The Mortification of Isabel (5 page)

I decided to give her a foretaste of what was in store for her and came very close to look her in the eyes, and then pushed my fingers into her pussy. She was bound tightly to the post and could not move an inch so simply had to endure my invasion of her body. She did not allow her expression to change unless it was to add contempt to defiance. The look seemed to say I was not much of a man to take advantage of her in this way.

I added more digits and thrust them up and down inside her until her juice began to moisten my fingers. I guessed she would be furious with her body for betraying her. I had my left hand jammed into her pussy and now I used my right hand to caress her lovely breasts, noticing a little sheen of sweat between them. I plucked at her nipples, teasing the coral coloured points till they stood out proudly from the milky whiteness of her cone-shaped breasts. Then suddenly she spat at me and the saliva dripped down from my forehead over the left side of my face. Her stare was unwavering without a trace of fear.

Even when I struck her across her breasts with my cane she stared back at me without flinching as though she felt no pain.

This was a most unusual woman and I was certain now she was the leader of the slave revolt. It would take a person of extraordinary courage and determination to take the lead in such an enterprise and she clearly had those qualities in abundance.

It seemed a petty act when I struck her again to add another bright red stripe across her white breasts but I was still angry from the humiliation of being spat upon in front of the other slaves. I should have waited because I knew I would have ample opportunity to punish her and in surroundings more conducive to my art.

I was keen to capture this woman’s likeness so I knelt with my drawing pad resting on my thighs and tried to do justice to the wonderful lines of her figure, her firm breasts and her fair-haired muff.

The other woman was nondescript and I left the stockade to discuss with the chief arrangements for the interrogation of the prisoners.

***

One of the few stone built buildings on the island was the chief’s palace, the rest being huts made of materials like the wattle and daub used by our ancestors in England. It was part palace and part fort because the chief’s father had been at war with a neighbouring island and had the then existing buildings supplemented with fortifications for the protection of his family. When I explained my requirements, the chief took me to the cells in the bowels of the building which his father had made in the expectation of taking prisoners in the war. The chief, slightly shamefacedly, told me the cells had not been used because no enemy fighters had been captured. It seemed to me the so-called war had not amounted to more than a good deal of posturing on both sides. However, the underground cells and chambers were ideal for my purpose.

Apparently the chief did not use the cells himself because he expected slave owners to meet out their own punishments to errant slaves.

I knew I had work to do before the cells were ready to receive the suspects and that I would have to improvise given the materials available. Where I might have preferred metal I would have to make do with wood and the fibres I could find in nature.

For the young man I found attractive I wanted to construct a device to keep him restrained by his genitals so I used wood for an upright and made two cross pieces to slide up and down the pole. When this pillory was placed between his legs the two cross pieces would hold his cock and balls in a vice-like grip if tied together with certain grasses and would keep him upright denying him any movement or the possibility of sleep. Nuts and bolts would have made things easier but it was an interesting challenge to use the only materials available to me.

I constructed a flogging horse, a whipping post in the shape of a St. Andrew’s cross, and finally a rudimentary pulley system so that I could hoist bodies off the ground. Whips and canes were easy to make using the natural resources of the island and the slave owners had fashioned themselves fearsome looking examples of what could be done.

There was a stoutly built wooden table in the main chamber that would be convenient for stretching out my victims during interrogation whether on their backs or their bellies and I eagerly anticipated putting the white woman across it.

The chief ordered some of his men to bring the conspirators from the stockade and my cells were soon filled.

However, I decided the fair-haired good-looking young man might be the least resilient under torture so I decided to begin with him.

I led him to the pillory and adjusting the height of the jaws so they pinched and squeezed his cock and flattened his balls and I bound the cross pieces together so that he was immobilised. If I decided to whip him he would have to take the lash without flinching otherwise he would add greatly to the pain.

The chief had given me use of his mixed race interpreter who could speak English quite well and was proficient in the other tongues used on the island.

“I just want you to confirm that the white girl is your leader,” I told the youth, sounding very reasonable.

When he didn’t reply instantly I dispatched my whip to curl round his buttocks, which meant the end licked his pinioned genitals as well. I watched him try to hold himself stock still for he sensed that any movement on his part would greatly exacerbate the agony.

“You just need to nod your head. No need to say a single word,” I told him looking to the interpreter to confirm that the gesture meant the same to him. He grinned and nodded at the same time. “I’m waiting,” I said.

The whip entwined the boy’s slender waist to take on the appearance of a belt and he screamed again. “Aghhhhhh! Owwww!”

“Spare yourself,” I told him. “Say her name.”

It sounded like bloom or
noon
and I looked at the interpreter who nodded again. “She’s called Silver Moon,” he said.

Before I released him I did another drawing of him in the pillory.

The interpreter brought Moon to me, wrists secured behind her back and ankles tied in such a way that her bare feet could only shuffle along. This was a moment I had anticipated keenly, having her at my mercy in a place where I had access to the instruments I could use with my customary finesse.

We bound her to the flogging horse which I had designed in imitation of those in the
London
whorehouses but without the leather padding. She was tied tightly in place with more of the reeds and grasses, which seemed tough enough for the task. In was an ungainly, humiliating position for her, bottom up-turned, thighs opened so that we could see the brownish pink lips of her pussy, and I came to look at her face squashed against the splintered rough hewn wood the box was made of and put my face alongside hers.

“Confess,” I said quietly.

“It seems a shame to mark such fair skin,” I said. I wondered what wiles she had used with her owner to escape punishment for there was scarcely a blemish on her soft flesh. I knew I would enjoy painting my own patterns on this inviting new canvas.

“Admit your part in this sordid business.”

Her face was distorted by being pressed against the box so it was difficult to read her expression but her lips didn’t move.

“You leave me no choice then, Moon. Perhaps when I return I will find you in a different phase. The moon is ever-changing, after all.”

This time I picked up a rattan cane; the palms that supplied the tough stems being plentiful on the island, and swished it through the air close to Moon’s head. I did not place a gag in her mouth because I wanted to hear her scream knowing how much that would shame her.

Thwack! The bendy cane shaped itself to her contours and left its bright imprint across both her quivering cheeks. No sound from her. Thwack! I followed up instantly across the fleshiest parts, aiming the cane perfectly so the stripes were exactly parallel. No cry of agony. No pleading for mercy. Crack! A third stroke with all the force I could muster. Smack!

I aimed for under the overhang of her cheeks with a slightly upward stroke of the cane, striking an area I knew to be soft and tender and saw from the placing of the welt that I had struck her across her vulva. The pain would be terrible but still no cry from her.

I set down my cane on the table and went to look at her face again. A single tear seeped from her left eye, dropped eventually, and left a dark spot on the wood

“You have courage,” I conceded, “but it is simply a matter of time. I already know you hatched the plot and it was you the others followed like so many sheep, but I need to hear it from your lips.”

I whispered to the interpreter and his face lit up at my suggestion. He shed the grass skirt he was wearing and I saw his cock was already erect; he must have been stimulated by watching Moon receive her flogging. He grabbed her hair and crammed his cock into her mouth rocking back on his heels with the pleasure it gave him. I lowered my breeches and entered her from behind so she had to accommodate both of us. I took hold of her slim waist and rogered her vigorously. I would have preferred to continue with her flogging but I wanted to find out if the shame of being sexually abused by two men at the same time would undermine her resistance.

Not that fucking the girl was an unpleasant experience. Whatever her state of mind, Moon’s sheath was well lubricated and her copious juices bathed my thrusting cock. Her pussy was quite tight when I would have expected her passage to be well used since she was a slave. It was a mystery as to how she had managed to avoid being used to gratify her master sexually, as strange as the fact that she had not been physically abused judging by the lack of scars on her fair skin.

The interpreter was obviously finding as much satisfaction at the head as I was at the tail; he was emitting little cries of ecstasy, his expression contorted as though he was in pain. It struck me Moon was the sort of woman who might bite him but if she was using her teeth he had not been hurt enough to withdraw.

We came almost at the same moment.

I noticed the interpreter held Moon roughly by her hair and pushed hard against her so she had no choice but to swallow his semen.

When I came to look at her face again, her hair was soaking wet and her red and swollen lips still oozed semen. She looked like a raddled ill-used tart instead of the beautiful woman she was. I wondered if she would now be more co-operative or whether her determination to defy us might have been strengthened by her ordeal.

“Confess,” I breathed into her ear.

There was no answer.

I ordered the interpreter to help me untie her and we lifted her bodily from the horse whereupon she slipped out of our hands and collapsed on the stone floor; it was clear she was greatly weakened and wracked with pain.

She was not too proud to swallow a few sips of water when I held a pitcher to her lips.

We dragged her to the St. Andrew’s cross and rested her against its diagonal beams whilst I tied her wrists and ankles with more of the twine we had made. I still did not detect any fear in her eyes even though she was facing us and must have realised we were about to whip her across her breasts and belly. I had no reason to replace the rattan cane with any other implement since it was proving to be both pliable and strong; there was a chance a bamboo cane might have splintered by now.

I had not pulled on my breeches and now I doffed my shirt as well and stood naked. The chamber was so hot and airless I was sweating so it was more comfortable to be without clothes. My cock was growing stiff again and I liked my victim to see my erection as I strutted about swishing my cane.

I looked at her beautiful firm breasts again anticipating the welts that would soon spoil their even whiteness and create hard ridges where the flesh was soft and smooth.

“She is a fine specimen,” I said to the interpreter. “A woman in her full glory. Would you like to use one of the other canes?

I delivered the first stroke across the fullest swell of her breasts catching her nipples and this time she gave a suppressed grunt and twisted her face with the pain of it. Her breasts quivered slightly under the force of the blow.

Then I paused to let my partner strike her from his side and he hit her higher up nearer to her throat. The marks we made were angry crimson lines standing out conspicuously against what had been white unblemished flesh.

I thrashed my cane across her belly just above her navel and she grunted again. “Did you speak?” I asked, knowing she hadn’t. “You can stop this at any moment. Just say the word.”

Moon shook her head.

I bade my accomplice strike her again and his cane made contact in line with her hips where her pubic curls began. She shuddered and convulsed for he had assailed another vulnerable and tender area of her body.

I attacked her breasts again for they made a splendid target and this time I delivered a salvo of rapid cuts so that her breasts bounced and jiggled.

Then, by angling my cane expertly, I struck each breast separately, moving from one globe to the other, turning each one a deep red then purple colour.
        

This activity caused my cock to reach full erection and where it had swung from side to side with each exertion; it now remained rigid even when I applied my full vigour to the stroke.

The interpreter had not covered himself either and I saw he was stiff.

I untied Moon’s wrists to release her arms. I beckoned to my companion and we stood facing her standing very close. I placed her left hand around my cock and the interpreter made her grasp his with her right.

“This way you can pleasure us both,” I said, “unless you have something to say?”

She tightened her fist round my throbbing member and began to frig me as she did with the interpreter. This action on her part surprised me because her refusal would have brought the same reprisal, more torture of the kind she had withstood for so long. It had been the same when both of us had used her body when she was astride the horse.

I wasn’t sure whether she thought she would be killed if she did not please us or whether she regarded sex as relatively trivial, even a sort of innocent play. I wondered if there were cultural differences here that I did not fully understand.

Whatever the reason, Moon seemed content to masturbate us vigorously; perhaps she simply felt it was a welcome respite from her suffering. I greatly enjoyed the way she held my member so tightly and pumped it up and down with both force and speed. Many women have no understanding of the way to manipulate a man’s sexual organ but it was a complaint that could not be levelled fairly at Moon. She brought us both to a speedy climax and our spunk splashed over our legs and feet.

We completed the day’s work without a confession from Moon and that night, lying in bed, I pondered the problem at length. My mind was constantly distracted by images of her breasts and bottom emblazoned with our stripes but I tried hard to concentrate on how we could make her talk.

Who knows what strange processes take place in our brains when we are asleep but by the morning I thought I had the answer.

The interpreter explained the nearest English equivalent to his name was William. He was becoming increasingly friendly because of the licence I granted him to indulge his sexual appetites. I wondered how catholic his tastes were and thought my plan for the day would probably reveal the answer.

We brought Moon from her cell to the chamber and hoisted her with the pulley I had made. I was pleased to see that the mechanism worked and that the “ropes” could bear the load.

The many welts criss-crossing her body had cooled a little in their brightness and ferocity but they were still conspicuous. She was obviously still very stiff and sore with reduced powers of mobility and looked like a dead weight hanging there.

We brought the two boys from their cells and made them kneel on the flagstones with their heads down and bottoms up.

William and I stripped ourselves naked so that we had no clothing to impede us and to keep us cool in the rather fetid atmosphere: a smell of stale sweat pervaded the chamber and the nearby cells.

I knew a whip would be more efficacious than a cane in the circumstances.

I stood with my whip in a position where I had a good view of the two raised bottoms and flicked the lash back ready to strike.

“You can stop this whenever you like if you confess,” I shouted to Moon.

As there was still no word from her I cracked the whip harmlessly at first to test my range and then across the two up-turned bottoms with their skin pulled tight. Their backsides were not as voluptuous as Moon’s being slimmer and more muscular but I enjoyed having four cheeks presented to me as I liked the challenge of marking them equally. My first attempt achieved this perfectly. I determined not to question Moon after every stroke and proceeded to give the boys” arses a good flogging. There was a nice contrast in having a white and black arse to aim at and to see how the different skin pigmentations responded to the lash. The white boy’s flesh looked the more ravaged but the black boy screamed as loudly. The chamber echoed to continuous cries of anguish and I was surprised that Moon was not moved to release them from their agony.

When my arm was tired I asked William if he was partial to boys as well as girls and he confirmed my expectation that both sexes would appeal to him.

He was down on all fours in a trice beside the pretty white boy but instead of taking him from behind he turned him on his back, raised and opened his legs, climbed on top, and fucked him like a girl. I was surprised how easily he entered him and wondered if this slave had been used anally by his master. William was like a rutting boar the way he grunted over his sow.

When William was spent, I resumed my flagellation of the two boys and had just established a steady rhythm again when Moon shouted something unintelligible to me which William confirmed was a confession.

He seemed as triumphant as I was that we had broken her at last and that my plan had succeeded. I had counted on her innate decency and the likelihood that she would be more moved by the suffering of others than her own.