Belle Submission Page 22

  ‘Yee-haw!’ cried the rednecks as two females shed their skirts and halter tops, ripped off their bras and soiled panties, squashing the garments on to their menfolk’s faces, as they vaulted the rail and slapped their naked bodies on to the buttocks atop the throng.

  ‘Wait…’ Trina groaned.

  ‘Sub specie modestiae,’ murmured Zealla, pulling Trina’s arm forwards. ‘You know you want to, mamselle.’

  ‘No…’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, do me… do me… diddle my cunt…’ sobbed Emily Cawdor, way beneath the throbbing mass of bare bodies, as rivulets of come streamed from her cunt at the bottom of the crush pile.

  ‘Uh!’ Trina gasped as she fell heavily on to the fleshy mountain of squirming bare nates.

  She squashed her face against the churning buttocks and bit hard, rewarded with a shrill cry of agony. It was Devora; she bit again and again, with come from the bitten girl’s cunt flowing into Trina’s nostrils. Zealla’s bare breasts slapped her back and she felt the girl’s full weight astride her, riding her and with fingers groping for her quim.

  ‘No!’ cried Trina, trying in vain to close her spread thighs as Zealla succeeded in prising open her gash-flaps, getting three fingers inside the already slopped quim, and began to frot her vigorously, with vicious slaps to the rock-hard, extruded clitty.

  ‘Uh…’ Trina gasped, ‘Oh, you bitch, that’s so good, oh, fuck me, don’t stop.’

  Her thighs clamped Zealla’s penetrating fingers as the blonde maid fist-fucked her and juice squirted from Trina’s gushing cunt until the invading flesh was slippery with her come. She continued to bite Devora’s buttocks, getting closer to the cleft until she got a sliver of perineum skin between her teeth and chewed hard. Devora groaned and swivelled her cunt-basin to present Trina with her gushing slash, the lips swollen and red and the come bubbling in a shiny ooze, soaking her rampantly stiff clitty. Trina clamped her teeth on the clitoris and bit; Devora howled and wriggled, slamming her wet cunt against Trina’s face. Trina would not let go but opened her jaws to take the entire vulva between her teeth and bit, locking the cunt in her mouth while she began to suck the gash-flaps and tongue the hard clitty.

  Devora began to moan, swivelling her hips to push her cunt further into Trina’s face, while Zealla, riding Trina like a horse, punched her fist again and again into her wet slit, getting in right to her wrist and slamming the neck of Trina’s womb with each thrust. Trina’s cunt sucked and squeezed Zealla’s arm, while her leg jack-knifed, pressing her foot inside Zealla’s open cunt, and her stockinged toes began to mash Zealla’s stiff wet clitty. The discipline directress writhed on top of Trina, and cascading come washed Trina’s wriggling bare ass as Zealla moaned. There were thuds as further bodies impacted the huddle and redneck girls began their fevered probing of cunts and buttholes. Trina groaned as the weight twisted her neck and squashed her titties flat, yet still she bit, caressed and writhed in response to Zealla’s fistfuck; her belly heaved in the onset of spasm.

  ‘Yee-haw!’

  ‘What the —?’

  The huddle of girls tumbled as limbs were wrenched from the throng. Trina blinked through come-drenched eyes and saw a redneck male, naked and with a giant stiff cock fully erect. The male grabbed her and heaved her forwards, swinging her like a club. Trina shrieked as she was slapped on to the guardrail, with her feet on the spectators’ side, her buttocks high and her cunt and anus spread, as if for punishment.

  ‘Now wait —’

  A hairy hand clasped her mouth shut, while a second plunged into her streaming cunt, and palmed a handful of her come.

  ‘Mmm!’

  Trina writhed in a frenzy of pain as fingers prised open her anus bud and the helmet of the huge cock, oiled with her own come, penetrated her anal shaft. Two hard thrusts and the monstrous flesh was slamming the root of her anus. The male enculed her with vigorous, rapid thrusts, withdrawing his slimed cock all the way from her hole and nuzzling the anus bud before driving into her again; her anus began to slime with ass-grease and contract around the invading tool, the soft greasy elastic of her anal chamber caressing and squeezing the swollen glans as it penetrated her. Hands gripped her at shoulders, hips and ankles and, despite her shuddering, her slippery body was trapped, the guardrail poking painfully at her pubic bone as her cunt-basin slammed up and down. The man’s belly slapped her jerking bare ass-globes, as his ass-greased cock pierced her anal elastic.

  ‘Stop… you’ll split me in two,’ Trina groaned.

  ‘Rufus, this bitch is hot for cornholing!’ cried the male hoarsely. ‘She could get jism outta your dick!’

  ‘Then you spurt your tiny fuckin’ peckerwad, Billy, and let a real man go,’ said his companion. ‘I gonna fill her up till she fucking floats away.’

  ‘No!’ Trina yelped. ‘Don’t hurt me. Please, sir.’

  Billy bucked harder, not leaving the anus but withdrawing only an inch or so before ramming again against Trina’s bruised anal root. Trina groaned, feeling the first hot droplets of sperm drip from his peehole, and then he grunted and a hot flood of sperm spurted from his cock into her rectum.

  ‘Mmm,’ Trina grunted into the palm covering her lips, ‘Mmm, mmm…’

  Her legs buckled as come flooded her cunt and she writhed in orgasm with the hot jet of sperm bubbling at the lips of her writhing anus pucker.

  ‘Oh! Yeah!’ she gasped, as the hand left her mouth, and steadied herself against the rail —‘Ooh!’

  A second cock, that of Rufus, stabbed her sperm-slimed anus and succeeded in penetrating her with a single thrust, of which he proudly advised Billy.

  ‘She’s hot, this pig,’ he said. ‘See them whupmarks? She’s hotter than hot, she’s begging for it…’

  Vap! Vap! Vap! Vap!

  A rain of spanks showered on Trina’s naked, quivering buttocks and she howled as Rufus began a ruthless buttfucking. His cock was bigger than Billy’s and left little play for Trina’s squeezing sphincter. He fucked her ass vigorously for over a minute as she screamed, wailing, and finally stammered;

  ‘You’re so big! You’ll burst my asshole!’

  ‘Now you know, lady,’ growled Billy. ‘This is real Mississippi cornhole, I ain’t no Yankee candy-ass like that fuckin Duane Carvalho. Guess you’ve had his snake up that turd highway, bitch — slut like you, can’t get enough, always falls for that sombitch.’

  ‘I swear, I’ve never met Duane Carvalho,’ Trina gasped.

  ‘Fuckin liar! That butt stud made you grease up pretty good in the pomade factory, what I hear.’ He pronounced it ‘po-made’. ‘You sluts are all the same. It’s treason, fuckin’ the enemy, and I am gonna punish you, bitch.’

  ‘Oh! You’re hurting me!’

  ‘Yeah! Hurt her good, Rufus,’ shrieked a female voice.

  ‘Fuck her till she faints,’ added another.

  ‘No, wait, please,’ Trina gasped, but already Rufus had his sperm risen and the first cream of his jet was spurting over the remains of Billy’s.

  Trickles of sperm overflowed from her anus on to her thighs, and women howled in glee as a third stud mounted her, buttfucked her, spurted and gave way to another. There was a fifth cornholer and a sixth before Trina lost count. Trina’s anus was raw, bubbling with sperm and her own gushing ass-grease. Her bare buttocks danced under heavy spanking, the slaps falling mostly on her tender haunches until the skin was ribbed and crusty and the flesh blackened. Her body shuddered in orgasm three times more under her spanking and enculement, until she was left to slump, sobbing, to the floor. The girls surrounded her, masturbating, with a bruised and sullen Emily Cawdor in their midst, kneeling before Devora Dykes and tonguing her clitty; Heidi Absorb and Alice Frequemme frotted each other’s cunts, while Zealla sat on Harriet’s face, big toe inside Harriet’s juicing bare cunt, which she foot-frotted as Harriet sucked her slit.

  ‘I swear, I’ve never fucked Duane Carvalho,’ Trina sobbed.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Zeal
la asked. ‘A filthy trull like you is certain to, unless we consign you to a carcer which will sicken you of lustful perversions forever. I’ve plenty to hang you on, poor foolish spy. I was looking forward to chastising you to the max, as your abeyant penalty, for conspiring to corrupt public servants Acajou and Felt and for masturbating a prisoner of the republic.’

  ‘She had her fingers in my pussy and tongued my nubbin, and everything!’ blurted Blush Coynte. ‘She said that’s what they did every day on New Albion — so she must be a spy.’

  ‘You’d have had short rack plus vigorous caning, say eighty strokes, maybe suspension, Trina,’ Zealla continued.

  ‘Now I have you on gross indecency, masturbation and anal sex, caught in flagrante delicto, before witnesses! I can have you racked, whipped, hanged and gagged, till you scream.’

  ‘We are in court!’ Trina blurted. ‘What about sub specie modestiae?’

  ‘You’re not in court,’ Zealla snapped. ‘Your feet are over the guardrail, on the public side.’

  She turned to Rufus and Billy.

  ‘Any of you men fancy a second shot? Where she’s headed, this bitch needs all the practice she can get. And you can use this, in case your hands get sore.’

  She tossed a rubber scourge of nine thongs, which Billy caught, slapping it twice across Trina’s naked croup, which made her cry a sharp, piercing cry, then bringing it down across her naked breasts, not once but over two dozen times. Trina screwed her eyes tight and wailed as each lash of the thongs laid red weals on her bare titties, the tips of the thongs catching her nipples. Zealla bent closer to Tina’s face, contorted in pain as the quirt lashed her shuddering, bare teat-jellies.

  ‘Hurt much? Keep quiet about what Emily said, or I’ll tell Mamselle Wand to hurt you much more at the Stella Maris. I know another thing… on the boat bringing you here, Elvis fucked your cunt, you filthy, depraved bitch.’

  Thwap! Thwap! The scourge continued its flogging of Trina’s naked titties until they were purple with weals.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried, as a hot spurt of piss flooded her cunt and squirted her thighs, puddling the floor as her eyes streamed tears. ‘Oh, no…!’

  The piss was followed by a plop-plop of dung pellets shooting from her anus. The cleft of her buttocks widened as the dungs hissed from her grease-slimed pucker, and her ass-globes rose, jerking.

  ‘Look at those flapjacks,’ cried Blush. ‘A New Albion spy, for sure.’

  ‘Yee-haw!’ chorussed the rednecks, and cameras clicked as Trina’s bare cheeks were spread again.

  From the Journal of Mlle Augustine Flageolet, anno 1760 12 I am increasingly convinced that New Arras shall be the perfect society, based on reason and female submission to the male principle, yet self-sufficient in all things, including our deepest female desire to submit. Caning and whipping of our tender parts is not so much pain, though painful it is, as the symbol of our submission, whose marks our skins bear long after the ceremony of chastisement. The baring of the nates for the shameful penetration of the nether hole by the erect male member is a ceremony, I believe, almost equal in importance to that of bare-bottom caning. Yet, so often, unreasonable female lusts overwhelm our modesty, and the desire to submit becomes a desire for sensual gratification.

  I learn that here aboard ship, swivings take place outside the rules of the virgins of Ishtar, and that some girls actually open their juicing pudenda to the poking of the brute male organ. That is only acceptable when properly sanctioned, according to my reglements. Reason, I have decided, must be accompanied by order. There is no shame in despotism, if the despotism is enlightened. On our island of New Arras I shall be intendant, ruling for the common weal, through committees which shall convey the wishes of my people to me, who shall transmute their base metal into gold. As for gold, I possess a fortune beyond fantasy. After a youth spent conniving with bankers over the disposition of my estate and learning their tricks, I shall found my own bank of New Arras! Having skirted the Antilles, we are nearly at the Orleans territory of America. We must be perfect on arrival, and that applies to me. The guardian of the treasure may not be above reason. I must offer myself as a virgin of Ishtar.

  13

  Strap-on

  ‘There’s no need to tremble, maid,’ said Hazel Wand, crossing her nyloned legs and sharpening the dagger point of her purple-polished index with a silver nail file. ‘It makes me squirm to think what a reputation we have from idle tongues and vicious rumours.’

  The directress of the Stella Maris was a tall blonde of twenty-one, with an untamed mane of yellow tresses, her prominent breasts and derriere encased in a filmy uniform of shiny grey cotton, with a pearl necklace nestling in her deep cleavage where three undone shirt buttons bared her breasts almost to the big strawberry nipples in stark relief under the thin, damp cotton. Beneath the cotton, a purple waspie corset was visible, squeezing her waist to nineteen inches. Her skirt was pulled up her thighs to show a tuft of pubic hair, for the directress was pantiless and braless, the waspie thrusting her teats up to firm jellies and accentuating the swelling of her buttocks. Sprawled in a cane chair, she was fanned by two sweating girl slaves, both barefoot, wearing only a bra and panties of coarse hempen hair and with their manes tied back in ponytails. Each slave had her bare feet locked in a wooden hobble bar, three feet long. Their hairy panties were scarcely more than a thong pulled tightly between their gash-flaps, whose folds swelled on either side and left their melons almost totally bare; vivid pink stripes the width of the cane on Hazel Wand’s lap streaked their buttocks.

  Hazel sighed and tossed aside a sheaf of papers, Trina’s dossier; then stood and bent over Trina, looking into her eyes. Nude, Trina squatted before her, buttocks on calves, with her ankles in a hobble bar. Her arms jutted rigid before her, with her waist fastened in a wooden hobble, a bar of solid teak fastened to a steel coil around her waist and locked at the small of her back. Beside the waist hobble, two taut chains stretched down her belly, joining clamps around her nipples to those on her cunt-flaps. A third, smaller chain, linked the two to hold a clamp gripping the clitoris and pressing it to extrusion. The various clamps cupped the skin so that the nipples ballooned from pincers at the areolae and the cunt-flaps swelled bulbously below the extruded clitoris; any motion on Trina’s part would savagely wrench her nipples and gash-lips. Trina shook her head to brush her mane across her eyes and wipe the beads of sweat. Behind her stood a guardian of virtue in black uniform of a tabard top and frilly skirtlet, her legs and feet bare. From her fist dangled a loose chain fastened to Trina’s spiked neck ring.

  ‘You are a puzzle, mamselle,’ Hazel said. ‘However, I may not enquire into your provenance any more than your dossier advises. Directress Pure is displeased with you. Gross indecency, behaviour unbecoming a scholar, conduct to the detriment of the morals of the republic… I shudder. Your titties and ass seem bruised, so I surmise you are one of those submissive perverts who crave the lash on her intimate body. Wise of you to waive right of appeal; malfeasants caught in the act enjoy little leniency from the supreme court. You’ll emerge from your stay with us purified and thoroughly reasonable, won’t you?’

  Panting in the heat, Trina did not respond.

  Stripped of the intendance, that bitch Zealla again in control, and I’ll bet she’s the supreme court, too. I’m not even a scholar, but a slave…

  Vip! Hazel’s cane slapped her full across the clamped, swollen nipples and Trina cried out.

  ‘I said, ‘‘won’t you’’?’

  ‘Yes, mamselle,’ Trina sobbed.

  ‘That’s better. Now, I’d invite you to join me in a cup of herbal tea, only I see it might be awkward for you — if we get business over soon, you’ll be in time for our table d’ho^te in the slaves’ refectory. Slaves at the Stella Maris are known only by their number, not by name, so our first task is to assign you a number.’

  ‘Slaves, mamselle?’ Trina blurted, her eyes filling with tears. ‘In the republic of reason?’

 
‘Technically, a thrall of this institution. ‘‘Slave’’ is a conceit of Mamselle Flageolet’s — charming folklore. I shall assign your slave number after a test, determining your suitability for the corrective regimes we offer: hard labour, hospitality and rigorous corporal punishment. Hard labour is the most sought after, as it involves diving and other healthy aquatic pursuits. Hospitality is next; prescribed chastisement is mainly for maids with bottoms bare of stripes, easily caned to repentance. We had one the other day, a timid, tearful trull who blurted slanders about our new intendant, that she was a flapjack spy, a lesbian — worse, a submissive who would do anything for a bare-ass flogging. I haven’t the honour of knowing our intendant, but I caned the trull a hundred on the bare for her vile slander.’

  She stroked Trina’s bruised nipples, gently rubbing the points until the plums stood to erection.

  ‘Mmm… did I hurt your breasts?’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes, mamselle. Nothing I haven’t taken before, in this…this place. What sort of test, if you please?’

  Hazel bent down and stroked Trina’s buttocks, then passed her fingers, dancing, along the outer and inner thighs, brushing the lips of the clamped cunt.

  ‘Good girl meat,’ she murmured, ‘strong, firm, muscled, skin satin-smooth, and ripe for thrashing.’

  She stood and flexed her cane.

  ‘That is a Georgia yew sapling, one of the strongest yet most supple woods, and most painful in a cane,’ she said, stroking its gleaming yellow surface. ‘It’s a little longer than a whipple and thicker, too. The whipple is more for close-up work, but I prefer a good reach. I’ll be interested in your reaction. Your dossier says you are accustomed to bare-bottom caning with numerous rods and that your vulva juices under punishment. Correct?’

  ‘What kind of a question —?’

  Vip!

  ‘Ah!’

  Trina jerked as the cane lashed her upturned soles.