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“What kind of marks does she have?” Those lingering around her changed places and finally Shelby had the courage to peer up at the faces peering down at her.
An imperious female dressed in an elegant, high-necked black dress and black leather boots critically observed the quaking captive. In the woman’s presence she was no more than a disdainful beast. Shelby still wore the slip of a dress she’d worn for Col. Jessup, although by then, it was in tatters and certainly soiled from sex. Even she could detect the pungent scent wafting up from her crotch.
“Marks, Ma’am? Just the tattoo on her tit,” the guard answered.
“Let me see,” she said.
A guard’s large hand reached down and tore back the neck of the print dress. Pulling out Shelby’s left breast, he squeezed it firmly while turning the flesh so the woman could see the simple tattoo.
But she saw more than that tattoo. “Are those bruises?”
“It’s Jessup’s job to give the sluts a thorough going over.”
“When will those bastards learn that the more they soil the merchandize, the more it compromises the purchase price?” Whatever beauty exuding from the formidable female vanished with her twisted grimace.
“She’ll clean up. I’ve seen her when she’s put back together. Jessup figures she’s a high five-figure slut. Plus, she’ll be ready for your sadists. A stunner at the end of a whip. I’ve seen her in action myself.” He was wholly self-satisfied communicating this fact to the woman.
“You fuck her cunt, her ass or her mouth?” The woman was all hard edges and haughty posing. Enough that Shelby cringed as she cowered at her feet. What Jessup had said about being treated better at this place than she was at his detention facility came tumbling back into her mind. Had that just been another joke?
“I fucked her ass, ma’am,” the man replied.
“And was it nice and tight?” The woman’s cold eyes dug in like daggers.
The guard was blushing by that time. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Well, you can tell Jessup that I’ll be giving her the usual workout, then let him know the market price.” She stared down at the petrified Shelby with haughty indifference. “At least she has a decent face and a pleasing body.”
Shelby’s blood ran cold when the woman’s hard lips formed a cruel smile. Until then, she hadn’t seen the cane the woman held hidden in her hand. But then a biting cut landed across her thigh and Shelby shrank back, whimpering in fear.
“A masochist, huh? I guess you’ll have to prove that to me.”
The newest whore at Madame Stafania Pavlenco’s brothel moved with a small cortege of regular customers to the whipping post, which was located in the yard outside her large estate house. The air crackled with tension, a forewarning about the circumstances into which Shelby had suddenly been propelled. The company around her, about a dozen in all, was an odd assortment of men in various kinds of dress: most dressed in casual slacks and shirts – this was not a fancy affair. However, one man who stuck out from all the rest wore a finely tailored business suit. He had slicked back hair and a pointed nose, and chained smoked cigarettes throughout the ordeal. The females were either dressed in stunning couture fashions and gleaming jewelry, or were like Shelby, wearing the skimpy clothes of prostitutes and sluts. No sooner had Shelby given her surroundings a good once over than she watched as one of the whores was strong-armed by a hefty man with a bearded face and shaggy hair.
“Go on, Tomas,” Madame Pavlenco snapped. “I need to see her suffer.”
The girl, Eugenia – Shelby would learn her name much later – was dressed in a sexy yellow halter dress that barely covered her breasts in front and her ass in back. Her hair had been dyed a brilliant red and was now a mass of tangles; her make-up was smudged – dark circles under her eyes, and red lipstick smeared in a clownish wedge. It was obvious that she’d been sobbing.
At the haughty woman’s command, the bearded fellow shoved the slut forward to a massive whipping post. Shelby had never seen anything quite like the forbidding structure. Rising tall and threatening in a circle of stones was a hefty beam that had obviously been sunk deep into the earth. Across the top was a second beam, held in place with two angled supports and sturdy iron brackets. In various places along both beams were eyebolts for securing a victim, just as the redheaded girl was being secured. Each arm was raised above her head, and because she was reasonably short, the metal shackles on her wrists were attached to eyebolts high on the support brackets. Only her fingertips reached as high as the crossbeam. Then as the attendant left her writhing miserably against the post, he swiped at the top of the halter dress and tore the wispy thing from her body. A look of mocking contempt appeared on his face as he stalked off, leaving the dress in a pile at her feet, to be stomped on as she suffered her punishment.
As soon as he disappeared into the crowd, another man came out with a braided cat o’ nine tales and looked toward Madame Pavlenco for confirmation.
“Don’t question me, Victor. I want her whipped,” the woman brusquely spat.
“Yes, ma’am,” he bowed. Then he turned toward the bound female and set his feet firmly on the ground, while carefully judging the distance between he and his victim. A few deep breaths followed as he took aim. Then he reared back with his face hardened to the task.
The blows came raining down fast and without mercy. Even when the poor girl screamed, he did not let up. Obviously, there was some preset number of lashes to be administered because once he’d reached a certain number, he abruptly ended the beating.
Shelby, who had never seen another woman whipped, felt the blows figuratively scorch her flesh. Before she could rein in her response, her insides were hot and her pussy warm and wet, grinding with a fresh burst of arousal. Coming on so unexpectedly there was no way to squelch the spontaneous response. Although she remained remote and unmoving to the casual observer, giving no indication of the disturbingly painful sensations, the desire to rub herself had never been greater. Certainly she would never do that in a public place or in circumstances like these, but she was also thankful that no one paid any attention to her now. This was not the time to reveal her dark side to a company of strangers.
At the moment, all eyes were glued on the suffering girl. Anyone not completely enamored by the spectacle of the beaten female had their eyes on Madame Pavlenco, who was as fascinating to watch as the poor victim. Although her face was rigid, beneath the cold fury of her eyes and taut mouth was a passionately beating heart. If one were able to register the temperature of her crotch, they would have found it burning with heat as she observed the young woman suffer her beating.
As soon as the right number of lashings had been laid on, the executioner, Victor, stood back, and following some moments of reflection, Madame Pavlenco moved forward into the ring, her hips swaggering with authority. She reached the girl and whispered something in her ear that made the poor thing shudder. Then she ran her fingernails down the welted back, digging in to further wound her trembling prey. Though the Madame listened to the whimpering cries, all the moaning and the breathy protests were barely heard and completely ignored.
“Bring me the weights,” Madame finally turned around, delivering her order. Victor assisted once again, emerging from the crowd and handing her two shiny stainless steel balls attached to thin chains. “Bind her feet,” Madame ordered. “I want them wide apart.” The girl wore shackles on her ankles that were effortlessly attach
ed to eyebolts that had been cemented into the ground. With her feet wide, her body was more vulnerable than ever. “Perfect,” the Madame said once Victor stepped away.
From where Shelby stood, she could see between the girl’s thighs that she’d been pierced with what looked like two rings that dangled from her labia. To these, the Madame attached the steel balls, weighing down the sensitive flesh.
