Belle Submission Page 24

  ‘I can still get the guys, even a lifer like me,’ Jolene said.

  ‘Some guys I can do without,’ said Trina. ‘Rufus and Billy —filthy fucking rednecks. Oh! No offence meant.’

  ‘And none taken,’ Jolene said.

  ‘They come in and do me every other day, and they got me in here in the first place. Motherfuckers.’

  ‘Trina, you got yourself in here, for being a wicked, forward girl, just like we all did,’ Jolene said. ‘Cindi Kock, she used to be a real vile sub and a lesbian, and now she’s the worst snitch and worst whipper among the slaves — though that’s all the slut will ever be. She’s marked. Righteous bitches, think candy won’t melt in their assholes, and they just disappear, you know? Not back into the population, just… somewhere. Sold back east, is what I think. Rich dudes in Boston pay a fortune for a Southern slavegirl, you know? Millions of people gotta go to food centres in this country — slavery ain’t so bad, compared. Rufus and Billy — they the ones who shout ‘‘yee-haw’’?’

  ‘I know them.’

  ‘Good cocksmen, you gotta agree. I always come when they cornhole me. Fuck my ass raw, like Southern gentlemen, you know? They’re slavers.’

  Her hand caressed Trina’s bottom.

  ‘Say, I’m no lesbian — but, you know, if I was, then you’d be my choice.’

  ‘I was going to say the same thing,’ said Trina, her hand creeping to enfold the lips of Jolene’s gash.

  ‘You want we should masturbate? I know it’s unlawful, but who’d know?’

  The only monitor was Beth Dudge, drowsing by her campfire. Gingerly, the two naked slaves began to caress each other on breasts, bottoms and cunts until their fingers were bathed in oily come.

  ‘I’ve wanted to for a long time,’ Jolene gasped, wriggling her cunt-basin against Trina’s probing fingers as Trina slid three digits into Jolene’s slimy pouch. ‘Your ass-welts are so lovely and crisp and hard, and I just love your pussy. Don’t you miss a good pussy-fucking? Cornholing is fine, and I’d hate to be without cock for my asshole, but it gets to hurt all the time.’

  ‘Me too, to all of that,’ Trina murmured, wriggling down to get her lips around Jolene’s clitty.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ gasped Jolene as Trina chewed the stiff nubbin and poked four fingers into the wet cunt. ‘Yeah…’

  Their nude, sweating bodies slithered as the two girls gamahuched until, by frottage of the clitoris, oral sex and knuckle masturbation of the cunt-pouch, they had each climaxed twice. Both girls’ fists were slopped in come. Trina whispered that she had a plan for escape, if Jolene wanted to come along, and Jolene clapped her palm over Trina’s mouth.

  ‘No more!’ she hissed. ‘I don’t wanna go and I don’t wanna know.’

  Suddenly, both girls were pinioned to the sand.

  ‘Plotting escape?’ hissed a female, next to Trina’s ear.

  ‘It was me! Jolene knows nothing,’ Trina cried. ‘I swear.’

  ‘Whip the bitch anyway,’ ordered Zealla. ‘I like to hear redneck flesh sliced while I fuck.’

  Her nude body towered over Trina, gleaming in the moonlight. The knots and striations of her giant phallus quivered, buckled to her waist.

  ‘You like my strap-on?’ she sneered, jerking Trina’s cunt upwards with a booted foot in her gash. ‘You won’t even feel cock in your anus, once I’ve fucked you with this baby.’

  Vip! Vip! Vip!

  ‘Ohh!’ cried Jolene.

  A cane began to work on her naked melons as the pinioned girl writhed, her mouth full of sand. Zealla wrenched Trina up by the hair and forced her to crouch, doggy style.

  Vip! Vip! Vip!

  ‘Oh, mamselle,’ she moaned, as canestrokes welted her upthrust bare, ‘fuck me, but please not the cane.’

  Vip! Vip! Canes sang on the two helpless bare croups. The canes striped the naked fesses of the two girls for minutes, and the air was rent with sobs and shrieks as their asses squirmed. Then only one cane whistled, lashing Jolene. Zealla crouched and pushed the tip of her dildo into Trina’s anus bud. She straddled Trina, resting her full weight on her shoulders, and thrust hard. The dildo penetrated Trina’s anus halfway.

  ‘Oh! It hurts, mamselle… Oh!’

  A second thrust, and Trina screamed as the dildo sank to the root of her anus. Grunting, Zealla began to buck vigorously.

  ‘Ever had cock like that?’ she snarled.

  ‘Oh! No, mamselle!’

  ‘Not even from Elvis?’

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  ‘Say it! My wood’s better than his! Bigger, more hurtful…’

  Zealla’s hips slapped against Trina’s squirming bare nates as she corkscrewed the dildo into the anal elastic, withdrawing it fully, dripping with ass-grease, for each new penetration.

  ‘Oh! Yes! It is…’

  ‘Then you won’t mind, mamselle…’

  The naked male behind Zealla’s croup grasped her hips, slid his organ into her cleft and found her twitching ass-pucker. He slammed his cock into her shaft to the root of her anus. Zealla grunted as the male enculed her in time with her penetration of Trina’s butthole.

  ‘Bitch is sassy, Elvis,’ she grunted.

  ‘Ram her ass good, then, mamselle,’ Elvis replied.

  The force of his thrusts pumped Zealla’s strap-on harder into Trina’s hole, matching the rhythm of Jolene’s caner, who stroked the girl’s bare with geometric precision. Jolene writhed, gurgling and shrieking, her jerking cunt-basin pinioned to the sand, and her ass-cheeks crimson in the moonlight. A trickle of come seeped from her slit into the sand, leaving a dark damp patch. Zealla’s come spurted from her bucking cunt to trickle down Trina’s ass-cleft. She fucked Trina’s anus for fourteen minutes, with Elvis buggering her, and Trina pissed herself twice during that time. The cane did not cease to lash Jolene’s bare. After nine minutes, Zealla removed one supporting hand to masturbate, and the flow of come wetting Trina’s skin became more copious as she accompanied her buttfucking by shrieks and gasps.

  ‘Yeah,’ she moaned. ‘Yeah… I always wanted to fuck you, bitch.’

  ‘You only had to ask, Zealla,’ Trina groaned.

  ‘Call me 239, slut! Asking’s no good. Only fun in fucking is power. You hurting, bitch? You feeling my power?’

  ‘Yes… Uh… Enough… Oh, stop, please.’

  Abruptly, Jolene’s caning stopped and the thrashed girl lay sobbing and writhing on the sand, her hands rubbing the red bare melons of her flogged croup. Her caner crouched low with her head between Trina’s thighs, and Trina wailed as teeth fastened on her erect, piss-soaked clitoris. The girl swallowed Trina’s flowing come, mashing her lips on Trina’s clit and nose-fucking her cunt. She wiped her nose rapidly up and down Trina’s slimy slit-lips, ramming its tip deep into her cunt-pouch. Her bare ass wriggled on the sand as she thumbed her own clitoris. Zealla, masturbating, buggered Trina’s anus as she herself groaned under Elvis’s buttfucking. Trina’s belly heaved.

  ‘Oh…’ she gasped, ‘I’m going to — Oh! Oh!’

  Come spurted in a torrent from her cunt over her gamahucher’s face as her loins shuddered in spasm, accompanied by grunts and hisses from Zealla, masturbating herself to simultaneous climax. Elvis panted and his bucking of Zealla’s anus grew fierce until Zealla put her hand to her anus to smear his sperm-froth from her pucker and wipe it on Trina’s face. The girl slopping Trina’s cunt withdrew, licking her glistening lips.

  ‘Harriet!’ Trina moaned, as Harriet rose, pinioned her mistress, and roped her wrists behind her back.

  ‘Colonel Harriet to you, citizen,’ she said. ‘Of the New Albion strategic intelligence bureau.’

  From the Journal of Mlle Augustine Flageolet, anno 1760 13 My head concealed in a muslin bag, I offered my bare bottom, crouching beside four other bagged girls, trembling nervously, as was I. I felt the joy of pure, orderly nature, with five naked bottoms presented to be used, like a fivefold trough at which any horse might drink. Far from our quivering bare fesse
s the smirks and dissemblances of flirtation and intrigue! We were submissive animals, ready to be used, as all females crave.

  The worship of Ishtar lasted from midday to five p.m., with two breaks for refreshment. I felt the first matelot grasp my hips and, without ceremony, thrust his naked organ against my compliant buttocks. He quickly found my nether hole, which I spread for him to the best of my ability, groaning at the speed of his penetration and the massive stiffness of his member. I saw myself again in that English stable, with my muddy ostler, stinking of male power. He began to buck — I thrust to meet his strokes, unable to stifle my gasps of pain as I felt his organ slam my root, nor my sweats and shivers of submissive pleasure. There was a delicious tingling in my belly, as intense as masturbated ecstasy. Too soon, he spurted his cream, bathing my hole in hot fluid, and withdrew, leaving my belly fluttering.

  No sooner did his member plop from my squeezing hole than another took its place, swiving me for longer and its massive girth bringing me close to fainting. The third matelot tipped me over into spasming pleasure and my moans were genuine as, I knew, were the groans of the swived girls around me. Thereafter, I lost count of the organs I served, save that each brought me to new heights of pain and pleasure mingled. My anonymity as a naked female animal for the use of males was more potent as a lustful stimulant than any potion or perfume.

  At last, a voice broke the silence, and I recognised Capt Stouplois. He said I was a trull, or trollop, and deserved whipping for my lewdness — this as his organ, more massive than any other, was stabbing my innards, and at his words I came to spasm once more. I made no protest as he dragged me to the deck and roped me naked to the mainmast. Still bagged, I did not see the crowd of jeering watchers, male and female, as I was whipped one hundred on the back, then caned one hundred with a stout willow rod, as I later learned, on the buttocks.

  I had never known such a dreadful, sublime flogging. Every nerve of my tortured bare flesh screamed stop, while my heart swooned in joyous submission to the male’s lash. I shrieked in pain and ecstasy. When the captain drew the bag from my head, I saw we were coming into the harbour of New Arras. He said we had passed the island of New Albion, settled by English barbarians from Maine, but that the sounds and spectacle of my flagellance had cowed their raiding party, and my stripes were the salvation of New Arras. A true priestess of Ishtar must sacrfice all dignity and comfort for the good of the public weal!

  My maids looked at my bruised flesh, more scarred than any other’s, and applauded with heartfelt vigour. Having decided that New Arras needed a male as custodian of public order and administrator of punishments too severe to besmirch female hands, I offered the post of public executioner to Capt Stouplois, who accepted. That post, it was agreed, remained in my personal domain, as did the person of its holder.

  14

  Whipped to the Bone

  ‘What are you doing to me?’ Trina wailed.

  ‘Making you comfortable for the night,’ said Zealla. ‘String you up; then in the morning you’ll be whipped, tarred and feathered, and yoked on the gibbet.’

  Jolene helped Zealla and Harriet plaster sweet gum on Trina’s pubic fleece.

  ‘My, how your bush has grown,’ Zealla said. ‘So gross! You left this behind.’

  She held up Trina’s pubic vison, rich with the shorn hairs of Devora Dykes, and pressed it to her groin until it stuck firmly to her natural growth; then slathered more sweet gum to the artificial pubic hair. Jolene pulled a meathook down from the gibbet, while Elvis dug holes in the sand. Trina lay on her back while her bound wrists were buried in one hole and her ankles quickly roped in the second. Jolene winched up the meathook, drawing Trina’s body into an inverted U and suspending her, crablike, with her weight taken by her glued groin, unless she chose the agony of supporting herself on her arched back, legs and arms.

  ‘Ah! Ah!’ Trina shrieked, her breasts flopping over her chin.

  ‘Hurts, I guess,’ Jolene said, piling rocks over Trina’s buried feet and hands.

  ‘Jolene! How could you…?’ Trina sobbed.

  ‘How can anyone do anything?’ Jolene replied.

  ‘We’ll leave you something to remember,’ Zealla said, taking a springy whipple cane and lashing Trina’s breasts.

  Vip! Vip! Vip!

  ‘Ah!’

  The cuts took Trina on the milky underside of her dangling teats; her body shuddered, jerking the rope and wrenching her pubic fastening.

  ‘Jolene — the nipples — if you’ve no objection?’

  Jolene grasped Trina’s flailing breasts, cupped them and squeezed them, holding them erect so that the big plum nipples stood out, bulging.

  Vip! Vip!

  ‘Ah! No! Jolene, please… Zealla’s a traitor.’

  ‘What do I know?’ said Jolene. ‘I’m only a sub-slut.’

  The cane sliced each squeezed nipple across the bud, and Zealla continued the titty-flogging to forty cuts, until Trina’s breasts were striped with livid red weals. Her torturers left her, sobbing and swinging from her hook. Her only companions on the beach were the crabs that scuttled up and down her flesh and into her gaping cunt, and the turtles lumbering up and down from the waves. Trina gritted her teeth, raised her groin an inch, then sank violently downwards, wrenching her pubic wig. Her eyes streamed with tears as she repeated the manoeuvre, shuddering up and down, until the hair of her false pubis ripped noisily from her groin, taking tufts of her real fleece with it, and she collapsed between her imprisoning rock-piles. For two hours, she waggled her feet, inching them from the sand and pushing aside the rocks one by one, all the time wincing as clusters of tiny crabs crawled in and out of her cunt, biting and nipping her pouch walls. At last she sat upright, her limbs free.

  It’s all gone so wrong… why me?

  She staggered into the sea and splashed, drenching her naked body until her eyes cleared. She rubbed her ass and smoothed her inflamed anus pucker with a fingertip, cursing and withdrawing sharply as her skin met the swollen anal elastic extruded by Zealla’s buttfucking.

  Why me…?

  She clambered on to the back of a turtle and let herself float out to sea, watching the dwindling lights of New Arras. When she tried to steer the turtle, it was no use — the beast was newly alert, preparing to dive. When it slid into the depths, Trina was left floating on her back in the warm Gulf waters. She lay looking up at the stars, inert and with her limbs stretched, the saline fluid washing her open holes and lapping over the welts on her whipped breasts. Her tears ceased and she drifted into numb, hopeless sleep. It was not yet dawn when hands plucked her from the ocean and hauled her aboard a boat.

  ‘You are a sassy bitch,’ Zealla said, ‘and dumb. Why didn’t you just wait?’

  ‘You were going to tar and feather me, and flog me!’ she sobbed. ‘I wanted to escape… to New Albion.’

  ‘Naw, mamselle,’ Elvis said, turning round from the ship’s wheel. ‘Mamselle Zealla wanted to fuck you before you were shipped out, that’s all. Jolene’s one of her spies, see. So’s Mamselle Harriet, only she’s a counterspy, a double agent, got her pecker right in that Lady Gorges’s asshole, in a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Shipped out!’ Trina cried. ‘Where am I going?’

  Harriet extracted two wriggling crabs from Trina’s gash, licked them, and threw them into the sea.

  ‘New Albion, mamselle,’ she said. ‘All this time, where did you think you were going?’

  It was dawn when the craft entered the deserted rocky cove. On the hills high above, cannon faced out to the ocean in the direction of New Arras. They disembarked and Trina shivered in the brisk sea air. The trees here were slanted to the gale, and the dark grey rocks were barren of mosses. Zealla murmured her approval that the bay was undefended. Trina stumbled over the rocks with the others until they all shrieked as the rocks erupted in an earthquake. Flung to the ground, the intruders had no time to rise before a platoon of New Albion soldiers, nude but for waist flails, tit- and ass-spikes and sp
iked cunt-traps, apprehended them.

  Trina squealed as a beefy New Albion commando coolly swivelled her hips and delivered a flurry of stinging spanks to Trina’s bare with the swaying metal cords extruded from her ass-cleft. All around them, the rocks stirred and opened with a whisper of zip fasteners; hard shells crumpled to soft bags and, from their cocoons, more naked soldiers emerged. A tall, coltish blonde, wearing captain’s insignia, sauntered to Trina and placed the tip of her spiked jackboot in her anus, giving it a twist. Trina writhed.

  ‘Welcome to your future home, ladies,’ she spat. ‘We know what to do with saboteuses, here on New Albion. A diplomatic incident — a show trial — perfect excuse for our invasion. I’m Captain Musquonset, of the palace guard, and you’ll be seeing a lot more of me — or my whip.’

  Trina gaped at the bay, moments ago deserted but for rocks, and now swarming with soldiers. The bay was by now denuded of rocks, all of which had opened and shrunk, leaving serried ranks of heavily spiked girl soldiers busy tending the the fabric of the rocks as it reshaped itself into a flotilla of attack boats. They attached outboard motors revealed by the crumpled rock fabric to the back of the craft and pushed the boats into the sea, then boarded them in platoons.

  ‘Wh-what…?’ Trina stammered.

  ‘Our secret weapon, no longer secret,’ said the captain.

  ‘Camouflage body bags, from El Segundo, California.’

  She looked at her watch.

  ‘Very good exercise, halberdiers,’ she barked. ‘Next time, the real thing. Form up! Quick march, at the double, hup! Let’s get these saboteuses back to the palace, and then you can draw lots for the honour of torturing them before their trial. How I love to see candy-butts writhe. The stinking trulls…’

  Halberdier Donnette Spinks interrupted her with a cry from the deck of Elvis’s boat. She held up a bulky package wrapped in oilskins. From each end protruded tips of wooden twigs, gleaming grey in the sunshine.

  ‘What?’ cried Abby Musquonset. ‘Secret weapons? Armed and dangerous, indeed!’