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Poor Claire: Week 01

By: adam applebiter



"The rules are simple." The lean, almost gaunt man rose from behind his desk and strode towards Claire. His manner and tone were not unkind. She had expected him to be more severe... more predatory... but he was simply matter-of-fact. He handed her something metallic. "The key to the front door." 

Claire didn't look at the key. She stuffed it into her coat pocket without comment. 

"You are quiet. Good. While you are here, you will not speak unless I tell you to. This is the rule of silence." He returned to his desk, sat and steepled his fingers. "Take off your clothes." 

Hesitantly, with nervously fumbling fingers, Claire removed her coat, and suit jacket, studying her own actions so as not to meet his eyes. She folded the jacket neatly and placed it and her coat on a chair. She stepped from her shoes feeling the cold marble of the floor through her tights. With a toe, she pushed the shoes under the chair. Twisting her skirt around her waist, she unhooked then unzipped it, stepping out of it without letting it drop to the floor. This too she folded and added to the neat pile. The man watched impassively, making no comment.

The tiny pearls of her blouse buttons caused some difficulty for increasingly nervous fingers but she persevered and the blouse yielded. She had to perch on the corner of the chair to unravel her tights from around her ankles but they too were eventually added to the stack of discarded clothes. She took a deep breath and reached up behind her back to unfasten her brassiere. As it fell from her breasts she noticed the blush of shame across her bosom, confirming why her cheeks felt warm despite the shivering of her body. She wasn't cold. The room was pleasantly temperate. Her trembling was adrenalin and trepidation, fear even. As she slipped her panties down her legs and stepped from the crumpled cotton she tried not to think about her nakedness before this stranger. 

She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, covering her dark curls, eyes downcast, burning with shame but still resolved to follow the course she has embarked upon.

"You are ashamed. This also is good. In future, you shall disrobe in the hallway as soon as you arrive. You must be naked at all times here. This is the rule of humility." He rose from his seat again and circled her slowly, eyeing her from head to toe. "Hands at your sides." 

When she hesitated to reveal her crotch he slapped her without warning. The lash of his hand across her cheek was hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor. As he looked down at her, he did not look angry, still impassive, though he did pointedly let his gaze linger on her exposed crotch. He waited while she regained her feet before he spoke again.

"The rule of obedience. You will do as you are told at all times. When you are naked, you have no rights, no desires, no name... But since it pleases me to remind you of this, during your visits I shall call you Cunt." The word makes her head twitch away from him like an aftershock of the slap. He notices. "You dislike the word but it is apt. It is all you are here. A cunt." He punctuated his statement by thrusting his hand between her legs, cupping her sex firmly. "Say it."

"I - I am a cunt." Her voice was flat. Tears of unbearable shame welled in her eyes.

"Very good!" He exclaimed, smiling. It's the first display of emotion he's made since her arrival. "Silence. Humility. Obedience. Three rules." He released his grip on her sex, raising his fingers to inhale her musk. She's acutely aware that it is some hours since she bathed. She must be quite pungent down there. "Bend over the desk."

She took two steps toward the desk, placed her palms flat on the blotter and bent forward. His hand between her shoulder blades pressed her lower until her breasts were crushed uncomfortably against the desk. The hard leather of his shoe forced its way between her ankles, tapping them apart, then wider still. She heard his zipper opening. It was all the warning she got before his hard penis pressed into her sex. He impaled her with his first thrust then slowly built up a vigorous rhythm, bruising the tops of her thighs against the wooden edge of the desk. She grunted with the pain but it bothered him not a bit. His manicured fingers curled like talons, gripping her hips. The only sound he made was a low sigh as his seed flooded her insides.

He withdrew, zipping himself up before permitting her to rise. 

"You may go now, Cunt." He dismissed her without another glance. He didn't need to see her to know her cheeks were wet with tears, her nose moist with mucous, her lips trembling. As she gathered up her clothes in shaking arms and stooped to collect her shoes, he did look, noting with approval the lividity of her puffy, glistening sex. That would be uncomfortable for quite a while. He watched her walk stiffly to the door.

"Cunt." His voice stopped her as her free hand touched the handle. "Tomorrow, get yourself waxed: A full Brazilian. I shall expect you at eight for dinner."

"Have you ever had a secret you'd rather die than reveal? I have. I do. And, because of that secret, I don't deserve to be loved.

I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. I've listened to the flattery, the sweet deceit men beguile us with, allowed myself to be seduced, even faked orgasms to try to hide my indifference but eventually they all realize they can touch me all they want but cannot reach me. Then they feel inadequate, they blame me, but secretly, they blame themselves too, and they leave me. None of them could bring themselves to love me, not that it would make a difference.

Once, once in my 28 years I had an orgasm: Since then, nothing. That once is my deepest secret and the despair that drove me to subjugate myself. So don't pity me - never pity Poor Claire. Everything is as it should be. Everything is as it must be."

A little before eight the next evening, She let herself into the house. As instructed, she disrobed in the hall, placing her neatly folded clothes on a convenient sideboard. Naked, more naked even than yesterday, she stood awaiting his pleasure.

"Cunt! Come through!" he called from another room. Following his voice, she entered the dining room. It was cooler than his study had been. Her nipples responded to the cold breeze from open French windows. He sat at the head of a large dining table set for two. She approached when he beckoned, sat on the high backed chair he patted. His hand went straight between her legs, roughly pulling at her now smooth sex, making her grimace.

"Much better." He passed judgement on her smoothness. As before, he sniffed his fingers. "You may serve dinner now, Cunt." He indicated the dishes on the buffet. "I shall have some cold chicken and salad. You may have whatever you want." 

She rose to serve him, taking some green salad for herself.

"Sit. Eat." He instructed, not waiting for her to comply before starting into his chicken. She picked at the salad, little more than feeding the butterflies in her stomach. When he had finished eating, he rose. "Come into the garden." He did not wait for her compliance, striding through the open doors onto the patio and then across the lawn. Claire hurried after him. The garden was ringed with high shrubs that offered considerable privacy. In one corner, the garden was quite overgrown. This was where he led her. Pointing to a patch of stinging nettles about two feet high he said "Squat there."

Her legs felt leaden as she stepped gingerly over the clump of nettles, feeling the stings on her calves. Even these first few brushes of the leaves made her wince with pain. Slowly she started to lower herself, knees trembling as they bent. She gritted her teeth, anticipating the acid caress of the plants against her thighs and her freshly denuded sex. At the first intimate touch of the stinging leaves, she cried out. Freezing motionless as pain flared along her thighs.

"Lower." He commanded.

Obedient, she sank lower, squeezing her eyes shut on the tears welling up at the agonizing contact. 

"Enough."

At his command, she stood, practically staggering away from the nettles. Her legs gave way and she collapsed onto the lawn, sobbing. He lifted her in his arms, his strength surprising for one so gaunt, and carried her back into the house and up broad stairs to a large and airy bedroom.

As she lay sobbing on the coverlet, he undressed. Through teary, reddened eyes, she saw his body for the first time: His erect penis long and slim, like him.

"Spread your legs." He commanded, approaching the bed, his eyes lingering on the red welts covering her thighs. She obeyed, revealing the full extent of her torment, her labia, perineum and anus covered with livid marks.

He mounted her in the missionary position, the contact of his hairy thighs and his pubic bone against her tortured skin making her scream. He fucked her hard, the brutality of his penetration provoking new screams with each thrust of his hips. By the time he came, spending against her cervix with a grunt, she was so exhausted, she could only whimper, pressing her face against the tear soaked pillow. 

He got off her, got off the bed. "You may go when you're ready." He left the room, still naked.

An hour later, Claire walked stiffly down the path to the gate, still sniffing back tears. Her underwear was in her clutch bag: she couldn't have stood its touch.

"I cried all night. By morning, I could touch myself without wincing but the colour remained. In a perverse way I was proud of the rash. While it lasted it was a symbol of my commitment. He did this to me, but equally, I did this to myself. I would do it again too, in an instant. Pain is liberating. My suffering and his cruelty were honest, without pretence."

The next night, he left her waiting in the hall for an hour. Her feet grew numb as the cold marble floor drew the heat from them. At about nine, he came out of his study and strode straight past her, giving no indication that he even noticed the naked woman.

Another hour passed before he returned. This time he deigned to notice her. 

"Ah, Cunt!" He sounded surprised to see her. He left her again but only for a moment, returning with a carafe of water and a glass. He filled the glass, handing it to her. "Drink." 

She drank greedily, only now realizing how parched her mouth was. As soon as the glass was empty, he refilled it. "Drink." He commanded. She drank.

After the second, a third, and so on until the carafe was empty. He fetched more water.

Her stomach was visibly distended as she started on the second litre. By the end of it she thought she might burst. It was even more uncomfortable than being thirsty. He took the glass away and, this time, did not return.

Time passed and in a very few minutes the discomfort in her stomach gave way to a discomfort lower down. Her bladder felt fit to burst. Still she stood in the hall.

When she thought she could stand it no more, he returned. Placing his hand on her abdomen, just above her crotch, he said. "Let it go." 

Two decades after her last 'little accident', she wet herself. Hot urine gushed between her labia as she cut loose, face burning with shame but unable to resist a moment more. Piss streamed down her legs and splashed noisily on the floor, spreading in a pool about her feet. He took a step back to avoid the spreading puddle and the better to watch her. The torrent went on and on. Two litres is a lot of water for someone who only weighs a hundred pounds. Eventually the pressure ran down and the last trickle seeped from her sex, dripping into the pool of piss at her feet. Somewhere along the way she'd started sobbing. Now she sniffed back her shameful tears.

Carefully, he circumnavigated the spreading pool and opened a door at the far end of the hall, revealing a small cloakroom with toilet, bidet & basin. From the corner he withdrew a mop and bucket which he set before her. "Clean this up, then you may go." He headed for his study pausing in the doorway in thought. "Cunt, do not clean yourself until you get home." With that, he shut the study door.

By the time she'd finished mopping the hall, her skin had dried naturally. She returned the mop and bucket to the cloakroom, dressed and left.

"In the street, it wasn't so bad but once I caught my train, in a stuffy and crowded carriage, I could smell the dried urine all over my bottom half. I glanced at the faces of the other passengers. Could they smell it too? Some clearly could and a few had even figured out I was the source of the odour. My face was hot with embarrassment, confirming their suspicions and heaping yet more humiliation upon me. I blinked back tears in my shame. 

I slammed my door shut and cried in the shower until the water ran cold. This time, he didn't even fuck me, use me. What pleasure could he take from this evening?

Why?"

The next night, as she stripped in the hall, she heard voices in the study. A moment later, the door opened and he beckoned her in.

"Cunt, this is Kylie." He indicated a bleached blond in a tiny zebra print mini-dress, fishnets and lethal looking red stilettos. She had on too bright lipstick and way too much eye makeup. In short, she looked cheap.

"Kylie, this is Cunt."

Kylie looked Claire up and down, seemingly unimpressed. "I don't do no kinky stuff."

"Of course not. Cunt, while you were mopping up your piss in the hall last night, Kylie was in here sucking my cock. Kylie, how much did you charge me for that service?"

"Fifty quid." Kylie answered, a little unsure where this was leading. Still, prostitutes got used to weird Johns. It went with the territory. And fifty quid was way more than the going rate for a blowjob. 

"Here's another fifty pounds for your trouble. I won't be needing you tonight." He handed the girl a neatly folded bank note.

"Well I - " She started to protest but quickly realised that getting out of there quickly was a desirable thing. She rose and left, closing the door rather too sharply.

"Well Cunt, since I have dispensed with Kylie's services..." He let the sentence trail off as he unfastened his trousers and let them drop to the ground. His penis was flaccid, just barely discernable behind his shirt tails. He wore no underwear. "Kneel." He pointed to the floor at his feet. She obeyed. "Suck me."

She pushed his shirt up and took his penis in her fingers. This was the first time she'd touched him. She dipped her head close to his thighs, taking the soft flesh into her mouth, feeling it stir into life as she caressed it with her tongue. As he filled her mouth, pressing against her epiglottis, she had to back off a little to avoid gagging. It didn't take long for him to take control, clasping bunches of her hair and thrusting into her mouth, forcing his glans to the back of her throat, making her retch. When he came, spraying semen all over her tongue, he held her head still. "Swallow."

She swallowed, fighting the urge to throw up. As he started to soften in her mouth, he released her. She slumped back on her heels, looking at the floor.

"Go now. Be early tomorrow. I'm having some friends for dinner." He dismissed her.

"I've always hated oral sex. I learned to do it to try and keep those men who left me. It's a way of pleasing a man without having to fake orgasms. I got quite good at it too, I'm told, but I always hated it. The worst part is the taste of semen. It always makes me want to throw up. I hate it. Surely he knew that. 

And that whore! He wants to demonstrate how worthless I am: that the fact he takes pleasure in my body does not give me any power. As if I didn't know already. At least tonight he took his pleasure from me."

She arrived at six the next night, straight from work. As usual, she stripped off and waited. The house sounded empty. About quarter past, the door behind her opened. It was him.

"You're here. Good. Follow me." He led her to the kitchen, indicated a trolley full of crockery and silverware and sent her to lay the table for seven people. As she left the kitchen, he started unpacking groceries for dinner.

It was an enormous dining table, easily capable of accommodating twice the expected number of guests. It was wide too and looked oddly bare without some sort of centrepiece between the two rows of plates and cutlery.

When she returned to the kitchen, he handed her a tray of crystal, also for the dining table. After that, it was several bottles of red wine, opened to breathe, then a silver tray with a decanter of port on it. 

While he cooked, a task he clearly relished, she prepared the dining room according to his wishes, wondering what humiliations she must suffer tonight. Being naked before his friends would surely be part of it.

"Eat." He indicated an omelette and some salad on the kitchen table. "You will not have time later." 

She sat and ate. The omelette really was very good. He moved about the kitchen with the fluid ease of long practice, stirring this, chopping that, seasoning here, salting there. She watched him as she ate. The doorbell interrupted.

"Go and let my guests in, Cunt. Show them into my study and serve them drinks. I will be along shortly."

She opened the front door and two gentlemen walked straight past her, removed hats and coats and handed these to her. They surely noticed her nakedness but distained to comment. She hung up their coats and led them to the study.

Seeing her standing by the drinks tray, the elder man, perhaps 60 and rather portly, asked for whiskey. The other, 40ish and with he ruddy complexion of one who spends much time outdoors, concurred.

As she poured their drinks, her master arrived.

"Friends! So glad you could make it." He shook their hands effusively. "Anthony, I'm cooking beef Wellington in your honour. It is still your favourite?"

"Indeed." The fat man smiled and patted his paunch.

"And Carlo, It's been a long summer without your company. How was California? No, tell us all during dinner. I have cooking to do, lest we all starve tonight. Cunt will attend you." He gestured at the naked woman. "Make yourselves at home!"

As abruptly as he'd arrived, he was gone. The two guests exchanged a look then the elder, Anthony, beckoned her to him. He'd seated himself in an armchair that, large though it was, seemed to hug his soft bulk. His eyes were on a level with her sex and it had his full attention. His chubby hand pushed between her thighs so that she had to set her feet apart. Fat fingers pinched her labia together, pulling them downward. It hurt, but not enough to make her cry out. He released her, watching her labia spring away from his fingertips. 

"Louis always did have superb taste. Eh, Carlo?"

"Too true. Cunt, a refill." He waved his empty glass at her. The doorbell rang again. "Never mind. I'll serve myself. Answer the door." Carlo had that same peremptory tone of command as her master. What had they called him? Louis? Well at least now she had a name for her tormentor.

Twice more she answered the door, admitting two men each time. None of them seemed to notice or care that she was naked. Carlo took over as host pro tem, introducing her to the new arrivals by that hateful name. Nobody else bothered her other than for fresh drinks. 

"Dinner is served!" Louis announced, leading his guests to the dining room and supervising the seating order. 

As they filed into the dining room, She noticed two wooden steps at the near end of the table. Louis led her to the buffet and handed her the first bottle of wine.

"I will serve my guests myself, but you will pour the wine. The steps are for you." 

Now she realised why the table had no centrepiece. She was the centrepiece. As the meal progressed, she walked up and down the aisle between the guests, squatting to pour wine into their glasses. Each time she filled a glass, the guest opposite was presented with her bare bottom and sex. The shame consumed her. The guests seemed highly amused by her name too. Calling her to them when simply a gesture would suffice. That horrid name still stung whenever she heard it.


Poor Claire: Week 01



"Cunt, bring me the port." Louis at last gave her a reason to get off the table.

She set the silver tray beside him and waited.

"Go upstairs. You know which bedroom. There is a bidet in the bathroom for you to use." He dismissed her. "My friends, Cunt will await your pleasure...if any of you feel so inclined. Port?"

As she left the dining room, she heard his announcement and knew that her ordeal was just beginning. She could here ribald laughter at his suggestion and the clink of glass as the port circumnavigated the table. Upstairs she entered the bedroom he had taken her to before. She lay on the white coverlet and awaited the inevitable.

She did not have long to wait. The first to enter the room was the youngest guest, Frank they had called him. He was, by the look of him, younger than her. He stripped completely without saying a word to her. His body was athletic, well muscled and tanned all over. His penis was so erect it pointed upwards more than outwards. It was as long as her master's but thicker. He was clearly proud of it too. He approached her, flipped her over onto her tummy, lifted her hips off the bed so she could get her knees under her and slammed into her sex. She stiffened in discomfort. He pounded her relentlessly, seemingly tireless: All the energy of youth and the same cruel indifference to her feelings that her master showed. It seemed to go on for hours, but having hosed her womb with the contents of his balls, he dressed and left only thirty minutes after coming upstairs.

She staggered to the en suite bathroom to use the bidet. Cool water soothed her burning labia and sluiced out the slimy, sticky semen Frank had been so bountiful with. She heard the bedroom door close and returned see who her next abuser would be. 

Carlos was leering at her.

"Don't worry, Cunt. I haven't the energy - nor the endowment - to use you as Frank surely did." He lay on the bed, placed his hands behind his head, fingers interlaced. "Our host tells us you are quite adept at fellatio."

As he lay there, she clambered onto the bed and with shaking fingers unbuckled, unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, fishing out his semi hard penis.

"Don't admire it." He chided. "Suck it."

As she closed her mouth around his cock, she discovered it was less than clean. It tasted rancid, musty. She gagged but his hands on the back of her head kept her face pressed to his crotch.

"Oops!" he remarked in mock surprise. "I forgot to wash it after... Can you taste my secretary's cunt, Cunt?" he laughed at his own pun. "Better lick it clean."

Appalled, she nonetheless sucked hard on his cock, hoping the rancid taste would pass that much quicker. She was nauseous at the thought of it - another woman's secretions, stale in her mouth. She worked hard, using every trick she'd ever learned to make him come quickly, the sooner to be rid of this filthy man with his filthy penis. Unfortunately, his previous bout with his secretary meant she had a lot to do to coax an orgasm from him. It took her five minutes to get him really hard and another ten before he grunted, tensed his hips and squirted a thin stream on watery fluid onto her tongue. She swallowed it, retching as it went down her gullet but knowing it was expected of her.

Carlos pushed her away so roughly she rolled right off the bed. While she regained her feet, he fastened his trousers and fished in his pocket for a fifty pence piece that he placed on the bedside table. "The house tariff is fifty for a blowjob. Right, Cunt?" He laughed at his own joke as he left.

She fled to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. She rinsed her mouth three times and washed her face in cold water to try to assuage the redness of her eyes. She returned to the bedroom and waited.

And waited...

And waited...

Forty five minutes passed before she heard footsteps on the stairs once more. 

Darryl was the same age, or thereabouts, as Carlos. He too settled for fellatio, insisting that she straddle his chest so he could see her sex while she worked on him. At least his penis was clean. He was circumcised. The first cut cock she'd sucked. All the while she sucked him, his fingers toyed with her sex, peeling her lips apart, pinching them between finger and thumb and stretching them out painfully. At one point he forced a finger through her anus, wiggling it around inside her rectum. This started her tears again. Not the pain, which was minimal, but the violation. Nobody had ever intruded there. It was disgusting, vile. She knew, even as she reacted, that her very disgust condemned her to much more of the same. Her master would not let this pass.

Darryl came loudly, filling her mouth with hot seed. She was too slow to swallow it all and a trickle escaped down her chin. Seeing it, Darryl caught the white blob on the tip of a finger and crammed it back into her mouth. The finger stank. She shrank back in revulsion. It was the same finger he had sodomised her with. He laughed at her reaction, washed his hands in the bathroom then returned to the party, surely to tell her master of his discovery.

Ernest was next, the oldest guest by far. He seemed too frail to do her more harm. Nevertheless, he took off his trousers and underpants to reveal a wood-like erection.

"Viagra." He said, slapping his hard-on appreciatively. He lay down beside her. "Get on top. My hips ain't what they used to be."

She straddled him, guiding his penis to her sex as she lowered herself onto him. He reached for her breasts, twisting her nipples violently until she shrieked out loud. 

"Faster, Cunt!" He commanded her. "Or does it take a finger in your arse to make you buck?" So Darryl had told them all already. Her cheeks blazed but she posted more quickly on the old man's old man, forcing herself to a pace that was way beyond comfortable. She fucked herself every bit as hard as Frank had fucked her. She was beyond caring about the pain now. 

Ernest soon came. As she climbed off him he insisted she lick him clean. She could taste herself on his cock and, for the third time that night, she had to taste another man's semen. 

Blaise was about her age. He had a cold look about him. He had her undress him, standing calmly as she removed ever scrap of clothing from his body. As soon as he was as naked as she was - literally, since his pubic hair was shaved off - he swept her into an embrace and kissed her, open mouthed. Unthinking, she opened her own mouth too. He threw her onto the bed. "Hah! So even after four men, Cunt is insatiable." He flipped her by one ankle so that she was face down, then plonked down on the bed beside her and dragged her backwards over his lap. Immediately, his hand slapped down hard on her bottom. She squealed. Again and again and again, the slaps rained down on her exposed behind, sometimes on the fleshy part of her buttocks, other times on the sensitive tops of her thighs. Once, he smacked her squarely in the middle, right on her sex, precipitating not just a wail of agony but a fair bit of futile struggling - futile because he was so much stronger than her.

When his hand grew tired, Blaise fucked her doggy style. He was not the biggest she had had that night but, bruised as she was, he felt brutal as he thrust into her. Her seared bottom made her writhe every time he sank home but soon he spent inside her and, after that, showed no more interest in her at all. He dressed and left without a word.

When Anthony came to her, she was still curled foetal on the bed, sobbing and sniffling. He had with him a tray containing two carafes of water and a glass.

"Louis said you'd know what was expected, Cunt. I'll be back shortly." And he left her.

Stirring, she went to the bathroom to clean herself once more then started to drink the water. She managed a litre and a half but no more. She waited.

Eventually, Anthony returned to her, leading her to the bathroom where he made her stand in the tub. He spread her legs and reached between them to cup a hand around her tender sex.

"Piss." He ordered her. She relaxed her hold on the water and let it flow from her, over his hand and splash down into the tub. Her shame was nothing compared to the relief of being rid of the liquid. As the flow diminished, Anthony raised his cupped palm to his lips and sipped at her urine. When he returned his hand between her legs, two of his chubby fingers curled up into her sex, sinking deeply into her flesh. When she could pee no more, he withdrew his hand, shook off the drops of warm urine and again lifted his fingers to his mouth, tasting her secretions. After wiping his wet hand on a towel, he unzipped his pants and fished out his limp penis, looking at it forlornly as it lay on his palm.

"Impotence, Cunt. It's made a voyeur of me. Such a pity. My son, Frank, said I'd have enjoyed you. Kneel down."

She knelt, feeling her own warm pee sloshing around her knees. Anthony stepped closer to the bath, still holding his limp penis.

"Open you mouth." He waited for her to comply then pointed his penis right at her face and cut loose, a golden arc of urine traversing the few inches from his glans to her mouth. She reflexively turned away. "Drink it!" he demanded, sounding angry. She turned back, opening her mouth again, letting the hot, salty piss fill her mouth. "Swallow it, Cunt, or I'll force feed you shit 'til breakfast time!" His threat was unthinkable. She swallowed, sure that none of these men would make idle threats, especially this one. She swallowed again. As his piss trickled and stopped, she swallowed one last time. 

He tucked his penis back inside his trousers, made himself presentable then reached over to the shower controls turning it on cold and leaving her to clean herself in the icy water.

When all his guests had left, Louis found her curled up on the bed, shivering. He sat beside her. "You may stay here tonight, Cunt. There are no more trains. Blaise was very disappointed that you struggled so much when punished. We shall work on that this weekend. Tomorrow, you will go shopping for a riding crop. You will tell the salesman what it is for and you will ask him for the one that will hurt the most. Bring it with you tomorrow night."

She did not respond. He drew the bedding over her and left her there, turning the light out as he closed her door.

She was awakened early, a hand shaking her shoulder. He was standing over her, naked and aroused. He pulled her around until her legs were over the side of the bed then pushed her ankles up past his shoulders and stuck his hard cock into her sex. She was dry and sore and his abrupt penetration made her flinch. He pumped her hard and fast, finding release in only a few minutes. Then he left her. A few minutes after that, she heard the front door open and close as he went out for the day. She was alone again. She got up, showered and went to the hall where she dressed for the outside world and left.

"I hate him. I knew I would grow to eventually, for his indifference, but his cruelty has made it easy to hate him in only a week. 

To have his friends use me so... How could I not hate someone who would ask six men to rape me? It would have been rape, if I had had the will to say no.

And now he sends me to buy a crop. I don't think I could bear the pain. I've seen pictures of women beaten with crops - an ex boyfriend had some very sick pornographic magazines. Those women bled where the crop cut into their flesh. Surely it must scar them.

Perhaps he's just testing me. Testing my resolve? Of course not! He will beat me. I cannot expect mercy, do not expect it. I do not deserve it. He is my punishment for a sin he doesn't even know about. 

So I shall buy a crop and I shall take it to him and I shall bear what he inflicts. In submission I may find redemption."

She returned to the house that night, a slim package in her hand. This she set on the sideboard then put away her clothes and waited. He came out of the kitchen, towelling his hands. 

"Come into the dining room. Bring that." He pointed at the package then turned away from her. She followed, holding the parcel gingerly in two hands as if expecting it to hurt her merely by its presence. He took the parcel from her and unwrapped the crop, which was long and very thin. It whistled as he whipped it through the air experimentally. The noise made her cringe. He smiled approval at her choice. This would certainly punish her.

He set the crop on the end of the table and drew a heavy carver chair out into the open. "Bend over." He patted the back of the chair. She stepped up to the chair and tried to bend over it. It was a little too high until she stood on tiptoe. The curved wooden edge dug into her abdomen cruelly. She gripped the front edge of the padded seat. "No, Cunt. Grip the rail." He tapped the rail that braced the chair's front legs to indicate where her hands should be. She strained to reach it, her toes leaving the ground as her centre of gravity moved forward. She waited for the whistle of the crop. Instead, he talked to her.

"Anthony said you should be tied for this. Personally, I don't like restraint. It smacks of compulsion. I'm not interested in compulsion, only submission." The pressure of the chair back against her abdomen was increasingly painful. It felt like really bad period cramps and it was only getting worse. "You will not be required to count the strokes either. I prefer that you continue to obey the rule of silence. I do not want to hear anything but your screams and, believe me Cunt, you will scream." She trembled in terrified apprehension at his words. "You will be wondering," He walked around her, looking at her from all sides and flexing the crop in his hands. "how many strokes you must endure. As many as it pleases me to give you. Perhaps five, perhaps fif-" Without warning, the crop bit into he buttocks. "ty."

She screamed: A high, piercing shriek of absolute agony. Her entire nervous system felt on fire. As the blinding pain ebbed, the second stroke flared across the crease at the top of her thighs. She screamed again, knuckles white on the wood of the chair as she clung to it. Her eyes streamed as she writhed under the caress of the crop. Stroke followed stroke followed stroke. She lost count quickly, aware of nothing but the continuing agony and the need to hold on. As the leather tip of the crop curled between her buttocks, igniting her sex, the pain overwhelmed her finally. She slumped, unconscious, her hands limp on the brace. 

He set aside the crop and viewed his handiwork. Her buttocks were a mass of red and purple striations, ridged and bejewelled with occasional beads of blood where the skin had broken. The lattice of wounds extended up over the curve of her ass as far as the two small dimples at the base of her back and down onto her thighs, halfway to her knees. Her labia bore signs of bruising too, particularly close to her clitoris. Her breathing settled and she groaned as she started to stir. 

He unzipped his trousers to free his erection and stepped close behind her. She wailed as his cock plunged through her burning flesh. As usual, he attacked her loins with uncompromising vigour, intent only on his own gratification. She writhed and thrashed about as wave upon wave of pain washed through her, clawing at the air, howling and moaning until he ejaculated copiously, deep in the cauldron of her abdomen.

As she lay slumped over the chair, limp, pale and whimpering, he tucked his penis away and lifted her up in his arms. He took her to the usual bedroom and laid her face down on the cool cotton, leaving her alone in her misery. 

He let her rest for a couple of hours before returning to her. Noticing she was awake, he went straight to the bathroom and drew a lukewarm tub for her. 

Seeing her clearly unable to stand, he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bathroom, lowering her slowly into the tub. The water was only tepid but she let out an agonised gasp as it scalded her abused bottom. Still he lowered her into the tub.

He left her to soak: It did help ease the throbbing flesh. Eventually, she felt restored enough to get out of the cool water herself. She dried off very gently, barely daring to touch her backside even with a soft towel. He was waiting for her in the bedroom.

"You may go now, Cunt. Rest tomorrow. Be here at seven on Monday."

He returned to his study. When she retrieved her clothes from the sideboard she saw the hateful crop stored in the same cupboard.

"I thought I would die. I don't know how I bore the pain, but when he fucked me - when he fucked my tortured flesh, I felt something. Perhaps the pain is the nearest I will ever get to true release. He wasn't fucking Claire. Poor Claire was gone. He was fucking Cunt. 

All I felt was Cunt's pain: inflicted by him. 

All I knew was Cunt's purpose: being used by him. 

All I could do was be Cunt: be his Cunt.

I hate him, but I am irrevocably his. 



Poor Claire: Week 02



As she stripped in the hall, He came out of his study to observe. He leant on the door jamb with folded arms and a wry smile, his eyes tracing the fading purple bruises that striped her bottom. A week ago she would have felt shame at such scrutiny – at being naked before him. What a difference a week had made. Poor shy Claire hid in the cupboard with the clothes while Cunt – the name he had given her to wear here – Cunt accepted his perusal passively, neither embarrassed nor proud in her bareness. 

Having waited for her to finish undressing, he came forward and grabbed one of her buttocks roughly. It tensed in his hand as renewed pain sent her rigid and a faint gasp was squeezed from her. 

"Bend over."

She obeyed, bending low and resting her hands on the cold floor in front of her feet. His finger traced the purple welts, no longer raised ridges but still so tender. He rubbed gently at the small, dark scabs covering breaks in her skin.

"These will leave no permanent marks." He observed. He sounded almost disappointed by the fact. Cunt gasped as he pulled her buttocks apart. She tensed again but forced herself to relax and bear it. As the ball of one thumb circled her anus she quailed, dreading this, even knowing that it was her very abhorrence of the act that made it inevitable. Involuntarily, she shied away from his thumb.

"Be still!" His palm seared her backside with a resounding thwack of punctuation that wrought a scream from her and left her prone on the floor. She struggled to rise and bent over again. He waited, giving her this grace, then spread her a second time and pressed a finger against the dark declivity of her sphincter. Just as it was about to yield, swallowing his fingertip, he released her. "Follow." He returned to his study.

Taking an ornately lacquered box from the mantelpiece over the fire, he glanced over its contents as one might select the next chocolate. He withdrew a translucent something that gleamed in his hand.

"This," He held the object up for her to see. "Is to be worn as much as possible when you are not here. You understand, Cunt? As much as possible." He handed it to her.

She nodded once, correctly perceiving that his question was not permission to break the rule of silence. The thing looked like glass but was warm to the touch and much too light. It was as thick as his penis and perhaps half it's length. There was a narrowing at one end, though it was still the better part of an inch across at its thinnest, then it flared into a wide disk. She knew immediately what it was for and her stomach turned at the prospect. 

"Put it in the hall for now."

When she returned to the study, empty-handed, the box was back on the mantelpiece and he was seated at his desk with the phone tucked between shoulder and ear. She stood, exactly where she had first stood naked before him last week, and waited. 

"Yes Darryl, you were right ... Yes. I've given her a plug to wear ... No. It's better this way. I don't want to have to hold back. Better to stretch her some first ... (laughs) ... I thought Saturday, after her whipping ... You too, my friend ... Yes, we must do it again soon ... Indeed! ... By all means. Right away... Give them my regards. Goodnight Darryl ..." He hung up the phone, stood and approached her. Standing close behind her, so close she could feel his breath stir her hair, he reached around with both hands and pinched her nipples. It was not painful, not even uncomfortable by the standards of this house. He rolled them between fingers and thumbs and they responded, firming and growing in spite of her. His grip tightened on her nipples, tightened until she gasped in short breaths at the pain. "Darryl has asked a favour of me, Cunt. Fetch your crop." He let go.

She shuddered at the memory of Saturday night as she fetched the crop from its cupboard and brought it to him. 

"Stand there." He used the tip of the crop to point at her usual spot in the centre of the floor. She stood there, trembling. He smiled at her apprehension. "Hands behind your back." She complied. The tip of the crop caressed the underside of one breast. "Breathe in." She breathed in, her bosom rising appropriately. The crop whistled through the air and struck her breasts, not half an inch from her nipples. She screamed and collapsed, curling into a ball of agony and anguish on the floor. He watched and waited. It took her some time to uncurl, to see him stood there, crop in hand. The merest flick of its tip gestured her to rise. She struggled to stand, tears streaking her cheeks and lips trembling as sobs shook her slight body. The livid red line across her breasts practically glowed. She stood. She breathed heavily, wincing as her abused bosom moved. She straightened her back and clasped her hands behind her, knuckles white with the intensity of her grip. She took another painfully deep breath, eyes squeezed tight as she waited for the second stroke. The crop whistled again, seared into her flesh again, tore a scream from her again and left her broken on the floor again. He waited for her to stand – again.

The third stroke fell across both her nipples with excruciating precision. She curled up, her agonized shriek only stifled by the vomit that nearly choked her. He put the crop down and watched as she retched and shuddered and writhed in her torment. Idly, he took off his trousers. He was hard as iron.

Impatient to use her, he reached down, grabbed her elbow and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled but stood. Her face was a picture of misery, tear streaked, puffy and with her quivering chin smeared with bile. He dragged her to the desk, bending her over until she cried out as her tortured breasts hit the blotter, and thrust his cock into her. He held her pressed to the desk the whole time he fucked her, relishing her moans of unremitting pain. He came with a low moan of his own, Pumping harder as he washed her insides with sperm. 

She lay there, still, as he put his trousers back on and returned to his chair on the far side of the desk. When she finally pushed herself upright, he pointed at the puddle of vomit. "Clean that up."

She staggered out. When she returned with the mop, he was writing something on a sheet of violet coloured notepaper. When she had cleaned the floor and returned the mop to the cloakroom and the crop to its cupboard, He handed her the note. 

"I've made an appointment for you tomorrow afternoon. This is the address. Do not be late. Go now."

Dressing in the hall, she found the plug. Squatting, she tried to reach behind her to insert it. She was too sore from her beating and too dry. Feeling nauseous again, at the prospect of this intrusion, she pushed it into her vagina, lubricating it with her, and his, fluids. Balancing it on the bottom step of the staircase, she was able to squat onto it and feel it slide in, sinking home until she sat on the stair with the hateful thing fully inside her. She felt desperately constipated by the plastic plug as she pulled on her underwear, skirt and blouse. She couldn't bear the contact of her brassiere so placed it in her handbag. The movement of her breasts against her blouse and jacket was only marginally less painful. 

"I sleep naked now. His marks on my body will not allow sleep in any other fashion. They will not bear the touch of a nightgown, nor even a sheet. Even my morning shower brought tears. 

My nipples shamed me, responding as they did to his caress. I knew what he would do: wanted him to do it. Wanted to suffer at his hands. Wanted him to know the hate/love I feel in his presence.

I've worn the plug all day. It makes me feel unclean but not for a minute have I been free of it or the knowledge that it only paves the way for a greater violation. Do people notice it when I walk? I see them glance at me. Do they see it? Do they know why I move so stiffly? Would they be disgusted to know the full measure of it? Would they pity me? Would they pity Poor Claire?

NO! For all that I have accepted at his hand and all that I will yet accept, I will not be pitied. Nobody knows how much I deserve these travails. Nobody. Not even him."

Claire kept her afternoon appointment. It was a shop called Boudoir, off Bond Street. She asked for the manageress by name. Dolores was middle aged but impeccably made up and immaculate in twin set and pearls. 

"This way please, Miss." Dolores was expecting her and deferentially led her to a fitting room. "You are to be fitted for a corset." As soon as they had privacy, she added, "Undress please. Completely." She left Claire to disrobe and went to fetch the corset.

"I-" She started to speak as Dolores returned.

"Shh." Dolores cut her off. "I was given to understand you are under the rule of silence when naked."

Realizing her situation, Cunt bowed her head demurely.

"That's better, Cunt." 

Cunt looked startled.

"Louis and I are old friends. I've heard a lot about you – including your name." Dolores stepped close and gently lifted Cunt's breast on her palm, clearly admiring the dark bruises across them. "Hmm." She mused, appreciatively. "These are going to look splendid." 

Dolores offered her an ivory silk corset to step into. As she knelt to allow Cunt to step into it, she saw the flat, round end of the plug. As she rose, drawing the corset up over Cunt's hips, she tapped the disk with a long fingernail. "I see he is stretching you. Arms up." 

Cunt raised her arms as Dolores settled the corset in place, drawing the laces in to stop it slipping back over her hips. She stepped in front and hoisted the fabric up under Cunt's bosom. "This is a balconette. These," - She stuck a finger between the fabric and the underside of each breast – "are about a third of a bra cup. The idea is to support and present the breasts without hiding the nipples." Her thumbnails grazed Cunt's nipples in pointless illustration, provoking a slight wince. 

"These bristles," - her finger moved deeper into the cup, reaching a rough seam at the back – " Are horse hair. When your breasts move, the bristles will chafe. It will be uncomfortable but... That's rather the point, isn't it? It will only be uncomfortable when they're moving though. You'll still be able to concentrate at work.

The laces are at the front so you can fasten it yourself. It should be as tight as possible." Dolores fiddled with the laces until the corset was restrictively tight then tied a bow. 

"Louis instructed that are that you are no longer to wear underwear or tights. Here." Dolores handed her some stockings. "Put these on instead." She watched as Cunt sat and drew the stockings up her legs, clipping on the suspenders.

"And this," Dolores announced gleefully, "Is more horse hair. Horse tail actually." She fiddled at the back of the corset, attaching a length of white braid, perhaps ¼ of an inch in diameter and a foot long to what looked like an extra suspender strap. She passed it between Cunt's legs and up, hooking the other end to the lowest loop of the lacing. It pulled tight against Cunt's labia. Dolores reached under and parted the labia either side of the rope. "The attachment is elastic so this will always fit here." Her fingers hadn't moved from Cunt's labia. Inwardly, Cunt cringed at the intimate touch of another woman but she strove to remain quiescent. "It will chafe too. And once this plug is out, there too." She reached further between Cunt's legs to tap the plug again.

Finally, she took her hand away. "These accoutrements are very expensive. Louis must value you highly to be so generous. Remember that: remember how much effort has gone into your discomfort. Get dressed." Dolores left her to it.

As she left the fitting room, Dolores intercepted her, her tone deferential once more. "We shall have two more ready for collection next week, Miss." Dolores handed her a bag containing her now unnecessary tights and panties.

By the time she reached the tube station, she had learned just what the horse hair was for. The crease beneath her breast itched abominably and her crotch had a burning sensation not unlike cystitis. It made her feel constantly as though she needed to pee. 

Once on the train, the discomfort abated, just as long as she sat very still.

She had removed all but the corset when he found her in the hall.

"Let me look at you."

She stood up with one suspender unclipped, her hands loose at her sides, waiting. He strode around her twice looking thoughtful. 

"If it becomes too uncomfortable when you are still, tell Dolores. The horse hair should only exert its, ah, influence when you move. Take it off, then come through."

She finished disrobing, washed the plug in the little cloakroom then attended him in the dining room. The French windows were wide open again and the cold air made goose bumps all over her.

"Dolores tells me you broke the rule of silence."

She kept her head bowed, awaiting some punishment she knew must follow.

"Whenever you are naked, you are under the rules, even when you are alone. Anyone who knows your name, Cunt – anyone who calls you by that name, will be obeyed. Go to the nettle patch."

She knew what was expected of her – an act of contrition. 

"Cunt." His voice stopped her just inside the patio doors. She turned to face him. "Hold yourself open the while." 

She walked into the garden and across the lawn to the nettles. Her heart raced at the anticipation of the stings. She did not hesitate – he would punish hesitation too and she knew he watched her. She squatted astride the nettles, pinched and drew apart her own labia then sank onto the jagged green leaves, wincing as they caressed her sex and around her anus. Then she rose and walked slowly – painfully back to the dining room, crying soundlessly at the acid burning of her nether regions.

"Show me." He commanded as she returned to him. He patted the table in front of him to indicate that she should lie there. Obediently, she lay back on the table and parted her legs. Clasping her calves, he pushed her knees up and apart until they were level with her breasts. "Open yourself." He sat back.

She reached around her legs and peeled open her burning sex. He was pleased to see the red dimples of the nettle stings covering the tops of her thighs, the sepia triangle surrounding her anus and both sets of labia. Her fingers too showed the marks. He stood, unzipped his pants and took her. Needless to say, he was not gentle. It was only the second time he had fucked her face to face and this time, as he bent over her, thrusting as hard as he could into already painful flesh, he kneaded her bruised tits like bread dough to elicit screams to spur him on. When he was finished, he dismissed her for the night.

"When he came inside me, I almost came too. The crescendo of agony that accompanied his orgasm was as near as I have felt to release since... is that the key to me? Pain is catharsis. Submission is redemption.

I have become very aware of people's glances. The stiffness of my gait and the freeness of my bosom are drawing attention. I know the corset accentuates my behind as much as my bosom and I can feel men's eyes upon me. They're solicitous in their attention, being charming even while they glance slyly at my jiggling bosom and the outlines of my too prominent nipples. I can feel their desire to use me. Would any of them have the courage to use me as he does? No. Not a one of them would ever dare just to take what he wanted. All they can do is look at me in my shame and delude themselves that my blushes are for them."

She heard voices from his study as she undressed: his voice and that of a woman. She felt a strange apprehension at hearing a female voice in this house. Patient, she waited in the hall, for a few minutes at least, mercifully free of that awful plug and the itchy soreness of the horse hair. In the long hall mirror she could see herself reflected, pale and slight, purple striped across her bosom and too pink between the tops of her thighs where the thong had rubbed her to soreness all day, inflaming her sex. 

"Admiring yourself?" The woman's voice startled her. "No, of course not. Your sort have no such pride." The woman came into view in the mirror. She looked to be in her early twenties and, as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Cunt, alike enough that they could be sisters. Complexion, colouring, height and figure, all seemed close to identical – as nearly as could be surmised with one naked and one dressed. The woman noted the likeness with a knowing smile. "That's why Daddy wanted you – because he can't have me."

"Now Julia," He stood in the study doorway. "You know that's just Freudian psychobabble. I harbour absolutely no repressed sexual desire for my own daughter and you well know it. Or do you doubt your father's love?"

"How could I ever doubt you, Daddy Darling? I'm just teasing Cunt."

"Well when you've finished, I'd like you both in here please." He left them to it but Julia wasn't finished just yet. She turned to face, Cunt, lifting one of her breasts to reveal the red crease beneath it, where the bristles had rubbed her skin raw. "So. You're wearing corsets already. Here too, I see." She seized Cunt's sex with long fingers, digging painted nails into the tender flesh until moisture welled in the corners of Cunt's eyes. "Did you enjoy my fiancé? Frank certainly enjoyed you. He told me all about it." She released her grip on Cunt and walked away. Cunt followed, into the Study.

Another woman stood naked in front of the desk. She was older, much older: Late in her forties and running a little to fat. Thighs heavy with cellulite and dimpled, sagging bottom scarred. Old scars, long healed, but familiar in pattern. Cunt knew immediately that they were scars she too would likely wear if he continued to use the crop on her. She recognised the woman – They worked together. Maria had been her confidante for four years and had first told her of Louis. 

"You know Mama of course." Julia whispered in Cunt's ear. "It's years since she's been to this house but once ruled, always ruled. Daddy!" She raised her voice to encompass the whole room. "Can I take Cunt up to my room to play while you grown-ups talk?" She put on a little girl voice and batted her eyelashes at him.

"What would Frank say?"

"Frankie never says no to me. Besides, he's had her already."

"Go on then." He smiled indulgently. Then mused, as though to himself, "I hope Frank has more luck taming you than I did."

She skipped over to him, embraced him firmly and pressed her cheek to his chest. "You know you don't mean that, Daddy. You love me just the way I am and so does Frankie." Then she kissed his cheek and made for the door. "Come, Cunt. I'll show you my room."

Cunt followed Julia up the stairs, along the landing and into the last bedroom. It was predominantly pink and very girlie. Dolls lined shelves on one wall and two large cuddly toys occupied the bed. Julia kicked off her shoes and threw herself at them, bouncing on the mattress and scattering the cuddly toys to the corners of the room.

"I was only joking about Daddy wanting me, you know." She stared up at the ceiling. Cunt stood at the corner of the bed, passive. Waiting.

"Daddy loves me too much to hurt me and he always hurts his concubines."

Concubines? Was that what Cunt was? A Concubine? 

"He can't abide a woman taking pleasure in sex, you see. He even sent Mama to Harley Street to have her clit removed. Did you know that? That was before I was born, of course. She used to be his favourite. He was present at the birth and, after seeing how much she suffered in labour, he realized he could never hurt her that much and just sort of lost interest in her. The rules still apply though – when she's here. Listen." She shut up. A scream echoed through the house as far as the bedroom. As they listened, a second, then a third scream reached them. "She can take a lot of that."




Poor Claire: Week 02



Julia bounced off the bed and stripped off her dress, her panties and, finally, her bra. 

"Come here." She dragged Cunt in front of the wardrobe mirror and stood beside her. They really were very alike, except for the bruised bosom and vermilion soreness of Cunt's sex and the dark stripe of pubic hair Julia still sported. "Frank said fucking you was like raping me. I think, next time, I'd like to see that for myself." 

Julia fell backwards onto the bed, spreading her legs languidly. "Lick me." Her tone, so absurdly conversational, became severe, commanding. Cunt had dreaded this from the moment she had heard Julia's voice. She knelt slowly between Julia's knees, her mouth dry and her stomach knotted with loathing for the act she must perform. Her loathing didn't stop her though. She knew well the rule of obedience and she held to it, dipping her head to her task and pressing lips and tongue against Julia's sex.

She lapped at the exposed flesh inexpertly, never having learned, nor wanted to learn, the art of cunnilingus: Never even having experienced it, though several men had moved in that direction only to be rebuffed. 

As the cries from downstairs diminished, becoming somehow more forlorn, more miserable, her gorge rose at the taste of Julia. The slippery mucus coated her tongue so that it was all she could do not to retch. She screamed inside, keeping company with Maria, whom she would gladly have traded places with at this moment. A hand on Cunt's head grabbed a fistful of hair and forced her mouth harder against the hot, soft flesh, stifling her breath. She squirmed her tongue into Julia's insides, gagging even as she made it writhe in the girl's vagina. Dragged upwards by her hair, she turned her attention to Julia's clitoris, hiding in its little cowl. She lapped at it like a cat for a few minutes before Julia, frustrated at her clumsiness, cast her away so that she sprawled on the floor. She noticed in the silence that followed that there was indeed silence in the house.

"Useless!" Julia shouted at her. "Useless." She sat up, glaring at Cunt in absolute Rage.

Cunt cowered before her. For all her master's cruel use of her, none of it had ever been in anger. She quailed now at the thought of what this mistress might do in recrimination.

"Get out!" Julia raged. "Get out! Wait in the hall. Daddy will deal with you."

Cunt practically ran along the landing and down the stairs. In the hall she stood and waited, unable to avoid glancing at the cupboard that held the crop. Would he beat her? Or let Julia do it? She shook with terror at the thought of that instrument in the hands of one who so obviously hated her. 

Julia didn't so much as glance at her as she stomped down the stairs, dressed again and still clearly angry. She knocked on the Study door but entered without waiting for a reply. Through the open doorway, Cunt saw him fastening his trousers.

"Daddy, she's useless. She knows nothing of pleasing a mistress. Nothing. I knew more than her before I left boarding school."

"Calm yourself, my Sweet. She is merely untrained. I'll ask Dolores to give her instruction if you like. Yes?" He hugged his daughter then held her at arms length, his hands on her shoulders, looking at her in earnest affection. "Yes?" He repeated, as she only pouted at him.

"OK Daddy... But you should still punish her. I don't think she was even trying."

Cunt trembled as she heard this indictment.

"So? Then it will be accounted for on Saturday. I shall not beat her before then. Good enough?"

"'Spose so." Julia grudgingly gave in.

"I'd invite you to come and do the offices yourself but Frank said you're going to the villa this weekend."

"Yes. It's the 2nd anniversary of our 1st date."

"Young people!" He raised his eyes in mock exasperation. "Any excuse."

"Daddy!" she smiled at him, her sulk all forgotten.

"Cunt!" He called her to the study. As she entered she saw Maria sprawled across his desk. She appeared unconscious. Her overlarge bottom was a purple and crimson mass of welts, both horizontal and vertical, the latter traversing not just her buttocks but the more delicate parts between. Her sex was swollen and trickles of blood marked where the tender skin had split under the whipping. Her anus gaped, semen oozing from it – a testament to sodomy. She tore her eyes away.

"Cunt, I wanted you to see this so you will be well prepared for Saturday. You may go now."

As Cunt dressed in the hall, she could feel Julia's eyes on her, scrutinising the minutiae of the ritual. Watching as the awful plug invaded her bowels and the cord settled between her labia. While she put on her blouse and skirt, Julia rummaged for something in the sideboard, raising a tiny red tin triumphantly.

"Aha!" she sounded delighted as she turned toward Cunt with a malicious leer. "Open your blouse." She ordered, while half the buttons were still undone. Cunt obeyed meekly, baring her bosom to Julia who, dipping one finger into the little container, smeared each of Cunt's nipples. "Tiger balm." She explained. Cunt could already feel the heat rising where the balm touched her. "Burns like blazes. Consider it my parting gift." 

Julia left her alone to finish dressing. The balm soon kept its promise. Her nipples felt as though someone held a flame to them. The agony seeped through her all the way home.

"I should have known about Maria, should have guessed. Why, when she arranged my introduction to Him, did I never think that she might suffer as I do? How obedient must she be to have her clitoris removed for him? Could I ever submit so much?

He will not ask this of me – my clit is more use to him, as a means of hurting me, than it ever is to me. He will not deprive himself of such an exquisite means of torture."

"Maria didn't come to work today. When I see her, will I want to ask her about him? Discuss our concubinage? Or will I avoid the subject as she does? Certainly, she could have spoken of her past with him. Does the rule of silence bind our tongues even between one another? 

Saturday. I have seen what awaits me then. I knew it and now I have seen it. It terrifies me, disgusts me, but fear will not prevent me giving my body to him knowing that is all he requires – no talk of hearts or love. Obedience is not so much to ask of me, I think."

"Julia said her fiancé had fantasised about raping her as he used me. Should I feel then that I was raped? Two weeks ago, perhaps, but not now. I have learned my rules well. If I were raped, here on this train, tonight, I would not plead for mercy or call for help. I could not call it rape when any man who chooses can use me so for his gratification. Submission will be my redemption."

"My daughter told me about the Tiger balm." He was examining her in the dining room, noting how her bruises had gone, except the three faint stripes across her bosom. "It has its uses, though I prefer the nettles when they're in season." He pinched her nipples to see how sensitive they were, increasing the pressure until he made her gasp. "It's not possible to fuck someone straight after Tiger balm, as one can with nettles. Still..." He noted with approval the raw crescents under her breasts, running his fingers along them. "It has its uses. Bend over." He turned her and had her present her bottom, legs slightly parted. His finger probed easily past her sphincter, feeling slight after the massive intrusion she had borne all week. "The dildo is doing its work I see. I shan't need to be gentle on Saturday." He toyed with her labia, smiling at the lividity where the horse hair had rubbed between her lips and across her clitoral hood. He pinched her hood violently, eliciting a shriek from her. "This is the best place for Tiger balm: It reaches where the nettles don't. Before her surgery, Julia's mother would suffer it for hours, lying on this very table. It made a marvellous centrepiece for dinner parties. Suck me." 

She turned to see him moving to the very edge of his chair. She squatted by his feet and unzipped him, freeing his cock, already quite firm. He relaxed, lifting a moist finger to his nose and inhaling the smell of her sex and – probably, she thought – her bottom. His finger had violated there first. She felt vaguely nauseous at the thought of it. The soft flesh in her mouth did nothing to settle her stomach either. It wasn't soft for long and soon she was demonstrating the full range of her cock sucking skills. She no longer had to be told to swallow his semen. She even drew him deeper into her mouth as he came, a trick to keep the salty slime as far from her taste buds as possible. She had to taste some of it though, as she withdrew his again flaccid cock and it dribbled a final libation onto her tongue. She was dismissed even before he'd put his penis away.

"Why do I hate him? I am as complicit in my suffering as he is. How can I blame him for the pains I endure when he is so clearly true to his nature while I live a lie, too ashamed to admit my own reasons and motives? It is not his hand that tortures me, but mine. Not his will that orders my ordeals, but mine. So why do I hate him?

Because he's shown me my nature and the truth hurts more than the abuse.

He has shamed me so much I am moving beyond shame. Soon, very soon, the only secret part of me will be my Secret. How will I hide from it then?"

When she arrived at his house, Claire found a note on the sideboard.

"Cunt, I shall be out all evening. I have made an appointment for you with Dolores at the address below. Go there at once. L."

She took the note and left. Dolores' address was almost an hour away.

Dolores answered her knock and let her in with a smile, taking her handbag and coat.

"Do you have a name other than Cunt?"

Claire opened her mouth to respond then thought better of it and simply nodded.

"The rule of silence applies only when naked. You may answer." She smiled reassuringly.

"Claire." Claire introduced herself. It felt strangely intimate to share such a secret with this woman who held so much authority over her.

"Well, Claire... Please, sit..." Dolores indicated a sofa, taking one end for herself. "Louis has asked me to tutor you. He wishes you to learn the art of cunnilingus. You understand why?"

"Yes...For his daughter."

"Not just Julia, though I hear you displeased her. Louis knows several mistresses, including me." She saw the look of surprise on Claire's face. "Oh yes. When I touched you in the shop, did you not realise my interest?" She was unabashed at the admission.


"I-I didn't think about it, Dolores."

"You should call me Mistress. It is not proper for a concubine to be so familiar. I shall not mention the impropriety to Louis though. It'll be our little secret until I have an opportunity to chastise you, then I'll punish you for it myself." She said this as if it were a favour. "Both of my junior staff are my concubines. They're upstairs now, waiting for us. Have you ever performed cunnilingus before?"

"No Mistress, except with...Mistress Julia." 

Dolores smiled at the almost-but-not-quite slip in etiquette. "And how often have you received it?"

"Never, Mistress."

"Never? Did you come to Louis a virgin?"

"No Mistress, but I would never let a man..." She made a face, indicating her distaste.

"So?" Dolores realized there was much work to be done here. "Follow me."

Dolores led Claire to a large bedroom occupied by two naked girls about her age. One was of the blonde haired blue eyed, Arian stereotype, tall and large breasted. The other was dark, Latin and petite. Both still had pubic hair though it was severely trimmed and did not appear to reach their sexes. 

"Put your clothes there." Dolores ordered Claire, indicating a small footstool.

Dolores watched Claire disrobe while her own concubines carefully undressed her too She stopped them when she was down to corset and stockings, perhaps out of vanity, having by 20 years the oldest body in the room. "Leave that in." She admonished as Cunt squatted to remove the plug from her rectum. "Kneel." She tossed a pillow onto the floor at the foot of the large bed. Cunt obeyed, kneeling.

"We shall start with Michelle I think. She's the most easily stimulated." She nodded to the dark girl who clambered onto the bed, legs akimbo and presented her bare sex to Cunt. Dolores sat on the bed beside her so that she could see and direct what was going on. At a gesture from her, Cunt bent to her task.

"Cunnilingus is 90% teasing and 10% gratification... Do not go straight for the clitoris, circle it, stalk it like prey. Advance within a hair's breadth of it then back off, tease her until she is desperate for that touch." She watched Cunt's tongue circle Michelle's clit. "Detour down the length of her labia... Pluck at her inner labia with your lips...Just so. See! She responds to that." Michelle did indeed respond, sighing with pleasure. "Delve inside her to lubricate the tip of your tongue. Vaginal secretions are much better lubricant than saliva... Use your fingers to spread her... See how wet she is? You have aroused her. Insert a finger or two into her... Turn them slowly: don't ram them in and out... Flutter your fingers like so." She wiggled two fingers with lightning quick movements in front of Cunt's eyes. "Keep returning to her clit... Brush just the tip of your tongue over it. There! See how she tenses. Good... Draw the hood back. Thus." Dolores placed a finger either side of Michelle's clitoris and drew the skin taut, making the tiny nub peek further from its cowl. She released it so that Cunt could try for herself. "And swift flicks. Barely touch it. Tease her... Excellent! She is very near to climax. When she comes, press your fingers against her Graffen spot – behind her pubic hair. It will heighten her orgasm...Now!... Lash her clit, now. Harder! Hear her screams... Pure pleasure. Enough... Let her relax... fingers gently out... Good. Now kiss below her clitoris, ever so gently." Dolores gently pushed Cunt's head away from the prone girl. "See how heavily she breathes, the perspiration on her breasts? You did well. Now try with Lizzie. She is not so easy to turn on."

Michelle rolled languidly over to make room for Lizzie and Cunt bent to her task a second time.

Dolores spoke very little this time, only fine tuning Cunt's technique. Fellatio had taught Cunt to use her tongue expertly and her technique adapted well to this. She was an apt student even though she showed such evident distaste for what she did. It took nearly twice as long to bring Lizzie to orgasm and Cunt's mouth ached with long and unfamiliar exercise. This did not go unnoticed by her eagle-eyed tutor.

"Rest a moment." She told Cunt. "Michelle, bring us all some tea please." 

Michelle scooted off the bed and left. Dolores lay down in front of Cunt. "Now Cunt, show me what you have learned tonight." She parted her stocking clad legs and lay back. Cunt stared at Dolores' sex. It was unkempt by comparison with the other women, being possessed of a full thatch of pubic hair. There were traces of grey in that hair too. The fleshy lips were looser and more prominent than the younger ones. Cunt sighed inwardly, resigned to her task and went to it, trying to put into practice everything the mistress had told her, the sooner to be done with this. After an interminable time, Dolores finally climaxed, less dramatically than her concubines, but she seemed satisfied. While she caught her breath, Michelle poured tea for the four of them. Cunt was not fond of tea but welcomed anything that took the taste of female sex away. 

"You learn quickly, Cunt. Would you like one of my girls to show you what you've been missing all these years?" 

Cunt looked away, repulsed at the prospect.

"No? Well I shan't force you. You may go then."

Dismissed, Cunt dressed and was shown out by Lizzie. She was startled that Lizzie leant forward and kissed her gently on the cheek at the door. 

"Saturday. Time, having raced so fast to get here is exhausted, dragging out the empty hours until evening. I have been naked all day, hiding from my trepidation, my anxiety, behind the rule of silence. My submission is all that passes for peace.

Is this what I am becoming? Is poor Claire someone Cunt used to be? No. Or... not yet. The question is its own answer. Only Claire would ask it. Cunt wouldn't need to, or dare to.

And my secret? Will Cunt keep it or, when everything else has been stripped from me, will what remains be too transparent to conceal?"

She arrived early, stripped and waited in the hall. Faint domestic sounds placed him in the kitchen. Eventually, he passed her, on his way to the dining room.

"Cunt. Bring your crop." He carried a large tray.

She followed. The dining table was set for two. He placed the tray on the sideboard and took his usual place at the head of the table, gesturing for her to serve.

They dined in silence, Cunt's eyes rarely straying from the crop on the table. She barely touched the food on the plate, couldn't eat at this moment, even if she were starving. It pleased him to draw out her ordeal with this calm before the storm.

He prolonged her anxiety even more when, dawdling over desert, he chose to remind her what was to come.

"Sometimes, Cunt, it does one good to deny oneself a thing. Anticipation can heighten one's gratification immeasurably. Your bottom for example: I know I could have sodomized you anytime I chose but instead I have endured this week of self denial, just as you now endure the wait for your whipping. I'm sure you've been dreading this evening and that this final delay is a further ordeal. 

Dolores made very good report of you last night. I trust Julia will have no further cause for complaint. However, I will keep my promise to my daughter when I whip you tonight." He put down his desert fork, pushed his chair back from the table and stood. "Your breasts first, I think." He picked up the crop. "Stand up." His tone was suddenly peremptory, cold. 

Cunt stood and stepped clear of the table, clasping her hands behind her back and breathing in to present her bosom. Her eyes remained open, watching his approach, crop flexing between his hands. She knew what was to come and, knowing, she submitted herself to him. 

The crop swished through the air, landing white-hot across her breasts, tearing a scream from her lips as she collapsed in pain. Standing, tear streaked and trembing she presented herself to the whip a second time, a third, a fourth. After six strokes, she could not stand up. Her bosom was almost completely purple and her areolae showed traces of blood where the more delicate skin had split. The scraping of chair legs across the marble floor drew her out of the foetal ball of agony. His hand on her elbow urged her up but only so that she could drape herself over the chair back. Her breasts swung free and throbbed: The searing of the whip giving way to the dull ache of bruised flesh. She winced as she stretched to reach the brace across the front of the chair.

No sooner had she gripped it than her nervous system seemed to spontaneously combust as one brutal stoke after another cut deeply into her bottom and the backs of her thighs. Her cries merged into one prolonged wail of agony as he thrashed at her nether regions, contriving to land the folded tip of the crop on her exposed labia and clitoral hood with each blow. 

The crop took her from blinding white, through red, into the black of oblivion as she passed out. 

She came to as strong hands lifted her from the chair and deposited her less than gently, face down on the end of the dining table, her tortured breasts, pressed against the polished wood. She lay motionless, unable to move her brutalized body.

She was still barely conscious when his erection nudged against her anus and, with a single thrust, buried itself in her rectum. True to his word, he didn't hold back, fucking her bottom with all his usual vigour. If she'd been more aware of her surroundings, she would have been nauseated at this painful violation, prepared as she had been. As it was, she was barely aware of him as she moaned in renewed torment with each thrust against her burning backside and the pummelling of her bosom against the table. 




Poor Claire: Week 02



He came with a primal, almost animal grunt, pumping jet upon jet of semen into her ass before pulling free, smears of blood on his thighs, from her wounds. He slumped onto the chair to catch his breath, taking the opportunity to admire his handiwork. Cunt had endured much more this time. 

A few minutes later, having put his trousers back on, he gathered Cunt up in his arms and carried her to the guest room. He left her curled in a tight ball on the bed and went to shower and change, returning, as last Saturday, to draw her a lukewarm tub which he carried her to. Little eddies of pink suffused the bath water as he sponged her breasts, washing the traces of blood away. Eventually, her eyes opened, red rimmed and haunted as they struggled to focus on him. 

"You will stay here this weekend. I suspect it will take a couple of days for you to recover." He lifted her to trembling feet and supported her weight as she stepped from the tub. Having dried her off, he carried her to the bed again and left her to sleep.

"Hold on... Hold on... That is my memory of last night... not the crop, nor the sodomy, but this one gesture of total submission... Hold on. 

Submission will be my redemption.

I wanted only to hold on to the chair, and to consciousness, longer: to endure more, knowing that the greater my suffering, the greater his pleasure. So I hid from the barrage of pain behind Cunt's duty and listened as Poor Claire screamed and wailed beneath the whip.

And Claire's secret? My secret? He surely cannot know it...

He came to me this morning: took me on all fours, violating my rectum for a second time and... nothing. 

Perhaps if he had not prepared me so well, but taken me unstretched and torn me as my father took my mother that night: If he had taken his penis, defiled with blood and ordure and fucked me, raped me with it...Perhaps being so abused again by someone I love so much...Perhaps then my body would have betrayed me, but it didn't. 

My name is Cunt. I am concubine to Master Louis D_____. Do with me as you will."