed her drugs, although they would never do that at the cult house. They had natural means of making her crazy. Food deprivation was one of them.
She had been bound to a post which stood in the center of the otherwise barren room. Her hands had been secured one to the other with handcuffs, silver handcuffs, clicked to the tightest notch to keep her wrists snug within them.
By the second day in isolated bondage, her wrists began to swell. The circle of silver around her wrists felt as if it were in her flesh.
Being bound in an upright position forced the girl to sleep while standing. She had thought that she had been roughing it when she stayed in the cubicle of a room. But at least there she had a cot.
There was a heavy steel door which enclosed her. A small box on the door, with bars, made it possible for passing Whipmasters to look in on her from time to time, just to make sure that she was still standing against the post.
Not that many Whipmasters ventured down into the cavernous depths of the dungeon, and so the girl was completely alone most of the time. If a Whipmaster did go down to enter her cell of bondage, it was usually to flog her.
The whippings stirred the girl to a state a awakeness. She was informed that she was being whipped to cleanse her soul. She was informed that she had lost the right to be presented to the ultimate Master, and she was instructed to tell each Whipmaster why she had lost the privilege.
That she did, and she was punished each time she presented a point. She was most severely punished for losing her virginity to a guard, and for being a dominant partner in a whipping experience.
"It is only for spoiled girls to taste the whip," one of the Whipmasters told her while he flogged her from her knees upward. The Whipmasters had been instructed to keep away from damaging her beyond recognition, or anything like that, despite the temptation to punish her severely for her recent sins. That would be taken care of by the ultimate Master in his own way, and the Whipmasters were only to give her reminders of what was awaiting her.
The night of the full moon came, and it was time for the dual ritual involving Sheree, the naughty slavegirl, and Angelica, the slavegirl who had earned her red star of the black whip cult.
There was electricity in the air, for the full moon seemed to have a power over the girls. It made them all tremble, although many of them didn't realize why they were in such a high state of excitement and arousal.
The ultimate Master knew of the powers of the moon. The waxing and waning of the moon caused changes in the tides, and if it had such power of the expansive oceans, certainly it had that power over the girls of the black whip cult.
One of the highest Whipmasters came down to the dungeon to take Sheree off for punishment before the congregation. He was attended by six slavegirls who were given purple robes for the night's ritual. It was strange to see the girls clothed to that extent, after becoming so used to the near-nudity of their tattered loincloths.
Sheree had been dozing while standing. She was dreaming of her future, wondering what her punishments would be.
She heard the sound of a key in the lock on the silver handcuffs which restrained her and bound her to the post. The Whipmaster, also in a purple robe, opened the lock and began unclicking the handcuff.
It felt so good to be out of the tight cuffs for the first time in what seemed to be nearly a week. The Whipmaster massaged the circulation back into the wrists of the girl, and told her not to fear.
"You're punishments will be severe," he told her, "but it will be all for your ultimate good. You'll feel much better after you've been disciplined."
"Yes, I should think so," Sheree replied weakly. She didn't have to say that she felt terrible at the moment, and that she couldn't imagine feeling any worse.
As she walked in the custody of the Whipmaster, with several purple-robed slavegirls beside her, she wondered what mental thoughts she could use to help herself withstand the upcoming punishments.
If she thought about the stated fact that the punishment would make her feel better, and would be for her own good, she feared that she would be going against the teachings of the ultimate Master. She was supposed to live for her own pleasure. She was supposed to receive her pleasure in the giving of herself.
Culver flashed into her mind, and she had an answer. She would take this punishment for him. Culver was gone, and probably he was suffering out in the outside world. But if she took this punishment thinking of Culver, she would be giving herself up for pure love. It would give her the willpower to take the punishment without whimpering. It might even get her to start begging for the punishment, which was something the dominants liked to hear, as long as she didn't get aggressive about her demands, as some of the girls had under those circumstances.
Sheree was led into the chapel. She could hear the chanting growing louder as she approached, and she knew that the ultimate Master would be waiting for her.
All eyes were on her as she entered the room. She glanced around, looking for a familiar face. All she saw was the face of a girl she had never seen before. She assumed that it was a new recruit, another young novice in need of training.
Sheree bowed down before the ultimate Master, who stood behind the alter with his strong arms folded in front of him. A serious expression rested on his face.
"You know that you are here to be given a full dose of punishing discipline for your sins," he said.
"Yes, Master," she replied, her voice trembling. "I have abused the rules I was trained to keep. Please give me what I deserve."
"You know that the cult of the black knows exactly how much you deserve, and we give you that much, and no more; no less. All that you receive you shall deserve, and you will find yourself after you receive it. You will have direction. You have a purpose in life."
"To give myself to the dominant sex," Sheree replied.
"That is correct," the Master answered. "It seems that you forgot about that recently. You forgot about a lot of the rules of our clan. Either you forgot, or you deliberately chose to break the rules. Which is it?"
Sheree was ashamed. She hated to admit it, but she had to be honest. This was all for her own good. Besides, the eyes and ears of the entire congregation were upon her. She had to speak the truth and take the consequences.
"I was swayed by the stirrings of my body. I responded with my body instead of with my mind and soul. I should have known that momentary pleasure wouldn't quench my lusts. I was trained to serve for love, and I thought that it was love which was making me give my virginity to Culver."
"Nothing can make you do anything," the Master announced to Sheree and the congregation. "You make all moves of your own accord. It is for you to receive the education which teaches you the proper path to take. Then you will know how to move most appropriately. You will move for your ultimate Master, and for his black whip."
Sheree cringed, for the black whip was dangling from the Master's hand. It was the black whip which had become the name of the cult. It was the one which hurt the most; the one which had made slavegirls bite the dust. It was the one which only the ultimate Master used, as only he knew how.
But Sheree thought about Culver and she felt fortified. She would take it for Culver, and that way she would be taking the dominance for a man. That was what her life was all about.
"Your disregard for the teachings of the cult was flagrant," the ultimate Master announced. "If you were not a beautiful teenaged girl, we would have banished you along with Culver. But that much you have been spared."
"Thank you, Master," Sheree said softly. "I know that freedom is really bondage, according to the outside world."
"That is correct," he told her. "As for your punishments," he continued, "you must, receive punishment that will serve as a reminder for a long time to come. There is more training for you to go through before you'll be happy, and we must keep you constantly reminded of your direction throughout the period of your training. If you regressed again, it might mean expulsion."
Sheree didn't really know what the word expulsion meant, but she knew she didn't want it happening to her. She could tell just by listening to the Master's voice that it was far worse than any punishment would be.
"So we have the obligation to punish you severely, while keeping your body in good enough shape for you to continue as a slavegirl here," the Master said. He felt that he should explain the situation to her before starting the actual ritual of punishment.
"So to punish you well in a manner which will linger with you, your ultimate Master has devised a personalized set of punishments for you. You are to submit totally, knowing that the punishments are the punishments of pure love. If we didn't love you, we wouldn't try to correct you like this."
"I understand, ultimate Master," the naked slave replied. "I am ready to take whatever it is you are going to give me. I am grateful that you see fit to punish me like this. It is kind of you, and I appreciate it."
"Good. Then the ritual shall begin."
With that proclamation, a cymbal was struck, and the ceremony began. Naked slavegirls danced around the chapel, showing their charms and the red stars on their bosoms.
A Whipmaster in a purple robe withdrew a pair of silver sheers. As the purple-robed slavegirls who had escorted Sheree into the chapel held the girl in place, the Whipmaster brought the sharp scissors up to Sheree's head.
She felt his hand at the roots of her long, blonde hair. He pulled the strands away from her head. They extended quite a distance from her scalp when stretched like that, since her hair had grown below her shoulders.
Sheree had always been proud of her long hair. She received many compliments on it. But the Whipmaster knew that. So did the ultimate Master. That was why the beautiful hair was being trimmed away.
Sheree didn't dare utter a sound of protest, although she couldn't keep the tears from her eyes. Culver had even told her how beautiful her hair was.
The ultimate Master spoke. "This bondage material is better than twine, better than rope, better than chain and steel. You are to be bound with the locks of your own hair."
The silver sheers found the very ends of the hair, and snipped. Slavegirls gathered the strands together, and tied the ends with purple ribbons.
"The hair is a very strong material," the ultimate Master said. "It will bind you as tightly as chain. And when you see your head, or feel it, you will be reminded of this particular bondage, long after it is no longer tied around your body."
It had taken Sheree years to grow her hair to that length. She felt the scissors giving her a crew-cut. Nothing but stubble was left on her head.
And the long strands of hair became like ropes, for the bondage of Sheree.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Slowly, the Whipmaster unbuckled the utility belt which was fastened around his waist. Sheree watched as he pulled back the leather and slipped it through the brass buckle.
He pulled it out from under his robe and held it up for the gathered throng to see. The brass buckle glinted in their eyes, as it was hit by the light from a myriad of candles surrounding the altar on which the ritual of punishment was taking place for the naked slavegirl.
As the Whipmaster unfurled the leather from his waist and held it up for the congregation to behold, Sheree wondered if he planned to use it on her in any way. His movements were so slow and so deliberate, she was left wondering.
That was exactly what the man wanted. He wanted to keep her nerve ends tingling in suspense. He wanted to slap the nerve endings and make them tingle with burning pain, but only if he could take her by surprise at first.
He toyed with the leather, running it through his hands; slapping it against his palm, as if to test the weight of its blow.
Meanwhile, other Whipmasters, also dressed in the ceremonial robes, stepped forward to secure Sheree with the special ropes they had cut from her head. The long strands were used to tie her wrists together behind her.
The men forced her wrists up high on her back as they tied them together. They wanted to be certain that the buttocks of the young girl were in full view. "Your bottom is full and meaty. Those flanks will take a lot of abuse," the Whipmaster whispered in the girl's ear as he fastened her. He had noticed that she was slender from the waist up, but that her buttocks were full, and developed like the bottom of a mature woman.
"Can you allow me to lower my wrists a bit," Sheree asked. "It feels like you've got a wrestling hold on me the way you've forced my arms up on my back," she whispered.
"I don't want your hands in the way of the target," he told her sternly. "If you lower your hands, they'll be beaten along with your buttocks," he added.
Sheree decided that she would have to bear the pain of the uncomfortable bondage position. Once the whipping began, the strain on her arms would seem like nothing in comparison to the fire of the whip.
The long golden hair was tied around Sheree's ankles, binding them as one would bind an animal ready for slaughter. Her arms and legs now formed one sleek line with the rest of her form. Nothing stood out on the girl except for the two ripe globes of her breasts. The candle light illuminated her entire body in a warm hue.
The Whipmaster who had removed his utility belt placed his hands on Sheree's naked body. With his right hand supporting her front and his left hand at her back, he bent her forward, doubling her over so that her breasts dangled downward. If her hands and arms had been free, she would have been touching her toes.
"This position will raise your posterior," the Whipmaster told her. "And it will place your gaze where it belongs." Her eyes were directed to the floor, of course. She saw only her own feet, and the feet of the ultimate Master who watched as she was placed in position for punishment.
The Whipmaster began by caressing the girl's body with die belt. He teased her with the buckle end of it, running the cold brass against her young flesh. She shuddered when the cold brass touched her young nipples. They became more firm when kissed with the brass, which soon heated to the temperature of her body.
The belt was snaked up and down on her flesh, touching every part that might later be pelted with hard lashes. She wondered if the Whipmaster was going to warm her up with the belt, to prepare her body for the whip of the ultimate Master. She knew that it was the custom to make the flesh sore and ready before laying on the punishing whip.
But he didn't beat her with the belt. He wrapped it around her right upper thigh, pulling the girl closer to him when he pulled the strap upwards by the two ends. He closed the circle of the belt and pulled, positioning her buttocks higher.
Sheree now had to stand her toes with her head bowed in submission. By standing on her toes, she was able to keep her full bottom raised as high as physically possible. Her rump was guided upwards by the belt, which cut into her inner thigh and vaginal flesh as the Whipmaster tugged firmly.
Sheree was in position for punishment. It was not comfortable, but then, the object was not to make her comfortable. The object was to prepare her for a punishment which she would never forget. Bound with her own hair, and positioned so that she could not possibly wriggle away from the rain of blows, it was unlikely that she would ever forget what was about to happen to her.
"It is an honor to be disciplined by the ultimate Master," one of the third-level slavegirls told a novice. "It aids in the correction by speeding up the process."
"I'm sure it does," the novice replied. She was in awe at the sight before her. The ultimate Master looked so powerful. His presence would calm the storm within any arrogant or unruly young girl.
"You are now to take the punishment of disrespectful bitch," the ultimate Master announced. His voice was booming. It filled the chapel with thunderous sound. It was almost as if a microphone were enlarging the power of his lungs.
Sheree wanted to raise her eyes and acknowledge the Master's announcement to her. But she could not. As far as the Master was concerned, she could do her acknowledgment with her face pointed down to the floor in humble submission and total degradation. She was going to receive the punishment of a complete slave.
"Your mind and your body belong to me," he told her, fingering the black whip which had come to symbolize the cult. "When you misuse your mind and body, it is for me to set you back on the path of correction. That way you will again be able to know the peace and happiness of pure love."
The words were a signal for the candle-bearing Whipmasters and slavegirls. Every other person circling the bound, naked slavegirl blew out the flames on their candles, sending the chapel into a darkness which blurred the features of the ultimate Master. He was now a towering outline, with the coiling whip as part of the silhouette. In the darkness, it appeared that the whip was part of his body; an attachment as basic as his arms and legs. In a way, it was.
The ultimate Master moved around behind the girl.
"I am going to punish you now, for you have sinned."
The words cut through the assembled, and there was a silence in the chapel. The silence was so thick, it could be cut with the slice of the whip whistling through the air.
Sheree's naked bottom was completely vulnerable. The sex realm of the restrained slavegirl was peeking out and dripping. The lips were twitching in anticipation of the punishment which promised to be so severe.
Sheree thought of Culver as the whip was raised high above her upturned bottom. The bare flesh had been bound during her time in solitary confinement, but it had not been beaten. The skin was flawless. It was ready to be marked.
She could see the shadow of the ultimate Master's arm raised above her. The shadow appeared on the floor, and it elongated the man's arm and the ominous extension of the instrument of pain. It made the inevitable discipline all the more fearsome.
She sucked her breath in. The Master stood back to give himself the maximum amount of space in which to swing the whip. All eyes were on her white buttocks. The young girls observing gasped as the whip was brought down into the flesh which was so like the vulnerable flesh of their own teenaged bottoms.
He thrashed the biting whip into her left bottom cheek. The punishment had begun. The whip was the powerful whip on which rested the entire reputation of the cult. It was enough to cut the hide of a full-grown bull.
The knotted end of the thin rawhide cut into the naked bottom, leaving an immediate welt of redness with swollen flesh all around it. The bruise was long and curved. It would become purple and blue where the under-flesh was injured and the blood vessels were damaged.
"Oh my God!" Sheree gasped. The impact of the first stroke was more than she had ever expected. It would have sent her crashing to the floor, except that the Whipmaster kept her bottom up, holding her in position with the belt which dug into her inner thigh and sex lips.
"That was hard enough to let you know that I mean business," the ultimate Master said. Then he ordered a Whipmaster to place a goblet filled with wine at the girl's lips. "Drink it," he said.
She sipped the scarlet liquid. It made her dizzy. She hoped that it would numb her to the pain of the stinging whip. She knew that after a few such blows, the whip itself would dull the ache across her entire expanse of bottom.
The ultimate Master raised the whip and brought it down again. The second blow cut directly over the first, making the soreness obvious to the observers, some of whom fainted just at the sight of it.
Sheree was not to be spared the pain by passing out. She was told that she dare not attempt to avoid the punishment in any way. She was to experience it fully in order to get the full benefit of it.
After the second welt had cut into the first, again Sheree had moaned the word of the Lord. It seemed fitting. She could think of nothing else more appropriate to utter as the whip came down on her.
The third blow was delivered to the other bottom globe. "You needed that, didn't you?" the Whipmaster said, as the ultimate Master burned the girl's bottom with the blistering whip.
"Yes, I needed that," she sighed, the tears beginning to flow.
The whip continued to bite into the flesh of young Sheree, criss-crossing her bare bottom so that red stars were formed on the skin with the whip. This was how the red star was tattooed into the bodies of the cult members of the black whip clan. No needles were used. The powerful whip, wielded by the ultimate Master, was weapon enough to mark the bodies of the slavegirls forever.
One could only imagine the pain which the Whipmasters endured to have the red stars placed upon their sex organs. It was all to show their undying alliance to the cult of the black whip, as an allying or close association of nations for a common objective. It was a bond, like the marriage bond, cemented with more than a simple ring.
This ring could not be removed as easily as a wedding band. This really was forever.
At some point in the ritualistic domination of the girl under the whip, another slavegirl was brought into the chapel. She too was flanked by naked slavegirls and robed Whipmasters, but these slaves and Masters tossed rose petals into the congregation. There were also whole, fresh roses among the petals, red roses, with thorns still attached.
The thorns were considered as beautiful as the rest of the flower. That thorns should be considered less than the petal of softness was another of the backward beliefs of the outside world, according to the ultimate Master.
Naturally, when the naked slavegirls were struck with the full roses, the thorns scratched them. "You must learn to accept the pain along with the sweetness," the ultimate Master said. "That is part of life. To deny that part is to create falseness, and to deprive oneself of the ability to profit from punishment."
That was fortifying to Sheree, who had to endure the continuing barrage of whip strokes to her lashed and cut bottom. When the whip had embedded her bottom with red stars, a cane was used to give her some dull, throbbing anguish.
The cane, as used in British discipline sessions, was a thin cane which also left its nasty red calling cards across the flesh. Because it was a wooden stick, it gave a different kind of hurt than the whip did, and it was intended to serve as the second layer of pain on the pulsating bottom, before the whip was administered for the third and final round.
Sheree was only vaguely aware that another slavegirl had been brought forward into the chapel to share in the participation of ritual abuse. The other girl was Angelica, there to receive the order of the whip strokes, but for a different purpose.
"You are to be rewarded," the ultimate Master said to Angelica, as she was placed beside Sheree. "You have earned the stripes which will be placed on your body. You have jumped levels in your training. You are that much closer to the ultimate reward of intercourse with your ultimate Master."
Angelica was weak. She felt the trembling of every curved muscle in her young, naked body. She was trembling with excitement at this moment. It hadn't been long ago that she had observed such a ritual in this very chapel. Then it was new and strange to her. Now she understood that the disciplinary movements were giving her purpose for the first time in her eighteen years.
She was proud of her progress, and she was ready to submit with pleasure.
"You are to receive the same lashes as Sheree is receiving," the ultimate Master told her. "For you, the lashes will be a reward."
"Yes, I want to feel them," she said. Her breathing was heavy and her voice was throaty with desire. She was almost in a state of lust for the whip, and then she recalled that lust must be whipped from her body so that pure love could grow.
Still, she could not control the stiffening of her nipples. They were stretching outward from the softness of her breasts. Each nipple protruded an inch from her breast flesh.
"You are to receive the red star on your left breast," the Master told her. Angelica gulped. She had hoped it would be this. She wanted to show her slavery to the cult of the black whip. She longed to be part of the exclusive group. It was the first group to which she had ever felt that she truly belonged. Perhaps it was because she gave so much of herself to be part of the cult. Every girl did. They had to.
"The Whipmasters are going to spread eagle and hold you down," the ultimate, Master told Angelica. "I'm sure that you would like to stay down without such human bondage, but it would be impossible, even for a good slave such as you. The whip is a evil one. It will burn the tender flesh of a virgin bosom."
"Thank you, Master," Angelica moaned. She could hardly believe that the words were coming from her own lips. She could hardly believe that she had no control over the shivers of passion which were coursing through her body, from the tender center of her virgin core, all throughout her chest, where the tattoo was to be cut.
She could hardly believe that she had forgotten all about her job and about the outside world from which she had come that rainy night of the previous full moon. Her parents had set search for her, and her picture had been on the front pages of the local papers. What a way to get your face on the front page of the newspaper!
Her parents had reported that perhaps she had been kidnapped by some such religious cult. They couldn't believe that she would have joined on her own free will. She had never shown an interest in such things, and besides, "she was such a good girl," her mother reported.
Her parents didn't really believe that they had lost their daughter, but they had. She would never return, for she was not fulfilled by their way of life. She needed something more. She needed what so many directionless girls need. She needed the cult of the black of whip. It enslaved her forever, and brought her happiness.
This she was certain of as she was pressed down on the altar. She felt the strong hands of the Whipmasters at her ankles and her wrists. Her legs were parted, exposing her bared cuntal core.
The ultimate Master opened his robe. The congregation gasped.
Then the remaining candles were blown out, leaving the chapel in darkness.
It was not unlike the ritual which Angelica herself had observed on the night of the previous full moon. At the moment when the ultimate Master bared himself, the room went dark, and the congregation began to file out of the chapel.
Again, the higher-level slavegirls led their novices out of the chapel to go to their small rooms and prepare for the nightly punishments. The Whipmasters also departed, returning to their rooms to fortify themselves for the task of administering the nightly punishments up and down the corridors.
Only Angelica and Sheree remained in the chapel with the ultimate Master. The four Whipmasters who held Angelica down also remained, as did the one who kept Sheree in place with his belt.
"I am not going to press beyond the membrane of your maidenhead," the ultimate Master told Angelica. "You are not ready for that. You need more breaking in, and more experience as a true slave."
But he did take the head of his enormous organ, and place it at the entrance of her virgin hole. He twisted it several times in the natural lubrication of her young body. The huge knob rotated against her pleasure zones, making her writhe in frenzy.
It was a good thing that the four Whipmasters had her pinned to the altar. The sensation was absolutely inhuman. It was beyond human. It was the beginning of intercourse with the ultimate Master.
