Belle Submission Read online

  ‘Or, ‘‘prisoner for a day’’, added Alice, ‘also including discipline. There must be extra whippings, in either case.’

  ‘What about prisoners’ rights?’ blurted Trina.

  ‘Prisoners? Rights?’ Zealla gasped. ‘They are bottoms to be flogged, mamselle. No girl demands rights when she can enjoy showing off her bottom.’

  From the Journal of Mlle Augustine Flageolet, anno 1760 10 At twenty-four, I am senior to my oldest maid by only three years, and I become aware that seniority must be earned, when bodies and minds are so nearly alike. Of course, I have had the benefit of wealth and education, the better parts of which I try and instil in my charges, but does that excuse me from sharing the tribulations — and the delights? — of their training? My two years at the Gentlewomen’s College of Gant’s Hill in England taught me the effectiveness of the rod in the moulding of young ladies. How well I remember the gentle eyes of Miss Blacker as she prepared to flog me! She apologised for the pain her birch was about to inflict on my bared fesses, and the shame of having my agony witnessed by my peers, yet I must comfort myself that a single birching did more for a girl’s character than all the Latin and Greek in creation, and that as the rods striped my bare I should rejoice in the knowledge that I should watch another girl’s bottom redden on the morrow. Few days went by without one or more birchings, always on the bare, and for the most trifling of offences — skipping, whistling, eating too fast, or the like. It was not the gravity of the offence which counted, but the necessity of punishment meted to a girl’s naked bottom. Guardians of my friends would visit and enquire not about prowess in learning, but about the chastisements their girls had taken. If one confessed to dreadful crimes, and had been birched to twenty-five strokes on three or four occasions, that delighted her guardian, and obtained extra spending money for her; especially if she lifted her skirts and petticoats and showed her scarred bare bottom.

  Birchings were taken at the block, a dreadful slab of wood, before which a girl must kneel with her hips supported by the head of the block, her ankles clasped in leather straps, and her arms in front of her, supporting her upper body. The girl kneeled and awaited the ripping away of her garments of modesty, the cool wind on her bare fesses, and the awful whistle of the birch. The pain was indescribable. Each stroke seemed to sear the bare buttocks with molten lead, and each stroke thereafter was worse and worse. It was not uncommon, and not despised for a girl to lose control of her bladder, or even her bowels. Curiously — as it seemed then — birched friends whispered to me that to calm the inflammation of the birched buttocks they had to repair to a water closet, and while dunging masturbate their intimate parts to relief. The English, however uncultured, have a certain earthy sense, particularly in disciplinary matters. I was birched frequently for trifles, but only once before the whole school. In truth, I had grown accustomed to birching, and felt irritated if my bottom went a full week without stripes. I now know that my bottom craved naked birching, a craving as healthy as that for spring water. My offence was dalliance with one of the ostlers — a crude, smelly fellow, but irresistible, because of his massive virility. Girls, of course, sense these things. We formed our alliance in the stables, amid the dungs, and he swived me with the utmost vigour, yet allowed me to retain my virgin hymen, for his taste was the nether hole. He was whipped, and I was birched — thirty-five strokes, an agony. I released my waters at the twentieth stroke. Afterwards, I locked myself away, and masturbated thrice, to exhaustion, then fell into a pure, dreamless sleep.

  11

  Full Bare Skin

  Trina shifted, drawing her own nylons closer, and aware that the trickle of moisture between her thighs was now oily and more than her dripping sweat. Dorita, Alice and Sirena nodded in agreement, followed by a sheepish Heidi, who said she needed to devise a tariff for ‘the pomade chamber experience’.

  ‘Admirable,’ cried Zealla, clapping her hands. ‘I am sure mamselle intendant will accede.’

  Trina looked at the shining, eager faces of the sweating committee members. Downstairs, there was the tap-tap of canes; excited voices and footsteps approaching.

  ‘I guess so,’ she said, ‘but I want to ask about the war? As intendant, I want to know what peace measures have been taken and what vested interests oppose them. I want to speak freely with POWs, and —’ she gulped, blushing ‘— the ambassador of New Albion, and convene a special meeting of all armed forces commanders, and —’

  A knock on the door interrupted her. Public servants Felt and Acajou entered holding a girl pinoned between them, with her head paper-bagged and her nut-brown body clad only in a powder-blue bra and panties, the panty scarcely more than a thong, pushed out by her jungle of pubic tendrils, and the massive teat-jellies overspilling the skimpy, scalloped bra, so that one broad strawberry nipple was half exposed from the bra-cup. Her arms were hooked up, strapped to an ox yoke over her shoulders. Each custodian held her cane drawn, with a hairbrush dangling at her waist thong, and bore a sheaf of papers hanging around her neck from a rubber cord. The maid’s bare, quivering haunches were pink with cane weals, and her bare moons, flanking her rucked-panty bottom, bore the wide pink imprint of twin hairbushes.

  ‘Prefect Funger is downstairs, with a party of ticketed paying tourists as spectators, mesdemoiselles,’ said Acajou, managing to curtsey. ‘We have five prisoners for judgement and this one is the first, mamselle Emily Cawdor, the wicked slut, and she deserves a purple bottom and pendaison sévère, if you’ll pardon my French, mamselle.’

  Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!

  Drawing her hairbrush, she slapped Emily on her big, dangling breasts, which soon glowed crimson with fresh bruises, while the nipples, beaten by the brush, sprang into trembling stiffness. The maid howled and burst into tears.

  ‘Your French is fine, Citizen Acajou,’ said Zealla. ‘Bring the criminal in and the tourists. They should soon have confession, sentence and punishment of this guilty bitch.’

  ‘Has the accused no rights?’ asked Trina.

  ‘You may not be aware, mamselle,’ said Sirena Toitte,

  ‘that Louisiana is the only one of your fifty states with Roman law, not English common law — yuk. Many flags have flown here — we’ve had French law, Spanish law, most lately, republic of West Florida law…’

  ‘Isn’t an accused still innocent until proven guilty?’

  ‘No,’ Zealla said. ‘The republic of West Florida didn’t have any laws.’

  ‘This way, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Prefect Alana Funger, ushering the bevy of chattering tourists into the courtroom.

  The visitors were young, tanned and casually dressed, in T-shirts, jeans and loafers. Females slightly outnumbered males, most females being with partners, but some clustered in self-conscious girl groups. At Alana’s order, they filed into the tiers of benches and placed their cameras on the desks in front of them, assured they would be permitted photo opportunities. Trina sat in the deemster’s box, like a pulpit, and the rosewood surround engraved with carvings of chastisement: the gallows, the rack, the flogging horse, the ducking stool. Behind her, the same, very real devices of correction stood in polished splendour. Beulah Beaucoup squatted, wearing only panties and buffing the implements with the swaying jellies of her bare breasts, until Zealla ordered her to quit; the slave maid retreated on her knees. Below and beside Trina sat the prisoner, Emily Cawdor.

  The girl squatted on a plain stool with her back exposed and her teats squashed between two holes in the high front piece. Her back and neck were rigid as she perched bolt upright, in her bra and panties, bearing her yoke on her shoulders. A hangman’s noose enclosed her neck, draped loosely on her collarbone, and stretched upwards to a meathook dangling from the beams of the ceiling. At Trina’s either side, Heidi and Alice fussed with sheaves of papers, Heidi as prosecutor and Alice acting for Emily’s defence.

  Trina, as intendant, was the deemster. Like counsel, she wore a long judicial robe, but unlike the two committee members she remained
clothed beneath. Before the arrival of the public, Heidi and Alice had unconcernedly stripped bare, save for their boots, black nylon stockings, garter belts and straps, but no panties; they donned the billowing black robes over their naked bodies. Zealla, the clerk of the court, stripped after counsel and donned a short black gown, buttock-length, over a white rubber corset, tightened to eighteen inches, which left her buttocks and jellies naked and allowed her ass-melons to peep through the latticework of her high-backed chair. She explained that counsel must be in shame, for humility before the court; the deemster remained clad until the moment of passing sentence, which she must pass in the same humility. Trina might extemporise or read from the traditional script before her, used by Mamselle Flageolet herself, and which included all variables of disapproval, condemnation and sentencing.

  ‘What if the prisoner is found not guilty?’ Trina said.

  ‘The court does not decide guilt or innocence,’ Zealla explained. ‘The court decides how guilty.’

  Dorita, dressed like Zealla, with her skimpy gown flapping over the spanked melons of her glowing bare ass, was the sergeant-at-arms; Felt and Acajou, constables of the court, and Prefect Funger the usher. The door opened again and two custodians entered, leading a gang of prisoners in their snowy underthings and on a neck-chain; the custodians wore uniform of tight shorts with security corps flashes — only the shorts were black — with black laced knee-boots. Their bare breasts shook as they flicked their canes over the prisoners’ pantied buttocks and the nipple points, thinly protected by shallow brassieres. The custodians, flicking canes over the bras and panties of their charges, were Julie Pageant and Blush Coynte, both leering at Trina as they seated the girls on a bench next to the prisoner and sat one at each end of the bench.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Trina hissed to Zealla.

  ‘They are miscreants!’

  ‘Sometimes miscreants make the best muscle maids, mamselle. They serve in the security corps punishment battalion and are not graded — they carry no hairbrush.’

  Zealla stood, allowing the flaps of her gown to sweep back from her bare breasts.

  ‘The citizens will rise!’

  The spectators lurched to their feet, gazing at Zealla’s titties bouncing with her intonation, and she proclaimed:

  ‘Oyez, oyez, Federal court of the republic of New Arras, 3rd district, in the county of Rousseau, 2nd circuit, in the parish of Marat. This court is now in session, citizen intendant Mamselle Guelph is deemster presiding. You may sit. The first case concerns citizen Emily Cawdor. Citizen, how do you plead?’

  ‘Guilty, mamselle,’ whispered Emily, ashen-faced.

  ‘What is the charge?’ Trina hissed.

  ‘You have the dossier before you, mamselle citizen,’ Zealla said rather coldly. ‘It is up to the miscreant to confess, and see if her confession matches her dossier.’

  She smiled at the spectators and slowly ran her palms over her naked breasts, squeezing the jellies so that they sprang back to firmness, quivering as they jutted from her drawn-in ribcage. Her big plum nipples were tall and swollen. The salon thrilled with excited murmurs.

  ‘Order in the court,’ Trina said, banging her gavel.

  ‘You must invite citizen Absorb to open the case for the prosecution,’ Zealla whispered.

  Trina obeyed, and Heidi swirled into centre stage, clutching her papers. She raised her arms, allowing her robe to fall back, with her naked breasts and cunt pointing straight at the public gallery. Staring fiercely at the public, then at Trina, she pointed at the quivering Emily Cawdor.

  ‘It is our intention,’ she declared, ‘to prove the defendant guilty of malfeasance with criminous intent, concerning disloyal and scandalous apportionment of uniform clothing; for which we shall demand peine forte et dure, with fustigation and circumligation to the maximum severity the law permits. The sentences to be carried out publicly and forthwith, and on full bare skin.’

  The crowd clapped; the men and women alike, bright eyed, the males with bulges at the groin, and the females with darkening patches of damp at the crotch of their jeans or the laps of their frilly short skirts as they crossed and uncrossed their thighs. Trina looked at their faces.

  That’s what they’ve come to see, a girl whipped and tortured. Rednecks, yet Americans, like me.

  She asked Zealla, in a whisper, what peine forte et dure meant, and learned that it was crushing with a heavy weight —‘say, a dozen girls sitting on her,’ Zealla said, ‘and her body slopped in sweet gum, so they don’t slide off.’

  ‘Also, there is the graver charge of treason,’ Heidi thundered, ‘for which we shall demand the supreme penalty of public hanging.’

  There was a buzz from the public benches, with females clasping their aroused males and pressing their thighs together. Heidi stepped back to the front row of spectators and suddenly swirled to face them, her face red and her heavy bare breasts bobbing. She parted her legs, then slipped her gown off her shoulder and balanced it on the end of her finger, twirling it for several moments before once more draping it on her back.

  ‘In a court of law,’ she declaimed, ‘to get at the truth, we may sometimes use language that shocks. I make no apology. This heinous maid — this slut, this trull — is guilty of the foullest abominations, which I must name. Diddling, ladies and gentleman, or to call it scientifically, masturbation — a practice much observed in the basest form of female, a crime against reason, and one which a young scholar of the republic must learn to eschew, to master, to suppress, in her goal of becoming a submissive southern belle — a lady! Sluttish dress is no lesser crime — to parade in unseemly raiment, the hose torn, the brassiere or panties with rips and holes, betokening vice of the most abominable kind, which I must refer to by its true name — one that base females adore, and addict themselves to, making thralls of helpless males, slaves of their own animal vigour — buggery, ladies and gentlemen. That is, anal sexing, where the depraved female opens her anal orifice to the sex organ — naked and erect! — of the hapless victim of her seduction, and brings him to sperm in her nethermost cubicle! Fighting between lustful females adds to her woeful litany of offences: sluts, inflamed by those sorry pleasures, prepared to abandon their dignity as submissive belles, strip naked in shame, then kick, gouge and claw each other’s pure bodies, in dispute over — I must say it —cock!’

  The audience gasped. Heidi’s naked teats rose and fell like bellows.

  ‘Such crimes merit reasonable torture to extract the truth. Yet the prosecution can show exhibits and present witnesses to confirm what the prisoner — this miserable, mewling slattern — shall confess to the court of her own free will and without any torture yet applied.’

  The crowd sighed. Emily Cawdor’s face was a grimace and tears rolled from her eyes. She shivered, with goosebumps covering her bare, trembling breasts, and her shaking swayed the rope round her neck.

  ‘I present exhibits A, B and C,’ Heidi called and public servant Felt scurried to fetch and deposit the items on the table: a torn white cotton stocking, a pair of ripped and heavily stained white panties and a monstrously gnarled rubber cylinder in the shape of a magnolia trunk but resembling a man’s cock, and unmistakably a dildo, fifteen inches in length, and a girl’s fist wide.

  Heidi held up the stocking, showing the tear, and accusing Emily of vile sluttishness and disregard for the unifom of a scholar and the treasury of the republic, which had borne the cost of that uniform. The same applied to the shredded panties, save that their déchirement indicated the porcine delights of buggery, confirmed by the hideous stains, where no submissive belle should even think of having stains. Heidi poked her finger through the holed panties and waggled it, ripping the garment some more.

  ‘She was so hot, ladies and gentlemen, she couldn’t wait to strip her panties off,’ Heidi said. ‘She had her ass on some boy’s cock faster than a fat lady on a milkshake.’

  She picked up the dildo and held it at arm’s length, squinting in di
staste.

  ‘Doesn’t this confirm the slut’s depravity? She’ll tell you about it much better than I can, but can you imagine, ladies and gentleman, what it feels like — what maid would degrade herself so — to have this stuck up your most shameful private area?’

  Heidi turned and crouched with her gown over her shoulders and her buttocks spread, showing her anal pucker gaping open. She brought the tip of the dildo within an inch of her anus and mimed reaming and thrusting motions, before allowing the dildo to touch her pucker and slip half an inch inside — at which she recoiled from the tube with a gasp.

  ‘Oh! What a dreadful mistake!’ she panted. ‘I let that monster creep inside my crack by accident! So cold and filthy and painful, ladies and gentlemen! Imagine a girl who would let her tiny passage be filled, filled to bursting, and mutilated, by such a thing, for twisted, perverted pleasure! But I must not allow my testimony to colour the judgement of the court. The accused bitch shall damn herself by confessing, and torture may be applied afterwards at the discretion of our learned deemster.’

  The audience buzzed.

  ‘With her permission,’ Heidi concluded, ‘I give the floor to my learned friend for the defence, such as she is able to muster, in such an open and shut case.’

  Trina crossed her thighs and nodded. Alice Frequemme sauntered to the front of the court, her mouth moving in a sardonic leer as if chewing gum. Casually, she let her robe fall from her shoulders and selected her left breast for examination. She took her nipple between finger and thumb and rolled it, pinching, until both nipples stood erect from her swelling bare titties. Only then did she look at the audience with a sly smile. She let her entire nudity show, with her gown swept back, and put one boot on the guardrail, opening her gleaming wet cunt-flaps only inches from the front row of spectators. She scratched her left nylon stocking with a rasping sound, and then her right, the operation extending right to the stocking-tops and then extending up her taut garter straps, with her fingernails brushing the gash-lips.