Belle Submission Read online

  Swiftly, the girls hustled Trina inside the palace of justice, where Cindi explained the case to a female addressed as Prefect Funger. Asked why the prisoner was naked in shame, yet ungyved, Cindi said Sergeant Makings had not thought her a risk to public safety, despite her abnormal revendication of New Arras.

  ‘Yet I see from her croup,’ said the prefect drily, ‘that you effected provisional exemplary punishment.’

  ‘The detainee was being unreasonable,’ Cindi said.

  ‘Enough to warrant charges of riot? You’d have to wait until a corpsgirl can administer pertinent flogging.’

  ‘Mamselle prefect, with respect, a brief passion must have overcome her. Being unfamiliar with passion, Anglos are untrained to resist it.’

  ‘Very well. She is an abnormal detainee, not a charged prisoner, and I need not waste a prisoner’s uniform on her. She can remain naked in shame. Public servants Felt and Acajou! Transport the abnormal detainee to cell 501.’

  There was a rustle of papers and the scratch of a pen, with two copies of signed orders handed to the unseen watchmaids, who now escorted Trina, half carrying her, through the fetid heat of the palace of justice and into a cooler corridor winding steeply below ground. The palace sounded and smelled like a bus station, but now in the cell block there was only an occasional girl’s moan or sob. Far away, she heard a rhythmic tap-tap and a series of yelps, followed by a long, sobbing groan, and she shuddered in the public servants’ clutch.

  ‘Please,’ she groaned, ‘tell me what’s happening? How long am I going to be here?’

  ‘The committee of public safety will study your dossier and make a recommendation to the council of reason, who will debate your case and instruct the committee what to do with you.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘Silence!’

  Whap! Whap!

  ‘Oh…’

  Public servants Felt and Acajou slapped her breasts and buttocks several times.

  ‘I’ll make you a deal,’ Trina blurted, cringing. ‘You heard about my — my revendication. Well, it’s true.’

  No spanks were administered.

  ‘Yeah! In a few hours, the misunderstanding will be cleared up and I’ll be in charge of this place and, you know, I could do you some favours.’

  The girls halted.

  ‘Public servant Felt, do you bear witness to an attempt at corruption?’

  ‘Public servant Acajou, I do. Attempting to suborn two public servants in the excecution of their duties. I suggest an oral as well as written report to the prefect, and copies for each member of the committee of public safety.’

  Trina heard the clanking of keys and the creak of a door opening. From inside came a warm, sensual perfume.

  ‘Didn’t public servant Pageant deliver a condemned prisoner to cell 501 yesterday?’ said Felt.

  ‘501 is what we have in writing,’ replied Acajou. ‘You going to argue with writing?’

  ‘No,’ said Felt. ‘Is she to remain bagged?’

  ‘The headbag is the property of the public watch and must be returned to them.’

  The paper bag slid from Trina’s head, and she gulped air, looking at two svelte maids, aged maybe nineteen or twenty, their big titties and croups swathed in clinging uniforms like Cindi’s and Harriet’s, only in grey denim. Like them, they wore whips and hairbrushes, and their shirts were unbuttoned, showing tanned jellies squeezed by flimsy white cotton brassieres, drenched in sweat.

  ‘Sign this, bitch,’ snarled Acajou, the taller of the two, and gave Trina a scroll of paper with a quill pen tipped in a blob of ink. ‘It’s a deed of abnegation, stating that you no longer claim responsibility for your state-issued headgear and acknowledge safe delivery to your place of lawful confinement.’

  ‘Fuck that,’ said Trina, her face flushing. ‘I’m out of here!’

  Her spurt of escape was useless. The two jailers grabbed her, and Acajou kneed her in the vulva, doubling her up; as she gasped and wheezed, Felt slapped her bare nates six times, quickfire.

  ‘We already have you on corruption,’ Acajou said. ‘You want to add riot? We can play games until the corpsgirl gets here to give you pertinent chastisement.’

  She kneed Trina again between her thighs. Trina shrieked and, eyes blurred by tears, reached for the crazy goose quill and scrawled a signature on the crazy piece of paper. As she straightened up, Felt delivered a rapid breast-spanking of a dozen slaps, while Acajou stuck a sharp index fingernail into Trina’s ass-cleft and wedged it two inches inside her anus. Throughout the breast-spanking, she stabbed Trina’s rectum, then jerked her finger out of the anus and wiped it clean on Trina’s hair.

  ‘Fuck you!’ Trina howled.

  ‘You’ll hang for that, bitch,’ said Felt and Acajou together, pushing her into the shadows of her cell.

  The door clanged shut and was locked from the outside. Trina sank to the stone floor, curling herself up into a ball and rubbing the flood of tears from her eyes. Sobbing, she uncurled and stood shakily to see a shadowy chamber, fifteen yards by ten, illumined by a shaft of light from a barred window. She grabbed the bars and stuck her nose through the window, looking up towards the hulking tower of the palace of justice, three hundred feet above; below, there was a pit of craggy ochre rock. Opposite were the windows of other cells; she was in a hollow prison skyscraper. Faces peered from barred windows; one girl stuck her bare breasts through the bars and rubbed herself obscenely, while another mooned Trina with her bare croup.

  Grimacing, she looked away and searched the shadows for the source of the perfume. A bowl of tropical flowers stood on a writing table at the cell’s far end, which contained a bed, toilet things, water and a scented candle burning beside the flower bowl. Beside the candle, a teenage girl sat meticulously scripting a document with her quill pen. Her body flickered in the shadows of the candle light. She had long, combed, sandy hair, falling over heavy breasts and trim shoulders, encased in a sleeveless canvas tunic, its front loosely laced over her naked torso. Her long skirt was of the same grey material, which fell away from her wide bare buttocks so that they pressed the cane chair. The prison dress was like the bowtied blue skirts of the girls at the watch post but its back was open, without ties; her buttocks were permanently visible in shame and accessible for punishment. Pot-pourris hung round the walls, adding to the pungency of candle and flowers.

  ‘Hi,’ said the girl, smiling and looking up. ‘Blush Coynte’s my name. Who are you?’

  The girl spoke with the familiar southern lilt.

  ‘Didn’t expect your company, but glad of it,’ Blush said. ‘You’ll have the cell to yourself soon. I shan’t be here long. I’m to be hanged this afternoon, and I’m just busy with my last will and testament. You can be a witness, if you like.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Trina weakly.

  Hanged? This is complete insanity. Oh, no. Maybe they mean it. Maybe insanity must be complete to be real.

  ‘What are you to be hanged for, Blush?’ Trina asked.

  ‘Oh, same old,’ said Blush, with a shrug. ‘I’ll get over it — I always do. It’s the shame that really hurts, afterwards. If you’re really a spy, they’ll hang you too, but if you’re lucky they’ll deport you straight away and you won’t have to endure naked shame. Unless you have a thing about tar and feathers.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Trina faintly. ‘This doesn’t chime — you’re talking about hanging, then shame?’

  ‘Blush Coynte wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Poo, you stink of tinkle,’ she said, moving closer, and Trina retorted that she didn’t smell so good herself.

  Blush laughed and said she hadn’t washed or wiped her ass for five days, ever since sentence was passed, because if a condemned girl’s stink was strong enough the hangman wouldn’t come too near her to apply secondary torture on the scaffold.

  ‘Like to wash? I’ll help soap you. There’s drinking water, and if you’re hungry there are some egg salad sandwiches in the fridge.’

  Trin
a wolfed two sandwiches, washing them down from the jug of cold water; all the while, Blush touched the furrows of her bare wealed ass.

  ‘Who did that?’ she said. ‘It’s awesome. They must be really cruel over on New Albion. Let me show you my welts.’

  ‘I’m not from New Albion,’ Trina snapped. ‘I’m from California.’

  Blush shrugged, pouting.

  ‘A king of Spain’s maid? Oh, sure. Have it your own way. You’ll sing under torture. You must be a spy, for you’re nude. My, you have gorgeous titties, and such an ass, I just have to wash you. A condemned girl so misses washing.’

  Blush poured a bucket of cold water over Trina and began to work on her breasts with a bar of soap. Trina let the younger girl massage her, sighing and relaxing as the soapy fingers tickled her armpits, rubbed her belly and mons, then strayed between her thighs, touching the fleshy cunt-lips. Blush seemed amazed that Trina trimmed her pubis. As Blush’s skirt flapped around her bare buttocks, Trina gasped at the heavy tracery of weals and dark ridges carved on the girl’s nates, the hard skin stripes meshing with the exploring tendrils of her pubic jungle; she quivered, realising that Blush’s soaping was more caress than massage.

  My cunt can’t be so pissy she needs to soap it over and over, but it feels nice.

  Trina remarked carefully that Blush seemed very relaxed for someone about to be hanged, and asked what exactly did being hanged entail? Blush passed her fingers casually up and down the crack of Trina’s ass, then took a gobbet of soap in her fingernail and rammed it up Trina’s asshole, making her squeal. The girl began to ream her anus until it was slimy with soap and Trina’s cunt began to ooze gently. Blush’s soapy fingers traced the puffed ridges clustered across Trina’s bare fesse-flesh, and she whistled every time Blush’s fingernail gouged a particularly deep welt. Blush shuddered and said she didn’t like to think about hanging, as she would have to endure it soon enough, but if Trina was so curious, why, being hanged meant just what it said — being strung up by the hair, or the ankles, wrists, or nipples and quim, and flogged on the bare by the hangman.

  Trina laughed nervously.

  ‘There’s nothing funny about being hanged, mamselle,’ said Blush frostily, ‘as I’m sure you’ll find out.’

  Just a crazy bunch of cracker lesbians, playing weird fantasy games, that’s all. Even lesbians can make Goody Baggs. A game, except my welts from the hairbrush still hurt.

  ‘Humour me, Blush,’ said Trina. ‘Pretend I am a spy from New Albion and tell me everything I should know.’

  ‘I’m due punishment, so what have I to lose?’ said Blush.

  ‘I can say anything I like, about the committee and all, and nobody’ll believe a thing you tell them, even when you’re screaming under torture.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Trina.

  The star and laurel was the flag of the Republic of West Florida, of which New Arras and, Blush said in a whisper, New Albion were the remnants. In the eighteenth century, there was confusion about who owned the territory — whether the king of Spain or Napoleon of France — and then the USA made the Louisiana Purchase, only nobody knew for sure what Louisiana was, or whose it was to sell, so folks on the mainland got tired and proclaimed the independent republic of West Florida, in the month of Vendémiaire, Year 19, by the French republican calendar of 1793, ‘or September 1810, mainland reckoning’. New Arras threw in with West Florida, because the Feminine Republic of Reason had been established on the island fifty years before, by Mamselle Flageolet, exiled from France because of her love of female education. A love not shared by the Anglo bitches from Maine over on New Albion — Blush didn’t like to speak of New Albion, as they were scumbags.

  ‘You might be one of them,’ she said, ‘but your bod’s so virtuous. Such righteous fesses.’

  After the speedy collapse of the RWF, New Arras made a deal to be a commonwealth, orétat libre et associé, of the USA. New Arras still considered itself the Feminine Republic of Reason, but was officially an academy, as those men in DC couldn’t abide a feminine republic and laughed at the notion of feminine reason — Blush said men could be twittle-pated sometimes. New Arras lived off its own produce, augmenting its income by the manufacture of wigs, pomades and hand-crafted furniture; providing assistance to mariners; and schooling young ladies in submission to the laws of reason and the manners of southern belles. With a US marshal as federal ambassador, the council of reason and its directorate ran New Arras, with law and order assured by the committee of public safety, the public watch and the security corps. Beauty of buttocks was the sole test of entry to the academy.

  ‘We teach old-fashioned feminine virtues,’ Blush said as she soaped Trina’s naked breasts, ‘and, truth be told, I don’t know what the USA would do without us.’

  ‘Which virtues?’ Trina gasped, for Blush’s nimble fingers made her belly tingle, as come oozed from her soaped cunt.

  ‘Modesty, decorum and submission to reason, which make a perfectly submissive southern belle. As we are at war with New Albion, reason must be harsh for the benefit of the public weal. The flapjacks of New Albion want to get their hands on Mamselle Flageolet’s treasure in the Bank of New Arras. There are spies everywhere, but I’m a gallows-bird, so I don’t care. I solemnly give Mamselle Pure the finger. Yee-haw! Let New Albion enslave us! Hey, listen, the jailers will be here soon and I must get my will finished.’

  Blush disengaged and recommenced her writing, leaving Trina to rinse, shivering, with the cold water. The girl sucked the end of her quill, before dipping it in the ink.

  ‘Hmm… let me see.’

  She began to scratch, muttering.

  ‘To my best friend Emily Cawdor, I leave thirty lashes with the bullwhip. To my other best friend, Jewel Persimmon, I leave fifty strokes on the bare fesses with the hickory switch, split end. To my other best friend, Devora Dykes, I leave a titty-thrashing of forty with the cane, and twenty strokes of the double ashplant on the bare fesses.’

  She looked up, saw Trina shivering and, as Trina opened her mouth to assure the maid she wasn’t shivering from cold, Blush stripped naked and wrapped Trina in her bulky canvas uniform.

  ‘Take it till you warm up,’ she said. ‘Why, I’m as hot as a June bride in a feather bed.’

  Trina eased her arms through the sleeves, and knotted the skirt around her waist, leaving her ass bare. The garment stank of Blush, the odour of her piss and unwashed asshole being powerful, yet stimulating Tina to bend over Blush’s head and tickle her hair with her breasts. She asked what bequest Blush was making.

  ‘A hanged girl is made bankrupt after her correction and forfeits all her currency in the bank of New Arras,’ she explained, ‘unless she gives it away to her best friends. Currency can’t buy you off a hanging.’

  ‘You’re giving away whipstrokes?’ Trina said, aghast.

  ‘A pile,’ said Blush, pulling a face. ‘I hope I do so well when they string Devora up, or Jewel. Poor Emily’s an unlucky creature and rarely gets fustigation, so her bottom’s not very rich. You can get rich fast, if you’re prepared to serve in the Stella Maris mariners’ hostel by the harbour, or if you have juice with a committeemaid, who’ll stroke you privately, with attestation. But Emily is too shy to have juice, and she wimped out on a term in the Stella Maris — which was a pity, for that kind of frightened submissive is popular with males. The Stella Maris is way better than a tour as guardsmaid in the prisoner of war camp. Yuk!’

  Blush shuddered.

  ‘OK, that about winds things up. The jailers will be here soon. I… I hope you don’t think me bold, or forward, but I noticed my touch was making you wet in your chatte, so do you want to diddle before they hang me? I know I do. We just have time. I’d so love to touch your quim. It’s so beautiful, under that funny trim, all red and glowy. Would you like to touch mine? It’s OK for condemned prisoners to be forward. Do you like my gash? Look.’

  She stood, and raised her right leg straight up, so that her calf touched her cheek. She h
ugged her leg to her face, her big eyes beseeching Trina, and the cunt-basin stretched open for her inspection. Trina gasped as she saw the furrow of the ass-cleft, the brown pucker of the anus, puffy and crinkled like a prune, and almost as large; the curved slit between the full red gash-flaps, dribbling clear, shiny come that slimed Blush’s perineum. The cunt-lips twitched, creased, formed a smile, then creased the other way, to make a frown: smile, frown, smile. Blush giggled.

  ‘Oh… I’d like to, very much,’ Trina moaned.

  Blush plunged her hand beneath Trina’s prison skirt, rapidly finding her gash, which was indeed slimy with ooze, and clucked with pleasure. She drew Trina’s trembling fingers to her enormous pubic mane, and Trina delved into the pungent mass of hair, to find a clitty as throbbing, and a cunt as swollen and wet, as her own.

  This is crazy. Do these girls do anything but masturbate?

  The two girls frotted, fingers probing wet pouches and thumbs pressing clits, until each gasped and writhed her cunt-basin against the other’s touch.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Blush. ‘Do me, diddle my cunt, oh yes…’

  Trina got her whole fist into Blush’s cunt and was reaming the walls of the pouch with alternate fast and slow jabs until the nude maid’s toes were off the floor, and she danced with her cunt on Trina’s forearm. Her breasts flopped up and down, as she smacked her swollen erect nipples, blushing like dark plums on her creamy teat-flesh. Trina felt her ooze turn to a stream as the girl’s agile fingers twitched and nipped her throbbing clitoris, and her belly heaved under the stiff canvas, drenched in her sweat.

  She writhed under her canvas top to rub her nipples against the stiff fabric and, with a whirl of her torso, had the buds as hard and swollen as the nude maid’s. Blush’s hands darted from Trina’s gushing quim to cup her buttocks, oiling them with Trina’s cunt-slime. Her fingers slid up and down the marks of Trina’s naked spanking, and Trina’s own fingers explored the full, ripe ass-peach, ridged and furrowed with hard weals.

  ‘Such beautiful petals,’ Blush gasped. ‘So firm and hot, and sliced deep, oh, oh yes, I’m going to come. Oh!’