Church of Chains (15 page)

Paula had never yet seen the private quarters of either the brothers or sisters, although some of the group had, but the reports didn’t do justice to the reality.

The carpet was deep and soft, and the bed linen on the huge four-poster more expensive and finer than anything Paula had ever been able to contemplate for herself in her previous life. Inevitably the carved posts of the bed were equipped with chains but it was the carvings themselves which caught Paula’s eye. She stared at them. Each post was carved in the shape of a naked woman with her hands raised above her head and tied, and each woman’s posture perfectly captured different reactions to different stages of being whipped. The ones which formed the posts at the foot of the bed were arching their backs away from an invisible whip and trying to look over their shoulders at where the next lash was coming from. One of them was twisting to look over her left shoulder and one was twisting to the right. At the head of the bed the two women were depicted as having had their beatings and their heads hung down between their raised arms, their backs to the room. As Paula looked closely she could see that the artist had carved lines across their bodies which were picked out in darker stain and formed lifelike representations of the weals left by the whip. The bodies of the women were skilfully carved in every detail, the curves of their breasts and buttocks looked as though they would be warm and alive to the touch. The faces of the two who were still being whipped had expressions which Paula recognised instantly. The heady mixture of pain, pleasure and passion which swept over her every time she herself was whipped.

Sister Lavinia gave her plenty of time to stare. “They are lovely aren’t they? The Church rewards its faithful servants well Paula. Don’t forget that,” she said at last.

“No Sister,” Paula replied dutifully.

She remained standing in the centre of the room while Sister Lavinia helped herself to a drink from a low table set by a luxurious armchair beside the fireplace. She sat and drank slowly, ignoring Paula for the moment.

“I promised you a whipping when I was allowed to have you,” she said at last. “And after tonight I think you’ve earned one. Besides I think you should be allowed to come quite freely before you start the next phase of your training.”

Sister Lavinia finished her drink unhurriedly before rising and approaching Paula. She was led over to the other side of the bedroom and shown where she was to be whipped. It was a curious object and was bolted to the floor through the carpet. It stood by the window beyond the door to the dressing room. It was wooden and in some ways it resembled a simple bicycle saddle except that a shaft came from the front of it and ended in two round spars which were joined to it at right angles. The whole thing stood no more than a foot off the floor. By now Paula was so used to whipping posts and bars to hold her, as well as chains to hang her by, it didn’t seem very imposing. But she did take full account of the wooden phallus which speared up from the seat and after the earlier events of the night she reserved judgement.

“It’s a whipping stool. You can try it in a moment. But first tell me what that woman said to you at the auction today.”

Paula was startled; she hadn’t seen Sister Lavinia there. But she remembered the words and repeated them. The sister pondered for a moment.

“Hmm, I don’t think she knows how thoroughly we work in the Church. But anyway if you’re ever sold to her, you’ll be able to draw comparisons.”

She laughed but Paula found her earlier fears resurfacing. She didn’t want to be sold. She wanted to stay where she was.

At last Paula’s wrists were freed and her lead removed. And then she undressed Sister Lavinia. The memory of the last time she had done this, in the Games Room was still vivid. But this time when she helped the sister step out of her long skirt and Paula found herself face to face with her blonde thatch of pubes there was no hurry to whip her and return her to the brothers.

She felt Sister Lavinia’s hand gently press her face forward. Inquisitively she let her lips press against the wiry hair and her nose drew in the perfumed musk of her sex. Paula was immediately aware of the contrast between this woman and the last man she had been with. Slowly she let her tongue probe for and find the lips, then Sister Lavinia parted her legs more and Paula was able to lick at the inner lips and find the nub of her clitoris. Her hands reached round the woman and held her buttocks as she dived in more deeply and lapped at the spicy moisture which began to seep from her. She pressed her tongue hard against the clitoris and felt it harden in its turn. She began to suck at it, drawing it out from its protective folds of sensitive pink flesh. Above her she heard the sister moan and sigh and probed farther in. Sister Lavinia tilted her hips and pushed herself at Paula so that she could get her tongue into her vagina and savour the full fragrance of the nectar which lubricated it. Eager now to bring her to a climax, Paula used her fingers to pull her lips apart and went to work, sucking and nipping at the clitoris while the woman’s hands gripped themselves in her hair, her hips bucking urgently at Paula’s lapping tongue. Suddenly she felt a spasm run through the woman’s body, the hands gripped harder, Paula tried to bury her face deeper into the perfumed crack of her sex to suck at her entrance and with a shuddering cry she came while Paula licked and licked again at the flood of juice which poured over her eager mouth.

Paula held her tight while the shudders continued to run through her in the wake of her orgasm and sucked greedily at the pungent emission. But eventually she relaxed and Paula knelt back on her haunches in front of her. It was the first time she had had any sexual experience with another woman and felt that yet another bridge had been crossed to increase the distance between who she had been and who she was now.

“On the stool quickly now my Paula.” Sister Lavinia’s voice was husky and urgent.

Obediently Paula lowered herself onto the seat and allowed the phallus to ride up into her. She was wet and open, the frustrations of the evening and the sister’s orgasm making her impatient for release. As her buttocks touched the seat and the phallus reached its maximum penetration she could feel that in front of its shaft, the wood had been cunningly carved into small protrusions which now pushed against her clitoris, especially when the sister told her to lower her legs so that her ankles could be tied to the bars which ran across the front of the stool. Then she was made to lean her body forward too, and pass her arms between her legs so that her wrists could be fastened to the same bars. She found she was bent forward as if in a rowing boat, with her knees up beside her elbows. But mainly what she was aware of was the fact that the whole of her back was exposed and bent forward. Her shoulders being pulled forward meant that the skin was pulled tight.

Sister Lavinia went into her dressing room and returned with a dog whip.

“The stool is a seldom used piece of equipment these days. But I like the way it exposes one so. It makes a thrashing much more painful.”

Looking to one side Paula saw the naked woman stand over her and raise her arm. She was right. Not one millimetre of the lash was wasted, Paula felt every last piece of it bite into her skin. The sister started at the widest part of her back, her rounded shoulders and laid it on hard. Paula jerked and cried out at the very first blow. By the third she was desperately trying to wriggle away but to no avail. And at the fourth which cracked across the paths traced by two other lashes her body began to respond to her frantic writhings on the phallus. From then on each Smack! was answered only by hoarse grunts as Paula ground her clitoris down against the nubs of carved wood on the seat and felt the phallus spear deep up into her. The searing pain of the whip and her lowly position in front of it, only spurred her on. She put all the pent up excitement of the long evening into her gyrations and threw her head back to shout in triumph as at last the waves broke over her and the whip pounded down onto her. She felt her sex grip the shaft as it had longed to all night and go into helpless spasms of ecstasy, her stomach clenched to hold it still harder and shudder after shudder ran through her while she crouched so submissively in front of the whip. At last her head fell forward and she gasped out the last of her orgasm. The whip stopped.

“I’ll let you have one more. And then tomorrow you begin to be trained to control your pleasure.”

Before Paula could thank her she started again. This time it took longer for the pleasure she took in the pain to drive her to the heights. But then Sister Lavinia moved the lashes further down her back and allowed the whip to curve round her ribs and strike at the soft flesh on the side of her breast where it was swelled out by being pressed against the length of her thigh. This triggered her body once more and she began to buck and writhe again. Her hands gripped the bar to which she was tied and this gave her just enough purchase to bounce up and down a little, jarring the soft flesh of her open sex against the wooden nubs. Again she heard her almost animal grunts answer each Smack! as the leather cracked down on her naked back. Each bolt of pain it unleashed drove her to a crisis which left her soaked in sweat and sobbing with exertion.

When Sister Lavinia released her, Paula humbly kissed her feet in gratitude.

Chapter 17

Paula found that she now enjoyed all their training except for one part.

Although they no longer worked in the fields, they were not allowed to be idle. After morning prayers they would be taken to the kitchens or to the storerooms where the cleaning materials were kept. And for the whole morning they would labour under the watchful eyes of the brothers. After lunch they would report to Sister Helen for classes in deportment and dancing.

Paula had always enjoyed cooking and found it no hardship to work in the kitchens, particularly as the monastery used only fresh produce. Besides she knew how much a good meal meant to the new girls after their day’s work. Most of her companions however had only ever microwaved food or eaten takeaways and she found herself frequently acting as assistant chef, helping them to master the arts of peeling and slicing vegetables, or cutting raw meat. She often earned the approval of whoever was overseeing them at the time. She was proud of this and it blinded her to a danger which was to take her by surprise in due course.

As for cleaning, they were all on a level playing field but Paula didn’t find it too irksome.

Deportment and dancing she was naturally good at with an athlete’s strength and instinctive timing. They were taught how to stand properly straight and how to walk in a graceful manner. Sister Helen employed suitably old-fashioned methods to instil such old fashioned values. They spent hours parading up and down balancing piles of books on their heads. The Sister made liberal use of her riding crop around their thighs if they allowed any to fall. Paula usually escaped relatively unscathed, but could see how the rest of her group were being transformed. The purification process had hardened them physically at the same time as subduing them mentally, and it had also peeled off the outer shell of streetwise defiance and rebelliousness. Their sufferings during purification had made them proud of becoming novices and of their slavery, just as they had Paula, and she could see how well they responded to the training. Almost daily they held themselves better, but it was the dancing which was the real revelation.

Sister Helen gave them long diaphanous gowns which were nearly transparent and which were split almost to the hip on both sides. All the girls loved them and hated having to take them off at the end of the lesson. But Paula couldn’t help marvelling at their enthusiasm, considering how they had dressed in the past. And she was amazed at the gracefulness some of them attained. The sister would put slow sensuous music on her stereo system and take them through provocative steps which taught them to reveal tantalising glimpses of their naked bodies beneath the gauze of their gowns. They learned how the female body could sway and undulate seductively. And all these arts were light years distant from the coarse sexuality of selling themselves on street corners. Paula took to the dancing immediately, letting her imagination carry her away. She fantasised about what she was inviting from an invisible master and strove to make herself as desirable as she could, to induce him to possess her utterly. And it was this ability to transport herself which lent her dancing a quality that delighted Sister Helen.

But this too led to trouble in time.

Paula’s immediate problem lay in controlling her pleasure. As Sister Lavinia had said, the next stage of their training, and it was conducted at the same time as their other instruction, was to be taught how to control their orgasms so that they would only come when they were allowed to. As they were now almost constantly in the presence of the brothers, they found that the men would take them whenever they liked. In the kitchens a girl would be bent over one of the tables, told to hitch up her dress and then whichever brother it was would simply thrust himself straight into her. Paula found the sight of a female body jerking in response to the man’s brutal and uncaring thrusts, almost unbearably erotic. But if the girl gave any sign of pleasure she was immediately sentenced to contemplation time. As they had all been taught to enjoy being whipped, contemplation was used as punishment; and it was very effective.

But Paula took such intense pleasure in her submission that she came almost every time one of the brothers had her bend across a table or chair. Unfortunately the attractions of her body meant that they frequently took her and just as frequently she failed.

If she was summoned to a brother’s room in the evenings, he only had to tie her and give her a few lashes before she was moaning with excitement at the prospect of feeling his shaft ramming into her after the whip had seared her into a state of uncontrollable arousal. It took only ten lashes sometimes to have her juicing and moaning helplessly. The whip and the hard shaft of a master’s sex had been fused together in her mind and she didn’t mind which they used on her.

As a consequence she suffered in the Punishment Wing repeatedly before she learned. Most often she was placed in the ankle pillory and hauled up by her feet to hang upside down. Every hour or so she was taken down to allow her circulation to recover and then she was hauled up again. But at last the days she spent in solitary and agonising confinement slowly began to have an effect.

Just how much of an effect however, she didn’t find out until Brother Davis caned her.

He called her to his room one day after exercise but before they had been chained for the night. As Paula entered his room she immediately noticed the bed. Like Sister Lavinia’s its posts were carved, but his ones had smaller figures carved in relief around the main shaft of the post. Each of the figures, and all of them were of naked women, were depicted in various attitudes of bondage to the post itself. Paula could pick out one hung by her wrists, another with her arms pulled behind her and bound on the far side of the post and yet another hung by her wrists again but with weights hung from her ankles. She could read the pain in their faces and could almost hear their cries for mercy, or at least the harsh attentions of the master who had strung them up.

Brother Davis lounged in a large old-fashioned chair with barley twist arms and legs, watching her reactions to the carvings.

“I hear you’ve spent a bit of time like that yourself just recently.”

Paula hung her head. “Yes Master.”

He stood up decisively. “Well I’m going to cane you tonight and we’ll see how you’re doing.”

“Yes Master. Thank you Master.” Paula kept her voice steady but her hands were trembling as she unzipped her dress and stepped out of it. She really didn’t think she could hold onto her reactions under another caning from Brother Davis. He had always terrified and fascinated her, but had always seemed to take a special interest in her. Still if she could restrain herself now, she could do it anywhere and she really didn’t want any more time hanging in the Punishment Wing.

He made her bend over in the middle of the floor. To add to her problems, this was her favourite position. It was the one most used by the brothers to administer minor punishments on the spot. She loved the way her breasts swayed under her as she bent, and with her hands grasped round her ankles she could feel how her naked sex was ready to show him all too clearly how excited she was. And to cap it all he wanted her to count the strokes. If he had been able to read her mind he couldn’t have devised a worse torture for her. It was those little touches of cruelty which set her pulse racing every time.

Crack! He struck without warning and all thought was swept away by the stab of pain which lanced through her.

“Aah... One! Thank you Master!” she managed to get out and then draw breath before the second stroke.

Crack! “Two! Thank you Master!” She managed not to scream and held the pain in, letting it flood through her but feeling it begin to lodge in her belly.

Crack! “Three! Thank you Master!” In despair she felt the familiar stirrings and a flutter in her exposed lips as they began to fill and open. She closed her eyes and thought of the sound of the door closing behind whichever brother had hung her in the Punishment Wing. She told herself to concentrate on the hours of lonely agony which would follow.

Crack! “Aah... Four! Thank you Master!” It had caught her by surprise again and the white heat of the pain and arousal nearly swept her thoughts away. But she hung on grimly, concentrating on the feeling of desolation it gave her to be left in solitary contemplation of her failings.

Crack! “Five! Thank you Master!” She heard her voice firm and calm. She was thinking of how she sat, naked on the cold stone floor of the Punishment Wing, waiting for her head to clear and rubbing at her ankles, knowing that yet another hour lay ahead of her. She was in control at last! The final lash cracked in and she counted it calmly. She could enjoy knowing that Brother Davis was caning her, and enjoy the caning, but she would only come later; when he gave her permission to.

He told her to stay down and pushed his fingers into her sex. She felt him stir the juices there and relaxed, allowing the pleasure to flow through her body, but keeping thoughts of the Punishment Wing firmly in her mind.

“Good girl! You enjoyed that, but not too much! Now we’ll move on and see how you do.”

He settled the cane across the tops of her thighs and made ready to slice it down hard so that it would crack across her sex lips. Paula knew that it would be all too easy to surrender to the bright bolts of agony as the cane licked at the very entrance to her sex but braced herself to fight.

She just had time to register the Swish! in the air behind her before the Crack! of the cane landing, the explosion of pain and her own scream seemed to happen all at once. As far as it could, her back arched and her head came up. She nearly lost her balance and staggered, but held on and managed to keep an image in her mind of the hated pillory closing round her ankles, as it surely would again if she surrendered to the sudden wave of heat which engulfed her sex as it was lashed.

Once more he took his time, laying the cane across her thighs and pressing it into the soft flesh of her lips. She felt him adjust his balance and settle himself. She could have screamed at him to get on with it, but he had no intention of hurrying. The torment of anticipation now added to Paula’s problems. She was going to get at least one more right on her sex lips, and they were quivering with excitement at the prospect. Paula clenched her teeth and thought of the humiliation of having to go back to the room and tell the others she had been sent to Solitary again. That worked. He lifted the cane away and swished it in the air a couple of times, so close to her that she felt the wind of its passage. She flinched each time, but kept her concentration. And when he finally did land the last lash, she managed to confine herself to a grunt as she acknowledged the impact and accepted the pain gladly, but didn’t let it swamp her.

He let her straighten up and rub at her bottom for a moment before ordering her over to the bed. He had her kneel and bury her head in the quilt so that he had full access to her hindquarters which were raised up and offered to him. He could have spent some time getting his hand deep inside her, widening her, stirring her juices, playing with her clitoris as it engorged and then telling her not to come. And all that she could have coped with easily enough now. But she knew that Brother Davis was well aware of how her body reacted, and she wasn’t surprised when he put his fingers into her only long enough to get them good and wet then thrust them roughly into her anus. Almost immediately he withdrew them and rammed his member in. Paula felt her tight little opening stretched wider and wider as the head of his sex pushed at it, the pain becoming more piercing by the second. She ground her teeth together and refused to admit that she was loving every moment of it.

The long hours of bleak pain in Solitary beckoned for a moment. But the very thought of them made her forget her own pleasure and concentrate on bearing down to help Brother Davis enter her. And as soon as she did, he slipped into her. He alternated between ramming himself in brutally hard and then withdrawing slowly. She loved both strokes but her obstinacy held firm; she wasn’t going back to the pillory.

He came out of her before he reached his own climax and telling her to remain as she was he climbed off the bed. Paula’s stomach lurched as she watched him fetch a riding crop from a rack by the bed head. For a moment he stood in front of her and she drank in the sight of his muscular frame and the arrogant sex spearing rigidly up towards her. He smiled and flexed the crop, but said nothing before getting onto the bed and kneeling behind her again.

“We’re going for a ride Paula. And you will be allowed to come, but wait for permission.”

With the fingers of one hand he held her lips apart and pushed himself into her sex. She couldn’t help moaning with delight this time as she felt her channel grip him eagerly and the sensitive tissues register his shaft’s penetration deep inside. She was desperate to feel him come in there, to feel the member throbbing and pumping while the fluid spurted into her. But most of all, she realised, she wanted to hear his gasps of pleasure as he spent himself in her.

And of course he was the Master.

It was only right that if he was entitled to use her body in any way he pleased, it should be up to him when, or even whether she should be allowed to enjoy it. Anything else did not befit a slave. As soon as she had framed this thought, she knew that he could do what he liked with her, for as long as he liked. And if he didn’t give his permission, she wouldn’t come. It was so simple.

She was able to grind her hips hard against him so he could feel the depth of his penetration, and then sway them gracefully for his pleasure as her lips quivered round the head of his sex when he held it just at her entrance. And she was safe in the knowledge that she wanted to wait for his permission to let the floodgates of her own pleasure down.