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The strap Tasia wields is frightening, though likely not more damaging than the belt Peach used on me. By the looks of its two inch width and three foot length, it appears to be a razor strop, no doubt of antique origin. What amazes me is the fury of the punishment, the strop falling with lightning speed again and again across Peach’s back side. The woman concentrates on the soft flesh of her bottom, but does not forget to wield the ugly thing against her shoulders at least a half dozen times. Later she aims low, at her thighs. The thighs will burn the most, I recall from my own recollections of such treatment. Peach concurs, as her distressed wails rise into the warm close air with a haunting sound I’ll not easily forget. My own tears and my lust both continue. My desire shames me, but I won’t give it up.
After what seems far too long, Tasia stops for a moment to appraise her submissive. Then laying down the strap, she picks up her baton again.
“How delightful it will be to leave marks all over you, Samantha Clarisse,” she says. She lets the thin reed-like instrument fly, and it lands squarely on the center of Peach’s punished rear cheeks. Tasia flogs her with the baton over the same skin that is already warm and red and tender from the strop. But then, without warning the bitch stops again, and peers around, as if she’s flustered by something.
“Analise,” she says. “The girl’s supposed to be here.” The look on her face is something akin to waking up out of a sound sleep, not knowing where you are.
The fairy sprite next to me jumps, her hand pulling away from my almost orgasmic crotch.
“She’s likely with Cassidy,” one of the attendant women says.
“She needs to see this, go get her now. I told her I wanted her here, the little strumpet.”
The other woman abruptly turns and dashes out of the chapel, her feet racing up the stairs.
“I have to go,” Analise whispers to me. She shuffles around me so loudly that I think we’ll both be discovered, though the sounds of Tasia, berating Pe
ach in the other room, keep us safe enough for the moment.
“You stay here,” she murmurs to me, and I watch in the dim light as she slips silently out the door. I don’t even hear her light feet take the stairs.
“I have a treat for you, Samantha Clarisse, something I think you’ll find especially arousing. You are aroused, aren’t you, my slut?” She presses her fingers at Peach’s cunt and pulls them away. “Oh my, you are a sloppy cunt. Lick it,” she purrs, holding her wet hand to her captive’s lips.
I can remember the fragrance of Peach’s cunt as I watch my lover take her own juices from the woman’s ring-bedecked hand. Tasia draws her hand away when she hears the sound of steps on the cellar stairs. Moments later the attendant and Analise appear in the glowing light.
“Where have you been?” Tasia greets the woman who surprises me appearing in a fresh flowered dress, the dirty one no doubt safely stashed away.
“I’m sorry,” Analise says, though she doesn’t answer the woman’s question.
“I told you I wanted you here, perhaps I should string you up.”
As docile as Peach, Analise hangs her head. I wonder that the tentativeness in the girl’s manner isn’t just a show, a show she puts on very well. It’s a portrait of surrender that is commonplace to Analise, as if she’s been brought up to have her eyes demurely lowered and a tender pout on her lips.
“You see the way I treat those that are deceitful with me?” Tasia says, turning her glance toward her hanging, well-whipped submissive.
“Yes ma’am,” the girl replies.
“You won’t be deceitful with me, will you, love?” she asks. There’s a good deal behind that question that goes unspoken. A conversation between these two women is taking place on a silent psychic level. I would give anything to know what questions and answers fly back and forth on the cosmic waves.
“No, ma’am,” Analise replies to her.
“You see, her stripes are fading,” Tasia notices. “I want weals on her skin that stay. You will take care of this for me, won’t you, my love?” The woman hands Analise the cane baton.
I see a faint flush of fear in the girl’s eyes, but it is so momentary, I wonder if I just imagine it. She takes the offered cane with a clear sense of purpose, giving Peach a thorough scrutiny.
“Don’t hold back, my love, Samantha Clarisse enjoys being whipped,” she adds as she swishes on past her charges. “And make sure, ladies, that Analise behaves accordingly, or it might well be her here next time.” Tasia strides out of the chapel with her skirts flying and her gold jewelry gleaming. She takes her blustery manner with her.
I have no time to consider what she’s said as the cane lands on the front of Peach’s thighs. She wails nastily, wriggling ineffectively in her bonds. I watch with tears streaming down my face, as Analise begins to lay the cane at every angle of Peach’s suspended form. Cuts appear across her breasts, in two vile crisscrossed lines, there are three on her thighs and so many across her back and bottom, I’m too appalled to count.
I see her ass best, the way a half dozen red welts appear where small beads of blood smear with the next exacting cuts. I cannot believe this is a first for Analise. The care, the scrutiny, the preciseness she uses, suggest a masterful disciplinarian. The scowl that appears on her face is ruthless. At one point, she insists that Peach look into her gloating eyes. I wonder that she’s so cruel with her, and with me watching. Is this an act of blatant revenge against the woman I love; or is she simply following orders from a higher mistress than me?
I’m sweating in this dark, close corner. I’m also pungent between my legs where my juices flow. This horror, so etched in my mind, bids me to make sense of facts that are yet vague puzzles whose strangely cut pieces are still strewn about the odd life at this B&B.
Finished, Analise pokes Peach with the cane, then she lays it on the stone table behind her.
“Don’t let her come until she’s satisfied you,” she tells the two waiting women. Then like an insubstantial apparition, she floats from the chapel on the fumes of anger that burst from her and then disperses.
I watch only long enough to see the two attendants lower Peach to the floor, where she’s made to bring two sweating pussies off with her mouth and tongue. They don’t even give her the advantage of her hands to aid the task, keeping them bound in front of her. Yet, I doubt it will take much to do the job since both women are nearly orgasmic.
