Page 26

CHAPTER 26

M ary

The first crack of the leather strap against my bare bottom sent a jolt of white-hot pain through my entire body. I couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from my throat, echoing off the wooden walls of the stable. Before I could catch my breath, another blow landed on Camille’s backside, her cry of agony mingling with mine.

Sven alternated between us, the strap whistling through the air before connecting with our flesh. Each strike felt like a line of fire being drawn across my skin. I lost count of how many times the leather bit into me, my world narrowing to the rhythm of pain and the sound of our screams.

“Look at how their asses jiggle when you hit them,” Erik commented, his voice thick with cruel amusement. “Beaumont will love watching this video.”

“Indeed,” Sven replied, pausing in his assault. “And I’m sure their cunts are getting wet anyway. These little sluts can’t help but respond to a firm hand.”

I felt my face burn with shame at his words, knowing they were true. Despite the pain—no, worse, because of it—I could feel a telltale slickness between my thighs. My body’s response both horrified and aroused me further, creating a feedback loop of shame and desire that left me dizzy and confused.

“Get a close-up of their faces,” Sven instructed Erik. “Beaumont will want to see the tears.”

I heard Erik move closer, the camera whirring softly as he zoomed in. I tried to turn my face away, not wanting my humiliation captured on film, but Sven’s hand in my hair forced me to look directly into the lens. Tears streamed down my cheeks, my eyes burning from their salt.

“That’s it, little whore,” Sven murmured, his voice a mockery of gentleness. “Show Monsieur Beaumont how prettily you cry.”

Next to me, Camille let out a choked sob. I wanted desperately to comfort her, to reach out and hold her hand, but our bound position made that impossible. All I could do was endure alongside her, hoping perversely that our shared pain would create an embarrassing-but-real bond between us.

“Now,” Sven said, his tone shifting to something harder, more commanding, “spread your legs, both of you. Let’s show the camera how wet this is getting you.”

I hesitated, my thighs clenching together instinctively. The thought of exposing myself so fully, of having my arousal documented on film, made me want to curl up and disappear. But I knew disobedience would only lead to more pain.

Slowly, trembling, I forced my legs apart. The cool air of the stable brushed against my shaved pussy, making me acutely aware of how aroused I had become. Beside me, I heard Camille whimper as she did the same.

“Wider,” Sven demanded. “Show your master those sweet cunts he bought.”

I felt my face burn with humiliation as I obeyed, spreading my legs even wider, exposing myself fully to the camera’s unblinking eye. My muscles trembled from the strain of holding the position, adding to the ache that radiated from my thoroughly whipped bottom.

“Look at those little slits,” Sven said, his voice a mix of approval and cruel amusement. “So nice and smooth, not a hair in sight. Monsieur Beaumont will appreciate that, I’m sure.”

His words sent a new thrill of shame through me. I remembered the bath, just the day before; Mor Astrid teaching us to shave each other… how exposed and vulnerable I had felt when Camille used the razor between my thighs and then between my bottom cheeks. All of it on full display, captured on video for a wealthy stranger’s viewing pleasure.

As Erik zoomed in for a close-up, I felt my pussy clench involuntarily, a surge of arousal coursing through me, defeating my best efforts to suppress it. A strangled cry escaped my lips, equal parts mortification and need.

“Did you see that, Erik?” Sven chuckled darkly. “The little slut just clenched her cunt for the camera. I think she likes being on display.”

“I saw it,” Erik replied, his voice thick with lust. “I got a good shot of it, too. Monsieur will like seeing how eager she is.”

I wanted to deny it, to protest that I wasn’t enjoying this humiliation. But the evidence of my arousal was undeniable, glistening on my inner thighs for all to see. Tears of shame streamed down my face as Erik captured my body’s betrayal.

After what felt like an eternity, Erik stepped back. I sagged in my restraints, relieved that this particular ordeal was over. But my relief was short-lived.

“I think they need a bit more discipline,” Sven said, flexing the leather strap between his hands. “After all, we want to make sure Monsieur gets his money’s worth.”

Before I could brace myself, the strap whistled through the air once more, connecting with the tender flesh where my bottom met my thighs. I screamed, the pain even more intense on this sensitive area. Beside me, Camille’s cries joined mine as Sven delivered a matching blow to her.

“You should give some attention to their tits,” Erik suggested, moving around to get a better angle with the camera. “Really make them bounce for Beaumont.”

Sven grunted in agreement, and I tensed in anticipation of the pain to come. The first strike across my breasts stole the breath from my lungs. It was a different kind of pain than the blows to my bottom and thighs—sharper, more focused. My nipples, already hard from a confusing mix of fear and arousal, seemed to tighten even further.

“Look at how responsive they are,” Sven commented. “When they have a real man’s cock in them they’ll go wild.”

He whipped us again, one stroke to the backs of each of our thighs.

“Not like those little ones you rode last night, girls. I mean a real man’s big, thick cock… fucking… you… so… hard… you… can’t… walk… right… when… he… lets… you… get… up.”

With each word he delivered another lash, so that Camille and I almost drowned him out with our cries of agony.

Finally, Sven lowered the strap, his arm seeming to tire at last. “I think that’s enough discipline for now,” he said, his voice rough with exertion. “Let’s see how our little whores comfort each other after their punishment.”

My body sagged in relief as Sven’s words registered through the haze of pain that enveloped me. Every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire, the welts from the strap throbbing in time with my racing heart. Beside me, I heard Camille’s ragged breathing, alternating with soft whimpers.

As Erik continued to film, Sven moved to unhook our bound hands from the wall. Without the support, my legs buckled, and I would have fallen if not for Sven’s strong grip on my arm. He lowered me to the ground, the rough wooden planks of the stable floor hard against my feet.

I watched through tear-blurred eyes as Sven retrieved a coarse horse blanket from a nearby stall. He shook it out, sending motes of dust dancing in the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the cracks in the walls. The blanket looked scratchy and uncomfortable, but after hanging from my wrists for so long, any softer surface seemed preferable.

Sven spread the blanket on the floor, then turned his attention back to Camille and me. With deft movements, he untied our wrists, only to immediately rebind them behind our backs. The new position made my shoulders ache even more, adding to the catalog of pains that assailed my body.

“On the blanket,” Sven commanded, his voice brooking no argument. “Lie down, head to tail.”

I hesitated for a moment, my mind struggling to comprehend what he wanted. But a sharp slap to my already tender bottom spurred me into action. I crawled awkwardly onto the blanket, the rough fibers scratching against my sensitive skin. Camille followed, her movements just as clumsy and pained as my own.

We arranged ourselves as Sven had ordered, my face near Camille’s knees, hers near mine. I could smell the sweat and fear on her skin, mingled with a musky scent that I recognized with a jolt of shame as arousal. My own body was betraying me in the same way, a slick heat building between my thighs despite the pain and humiliation.

Sven’s large hands gripped my hips, manhandling me into the position he wanted. “Bend your knees,” he instructed. “Spread your legs. I want Monsieur to see everything.”

I obeyed, trembling with a mixture of pain, shame, and an unwelcome surge of arousal. In this position, my eyes were mere inches from Camille’s most intimate parts. I felt faint with mortification and need as I took in the sight before me. Camille’s backside was a canvas of angry red welts, crisscrossing her pale skin in a brutal lattice. The marks of our shared punishment were stark and vivid, a testament to the ordeal we had just endured.

But it wasn’t just the visual evidence of our whipping that made my head spin. My gaze was drawn inexorably to the glistening wetness between Camille’s thighs. Like mine, her body had responded to the pain and degradation with unmistakable arousal. The musky scent of her desire mingled with my own, creating an intoxicating aroma that made my mouth water even as I burned with shame.

I was acutely aware of my own wetness, feeling it pool between my legs and smear against my inner thighs. The knowledge that I had gotten just as aroused as Camille, that my body had betrayed me in the same way, sent a fresh surge of humiliation traveling through me. Yet beneath the shame, a desperate need pulsed insistently, making my clit throb and my inner walls spasm.

Sven’s voice cut through the haze of conflicting emotions. “Now, little whores,” he said, his tone a mixture of amusement and command, “you’re going to show Monsieur Beaumont how skilled you are with your tongues. Each of you must make the other climax three times.”

I whimpered at his words, my face burning even hotter. The thought of being forced to pleasure Camille, and to receive pleasure from her in return, while Erik captured it all on camera seemed almost more than my mind could cope with, though the perverse fire in my body that rose dismayingly high at the idea.

Erik moved around us, adjusting the camera angle to capture every detail of our impending performance. I could almost feel the weight of the lens on my skin.

Sven circled us like a predator, his eyes raking over our bound and trembling forms. “Begin,” he commanded sharply.

For a moment, neither Camille nor I moved, both paralyzed by the enormity of what we were being forced to do. Then Sven’s hand came down hard on my already tender bottom, making me cry out in pain.

“I said begin,” he growled. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Trembling, I inched my face closer to Camille’s glistening sex. The scent of her arousal was overwhelming this close, making my head spin. I felt Camille’s hot breath against my own pussy, sending shivers of anticipation through my body.

I gasped as Sven’s large hand gripped the back of Camille’s head, roughly pushing her face deep between my thighs. My whole body tensed as I felt Camille’s hot breath against my pussy and anus.

“Eat her ass,” Sven commanded Camille, his voice harsh and brooking no argument. “Show Monsieur Beaumont how eager you are to please.”

I couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped my lips as Camille’s tongue tentatively probed the wrinkled button of my anus. The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced before—shameful and dirty, yet sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. Tears streamed down my face as I battled the conflicting emotions of humiliation and arousal.

Camille’s tongue became bolder, circling my puckered hole before pressing inside. I cried out, my hips jerking involuntarily. The feeling was so intense, so taboo, that it made my head spin.

“That’s it,” Sven encouraged, his voice thick with lust. “Lick her cute little asshole like the whore you are.”

I felt Camille whimper against me, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming sensations. Her tongue delved deeper, and I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my lips. My body betrayed me, responding eagerly to the forbidden pleasure despite my mind’s protests.

Suddenly, Sven was on the other side of us. His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. “Your turn,” he growled. “Show me how well you can eat your friend’s ass.”

My stomach flipped as Sven pushed my face against Camille’s backside. The musky scent of her arousal filled my nostrils, mingling with the clean smell of her well-washed anus. I hesitated for a moment, overwhelmed by the intimacy of the act I was being forced to perform, thinking about the cleansing Mor Astrid had taught us in what seemed to me now the warm haven of the bathing chamber.

A sharp slap to my tender bottom spurred me into action. Tentatively, I extended my tongue, running it over Camille’s puckered hole. The taste was strange—still freshly washed, but also undeniably, indefinably, terribly naughty. I heard Camille gasp, felt her body tense against mine.

“Deeper,” Sven commanded. “I want to see your tongue disappear inside her ass.”

Shame burned through me, but I obeyed. I pressed my tongue more firmly against Camille’s opening, feeling it give way as I pushed inside. Camille moaned loudly, the sound muffled against my own flesh as she continued to lavish attention on my most private areas.

The dual sensations of penetrating Camille with my tongue while her tongue explored my own anus were overwhelming. My pussy clenched and throbbed, desperate for attention. I could feel my arousal coating my thighs, evidence of my body’s betrayal.

“Look at how wet they’re getting,” Sven said to the camera. “These are two eager little sluts you have here, Monsieur.”

As if in silent agreement to get it over with, Camille and I moved closer to each other, then, our bodies pressed firmly together in spite of the awkward position. I tried to focus solely on the task at hand, to lose myself in the act of pleasuring Camille and forget about the camera, about Sven and Erik watching us, about the larger implications of what we were doing.

I ran my tongue along the length of Camille’s slit, tasting the tang of her arousal. Her hips bucked against my face, and I felt her moan vibrate against my own sex as she redoubled her efforts. The dual sensations of giving and receiving pleasure were overwhelming, making my head spin and my body tremble.

Camille’s tongue found my clit, circling it with exquisite pressure. I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily. Not to be outdone, I sealed my lips around her swollen bud, sucking gently as I flicked my tongue across it. Camille’s thighs tensed around my head, her breath coming in short, sharp pants against my pussy.

I lost myself in the rhythm of it all—the slide of my tongue against Camille’s slick folds, the pressure of her mouth on my most sensitive areas, the building tension in my core. The shame and fear that had consumed me moments ago faded into the background, replaced by a desperate need for release.

Camille came first, her body going rigid against mine as she cried out. The vibrations of her moan sent shockwaves through my pussy, pushing me over the edge as well. My orgasm crashed over me in waves, making me shake and whimper against Camille’s sex.

But we couldn’t stop. Sven had ordered three orgasms each, and I knew the consequences of disobedience would be severe. So even as the aftershocks of my climax still rippled through me, I resumed my shameful ministrations to Camille’s pussy.

Our second orgasms came quickly, our bodies still hypersensitive from the first round. I felt Camille’s inner walls flutter against my tongue as she came again, her juices flooding my mouth. Almost simultaneously, her clever tongue brought me to another peak, making me see stars behind my closed eyelids.

By the time we approached our third orgasms, every nerve in my body felt like a live wire. Each touch, each lick, each gentle suck sent jolts of almost painful pleasure through me. I was dimly aware that I was making high, keening noises, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

Camille’s tongue delved inside me, then she sucked hard on my clit, the dual stimulation sending me hurtling toward my third climax. I mirrored her actions, desperate to bring her over the edge with me. I felt Sven’s hand on my head again, and I realized he must be doing the same to Camille, pushing our faces into each other’s hot, wet depths.

As I soared over the edge into my third orgasm, I thought I felt my Herra stroke my head gently, just for a moment, as if to remind me that he—the real Sven—still lay inside the cruel dominant he had to pretend to be.

“That’s it, girls,” Erik said. “That’s just what a man like Monsieur Beaumont likes to see his fuck toys do.”