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“Oh, please, Madame, no!” The first intelligible cry from the sobbing girl rose up as an angry shout.
Countering back, the woman slapped her ass, then pulled in tightly, her voice loud enough for all to hear this time. “You think I would have mercy on you, you foolish little traitor!” The Madame turned again. “The paddle, Victor,” she blared. Scurrying to the sidelines, Victor found the black bag he’d brought with him. From it the nastiest of wooden paddles was withdrawn, one with holes drilled across the six inch wide surface. The business end was a good ten inches long and attached to a sturdy leather handle.
Swinging freely, Madame delivered blows that connected with the girl’s behind and with each, the heavy steel balls stretched the girl’s pussy further downward. Madame Pavlenco worked into a steady rhythm that had the girl writhing in torment, the sounds of her woe intensifying in the morning air with their unmistakable message of anguish.
The two females became one amazing show of pain and passion and sadomasochistic pleasure. The more the girl suffered, the more zealous the Madame became. Shelby even wondered if the woman orgasmed as she beat her victim. Certainly, the way her face lit up and her body shuddered toward the end of the session suggested that she’d thoroughly enjoyed the sadistic display of her power over this pitiful creature.
And Jessup had said that the brothel would be less sadistic than his detention center! Shelby recalled that promise clearly. But, of course, Jessup was prone to lie when it suited him. His voice rang inside her head…
I say a lot of things that I don’t mean. I wouldn’t bother trying to find out which is true and which is bullshit.
The woman was as brutal as the Colonel, which only reinforced the fact that Shelby had no desire to be tied up and tortured as this young woman had been. If it hadn’t been clear to her before, it was clear to her now – she would step on no one’s toes in this new place. She’d make no waves. She’d go submissively into this next ordeal, knowing that only divine intervention could save her. There would be little way to save herself while under the jurisdiction of Madame Stafania Pavlenco. If Shelby correctly understood the next steps in her captivity, ones Jessup alluded to in their last conversations, she could only hope that whoever purchased her would have some degree of mercy, a trait obviously lacking in the ruthless Madame.
When Madame Pavlenco finally finished with the girl, she turned and walked away, offering up a triumphant smile to her company of friends, or followers, or whoever these strangers happened to be. Shelby could only guess. Then, almost as an afterthought, Madame abruptly stopped her trek toward the house and turned toward Shelby. After a few moments of careful inspection, she strolled a little closer to the newcomer.
“So, I suppose you’ve learned something?” she asked. Her cool reserve had returned, her manner as placid as still water.
“Yes, ma’am, I have,” Shelby replied in her most submissive voice.
“Very good.” Madame peered at her more closely, lifting Shelby’s chin for a closer scrutiny. Then she managed a cool smile as if she liked what she saw.
She turned away, and without further comment, Madame disappeared into the lavish house. The brief moments that followed allowed Shelby her first real look at her new home. The walls were a pale pink stucco and the roof was tiled in blue like a French country house. The windows and doors were rounded at the top and surrounded by fieldstone, while on one side of the building, a rambling vine of ivy climbed upward toward the chimney. What might have looked like a forbidding mansion was softened by the erotic vine, making it appear as charming as a quaint country inn. The surrounding area was dotted with fruit trees and fields of maturing grapevines, completing an innocuous pastoral setting for the Madame’s house that would belie the kind of harsh reality that was apparently a way of life at the brothel.
However, as innocuous as the country brothel might have appeared at first, another cell awaited Shelby Ryan once she was led inside the house. Escorted by one of the men who had attended the whore’s whipping, Shelby was taken to her new home through a side door near the kitchen. She would see little of the rest of the house while she was there, again confined to a small secluded space. Her new cell was much like the one at Jessup’s detention center, although the air inside was far warmer, and there was a pallet bed on the floor, a pillow, a blanket and a chamber pot. Under dismal circumstances, one becomes thankful for small things.
Her escort didn’t say a word as he pushed her into the small space, and Shelby was too afraid to speak. But once the lock clicked shut and the fellow was about to walk off, the captive found her voice. “What’s to happen to me?” she called out in sudden desperation. Her hands clung to the cell’s bars, while a moment of panic swept her submissive calm away.
The man moved her way, taking a moment to appreciate her fine body, when it had not seemed to affect him before. “Hell if I know,” he answered. “But I imagine you’ll come in mighty handy for some man’s hard prick.” He cackled as he turned around and sauntered off.
There were two cells side by side, both close to the kitchen – something Shelby could tell by way the fine smells of cooking food wafted down the corridor and into her small space. In the distance, she heard the sounds of chattering voices, clanking pots and running water, the sounds of a busy kitchen preparing the midday meal.
A long time passed during which Shelby realized that she’d become very thirsty. Finally calling out for water, she was rewarded when not a minute later a barefoot girl in a skimpy costume came running down the corridor with an earthenware cup.
“Shhhhhhhh.” Her finger covered her lips as she pushed the cup of water between the bars and rattled on in a language Shelby did not understand. Shelby thanked the girl with a smile and her silence, having gratefully accepted the drink of water.
The girl smiled back and left in a hurry, leaving the scent of fear in her wake.
Later there was food – a small repast of meat and fresh-tasting vegetables – but still no Madame Pavlenco, and not word on her fate. It would seem that the wheel of bad fortune turned slowly in this place and for hours she would wait in dreary silence. That night Shelby fell soundly asleep, then toward dawn, when the light in her dank corner of the house began to lighten, she began to dream, moving in her consciousness back and forth from the present to the past…
She stood in front of Jessup naked, feeling his eyes intent on her, his hand grazing her body, her limbs trembling, her pussy ravenous with sexual heat. He would whisper in her ear and she practically swooned against him. More of his hot breath and she sunk to her knees with lust, grappling for the cock hidden in his pants.
“You little beast…” he said, standing over her begging body, smirking.
Jessup’s face so clear one minute became another face in the blink of an eye. “Mr. Darcy,” she sobbed, looking up into the steely eyes of her owner with a face of fear.
“Please, please don’t sell me away…please…”
And then Padraig’s smiling eyes and handsome face appeared to her and she woke up sobbing, begging her mind to bring him back. But already his face had vanished and she could not even recall what he looked like.
Chapter Seven
“You are not right in the head, are you?”
Shelby raised up from the pallet and looked across the cell, seeing the girl from the whipping post huddled before her, looking limp as a rag. She was such a small thing. So frail. Her wild mop of red hair overpowered her slight body.
“You?”
“Me? Yes, Eugenia. An’ you?” She spoke with only a slight accent, but one that was strangely familiar though Shelby couldn’t quite place it.
