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“Let’s see if this will satisfy your guilt,” Jarrett said to her, and he began smacking her thighs and her pubic mound with a short, flat-ended riding crop. The leather stung her flesh in a hundred different ways as it landed at various angles. Each strike burned as intended. Jarrett warmed her up with the first nasty smacks on her tender inner thighs. Then he came down on her center brutally, with blow after blow striking her womanly mound and making her howl with contempt, regret and pain.
Strangely, the beating seemed satisfying at its outset, being a just punishment for the terrible betrayal of her husband. If only Daniel had been the one exacting this miserable price. Her soul begged that she’d awaken and see that his fearsome face had replaced the ones of these awful men. Of course, it did not.
After several minutes, the beating changed its tone, becoming more vile than she could have ever anticipated. The two attending gentlemen in their fine clothes, with their lofty, righteous airs took up positions on either side of the bed, where they each grabbed a knee and pulled her leg back so that her sexual center, from her tufted Venus mound to her nakedly exhibited anal cleft, was open wide. Her gleaming pink pussy lips shone, while the bud of her womanhood was vulnerably accessible to the reach of Cain’s biting instruments.
The beating continued now with precisely measured strikes from a one-inch split-ended tawse that leapt out like the tongue of a snake and punished her betraying flesh with cut after painful cut. Her body clenched with the unremitting blows striking at the heart of her betraying sex.
“Eaaaaaauiiiiaaaa! Ah! Neeeeaw! No, paluuuuuuuuussssssse, no no no… I caaaaaaaaaan’t—”
She angrily barked insensible things, with the howls of pain coming from deep within her. While her lower body was immovable within the steely confines of the two men’s powerful hands, Hannah’s torso, head and shoulders thrashed back and forth. The agony was far beyond comprehension.
; “This is what you deserve, is it not, Mrs. Crowe?” Jarrett snapped at her. “For your dreadfully offensive behavior? For slattern immorality?” He struck at her again and again, right in the deep furrowed ridge where the implement was sure to burn most dearly, at that moment and long afterwards. “This is how a woman with inconstant virtue should be treated, her womanhood torn to shreds in answer to her dreadful crime.” He let up enough so she could comprehend each word he spoke, and so that each word would attack her inconstant heart as viciously as the tawse. There was no place in her wounded body or spirit that was not hurting by the time he laid the tool down.
At the end, Hannah breathed relieved, although the remnants of the bruising punishment endured. The private flesh that no good woman gives up for simple sexual sport had been duly reprimanded in accordance to her crime. And her spirit sobbed even when tears failed her. Despite the agony that prevailed, she was so softened and so meek, and her body so amazingly aroused by the beating, that when Jarrett Cain opened his trousers and fell on her with his member stabbing her portal with determined zeal, she readily took him in. Her body was like a welcoming home, and his body pounding into hers, the only way to soothe the terrible ache. The pillow had been removed from under her bottom and her feet untied from the bedstead, so that she freely raised her hips to meet the impaling manhood. Her chest lifted up in greeting. And as Jarrett began to hump her with some vigor, she responded in the only way she could with her arms still bound. Her legs wrapped around him and her lips met his in a feast of kisses initiated by her hungering mouth.
“That’s it, Hannah,” Jarrett urged her. He mauled her breasts with his thick fingers, pinching the nipples and tugging at her flesh as if he were milking a cow, and all the while, her sexual responses proved the unmistakable pleasure she enjoyed at his rough handling of her. “You fine little harlot,” he whispered in a faint and urgent breath. At last he settled in for a long, hard-hitting ride inside her gripping velvety center. There he swamped the hot, wet cavern with his spunk in round after round of thrusting ejaculations.
When he pulled off, he left her gaping hole and his cock still dripping. He passed her off to the next man in line, who was ready and waiting with an open fly and a throbbing member already erect and steady. He was the tall gangly fellow from the previous night.
The long organ hit her womb, and she felt the resounding blast all the way to the tips of her fingers. Fucking him hurt. Her beaten crotch was sore and beginning to burn anew in the salty sexual soup as the beastly man savagely worked her hole. And yet, there was no despair now, no guilt, no shame, just the strangely desperate urge to fuck the man, letting him have the pleasure of her body.
When the second man finished, he changed places with the last in line. With the same bold willingness she squeezed and clenched and milked this man’s erection dry, while feeling her own body reach its summit again and again.
After all three men were satisfied, Jarrett Cain leaned over her spent body and whispered in her ear, “Is this painful to you now, Mrs. Crowe?”
“No. No, sir,” she absently whispered in reply.
“You wanted it and still want more,” he went on.
“I could stay a thousand days and not regret one,” she said.
A new realization dawned on her with some certainty. Her inner spirit understood the truth and it was clearly reflected in her reply. Her mind was still grappling with this truth, but she had time after the three left the room to reflect on what she said and felt. She battled for the truth, denying it to herself a dozen times, but arriving at the same conclusion after every round of this bout. Indeed, she was not a virtuous woman, by reason of her repugnant and sinful behavior. The terrible, yet magnificent joy she felt in being used for such sexual games must signify her wickedness. Though she could feel the fiery sting of a thousand punishments, she knew that she would desire again; her body heat would climb as her body was fondled and teased. She had no shame, no way to thwart these yearnings. Understanding this astounding fact, she surely was not fit to be any man’s wife.
For two days, Hannah was repeatedly beaten and then sexually brutalized by Jarrett and three or four of his affluent friends. The next evening, she served the men their supper wearing a dainty French corset—that is, until someone stripped it off. Then she wore nothing at all but the metal cuffs. While the men were eating, she moved from one to the next beneath the table and pleasured each of them with her lips. After each man ejaculated into her tongue-lapping mouth, she washed her mouth out with a glass of wine, which she did not spit out, but swallowed lustily.
After the second man, there was so much liquor in her system that any hesitation or objection she might have felt at the start of the evening fell away. The next two men spanked her until her randy body gave way to moans of pleasure and she almost came on their probing fingers. Afterwards, she found herself giggling with delight when they stuffed her ass with everything from cigars to candles to the butt-end of a pistol, and made her grovel on hands and knees before one welcoming groin after the other, where her hungry mouth would dine again. One thoughtless act of sexual depravity followed the next until Jarrett Cain and his guests were certain there was nothing this woman would not do.
For Jarrett, Hannah Crowe was the greatest of his triumphs in the debauchery of a female. He found especially enjoyable the way the woman touched him with almost profound reverence. But then, why not? He was, after all, the author of her unveiling. The fact that she was the sister of that cowardly Noble boy—what irony in that name!—and the wife of an esteemed farmer made his conquest doubly satisfying. What he had destroyed, he could also redeem as his own—in time, of course. That’s how his twisted mind made it right and that was what he expected to do.
By the time the meal was over, an insatiable, powerful desire made Hannah boldly seek the men’s attentions as they smoked their cigars and drank sherry in Cain’s sitting room. A few shots of sherry made certain that her drunken exhilaration continued without any evidence of her previous rancor. She went from man to man for a second time that evening, coyly seeking their consideration, kissing, fondling and being fondled until she moved on to the next. She finally curled up against Jarrett’s knee and placed her weary head on his thigh. The room spun around her for a time—too much liquor in her system. She settled down for a while to rest, although the sexual fluttering in her belly did not go away but smoldered pleasantly, ready at any moment to crescendo with the imperative need for more copulation.
When it was time to use her for the last time, it would be up the ass. That tight little hole had been worked well all night and was now lavishly greased. Hannah’s desire to have a man take her there so blossomed within her that when they flung her over the back of a chair and began to bugger her behind, she nearly exploded with orgasm—was it the third or fourth that night? She had no mind for counting now. As each man took what they wanted from the luscious Hannah, another climax made her belly spasm hard. The spasming made her back door clench even tighter, so that soon the sounds in the room were a chorus of grateful groans.
“Ah, yes, you fine, fine piece of ass!” one seething voice vented.
“Like a work of art, this lovely randy hole!” another jeered.
“Harder, bitch!” She was tugged by the hair, her mouth at one point made to suckle a spent cock that had just been inside her and she lapped it freely.
Wiggling her plump derriere, she seized up hard. The man inside her bowels suddenly came. She felt every pulse and every spasm from that coming erection as it deposited its seed inside her.
The other men were gone suddenly. If they didn’t vanish, she must have passed out, she thought, realizing that she was coming to again, her head throbbing from too much wine. She was in bed now, in Jarrett’s bed.
“I hope you’ve saved enough to satisfy me,” he said.
He was wary as he eyed the naked woman who lay curled up at the end of his mattress. The dark metal cuffs at her ankles and wrists were a startling contract to her pale pink skin. He rather liked the look of that. If she were his to keep, she would be thusly shackled all the time, and likely naked, except when he dressed her proper. Yes, he liked that idea. He liked seeing his whore dressed up all proper, only to order her into some despicable display, preferably before an audience. Ah, he loved the audience. He loved showing her off; he’d done that all day to stoke his own prurient lust. But now was his time to have her all to himself for private things.
