Message-ID: <14848eli$9808290113@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/14848.txt> From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson) Subject: Under Control part ten of twenty eight Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <35e6d31a.21971850@news.ip.pt> Under Control - part ten of twenty eight by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish granted to Christine Stevenson. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Delia had been on the couch for about a quarter of an hour when another incident occurred. The double doors at the far end of the Punishment Room were flung open and the blonde, Germanic-looking Ilse came striding back in again. She had a naked and weeping slave girl on a collar and chain. This was obviously the customary form of restraint on such occasions, Paul realised. Like cattle, he thought. We are rated no higher. The girl was tall and strong-looking with rich red hair and her pleas could be heard loud above her sobs. "I . . . I'll do w-what he w-wants, Miss . . . w-what m-my master w-wants, Miss . . . . I swear it . . . I will . . . I will . . . please . . . Miss . . . oohh . . . please . . . n-not the whip . . . Miss . . . ." Paul saw Delia prop herself up on one elbow and survey the scene with amused interest, while the raven-haired slave girl continued her gentle but insistent ministrations. "Too late, my girl," came Ilse's rasping reply. "You should have thought of that . . . and done that . . . earlier . . ." Just before Paul turned once more at the end of the long room, he saw the girl being led towards the whipping post. She was almost on her knees and Ilse was virtually dragging her. "Merc . . . eee .. . . . merc . . . eee . . . ." cried the girl piteously. "Susan been playing up again?" called Delia from the couch. "Quite a spitfire that young madam, isn't she!" "Quite!" replied Ilse. "But I'll tame her . . . never you fear!" "I've no doubt of it," laughed Delia. The girl Susan's cries and pleas grew louder and more piteous and when Paul turned once more he saw that her arms had been stretched above her head and her wrists fastened to manacles set at the top of the whipping post. He was so gripped by the spectacle that, temporarily at least, his own torments took second place. She had a superb body, he saw, with broad, straight back and very fulsome hind quarters. The latter were criss-crossed with thin cane weals but the former, creamy-white, was unmarked. What, Paul wondered, was the girl's offence? It seemed, from what he had heard, that in some way Susan had displeased a man - no doubt a guest of Mrs. Dupont's - to whom she had been allocated. "Disobedience is the most serious crime in the calendar," Ilse was saying. "Especially to your master!" "I . . . ooohh . . . . I d-didn't m-mean it!" cried the girl. "I'll do it now . . . I s-swear I w-will!" But Ilse was already taking down from the wall a vicious-looking whip. Four snaking feet of tightly-plaited black rawhide. Paul shuddered inwardly for the girl. Gloria had, on occasions, used such a whip on him; but only for what she considered the most heinous of offenses. Which is how Paul came to accept the justice of being under almost constant restraint. "Merc . . . . eeeee!" shrieked the girl in final, hopeless desperation, "Merc . . . eeeeee!" But Paul knew there would be none . . . and suspected the wretched Susan knew it too. He felt a sudden burst of sympathy for this lovely naked creature - a fellow slave - and at the same time he experienced one of those shafts of hatred for Delia. She lay on the couch, smiling and eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure, whilst her own haunches quivered softly from the lustful attentions she was receiving. Here, indeed, was a dual delight for her! The whip snaked across the floor as Ilse took up her position. She was a powerful and fearsome sight. "I'll tame you to the most instant and absolute obedience . . . if it's the last thing I do," she snarled . Then the whip swung up and, with a report like a pistol-shot, cracked across the broadness of Susan's white back. A vivid red weal leapt up and an animal-like howl of pain was torn from the girl and, like a puppet on a string, she jerked and twisted frenziedly in her bonds. That awful howl went up and up, louder and louder, echoing from wall to wall. Paul did not see the next five strokes that were laid on. But he heard them cracking viciously into Susan's soft flesh at five second intervals. He heard, too, her heart-rending screams of torment. Was disobedience - whatever was demanded - worth this? No . . . no . . . it could not be! One must obey. One must submit. When Paul turned yet again, he saw the terrible weals striping Susan's once white back. He saw too that Ilse was now concentrating her attention on her victim's plump bottom. With the same methodical strokes she lacerated it cruelly . . . and even Paul was amazed at how frenziedly that lush, soft woman flesh writhed, the whole mass bouncing, juddering and quivering madly. It epitomised the degree of Susan's agony . . . and it fascinated. Yet Paul could not but admit to himself that being a male it fascinated him for other reasons too. "That got through to her I reckon," came the drawling voice of Delia when the whip ceased to fall. "I reckon so too," replied Ilse, surveying the still-juddering female flesh she had just beribboned. Then she tossed aside the whip and began to unshackle her moaning victim. Paul partly saw, partly heard, the wretched Susan being more or less dragged from the Punishment Room on the end of her collar and chain. And, before the doors closed he heard Ilse's rasping voice again. "Now we'll see if you'll truly obey your master!" she said. Weak with fatigue and pain, Paul experienced a feeling of paralysing dread. It was perhaps worse than ever before. Cruel, agonizing and humiliating as his experiences had been as Gloria van Meer's personal slave (was she not the goddess-woman who had first broken him completely?), he now realised he was in the thralls of something far more terrible. Mrs. Dupont's regime of mass slavery was more frightening because of its 'impersonal' nature. He was now one of scores of helpless slaves who could be punished mercilessly for the slightest fault - real or imagined. Indeed, one could be made to suffer simply for the amusement of those who had you in their power. As was his present predicament. It was a bitter and despairing realisation. Particularly so for Paul who had imagined he had reached the nadir of subjection in Gloria's hands. He had adjusted to and resigned himself to permanent servitude on Gloria's terms. In some ways he had even come to accept it as natural. Now, it could well be, there were even deeper depths to be plumbed. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This story is being released as an illustrated web book, for autoresponder details of Victor Bruno Books available please contact VictorBruno@MsChristine.com http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html Also published as text simultaneously on...... ------------------------------------------------------ The DOMestic mailing list is free of charge. 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