Chapter 21: The Whipping

One day, the Marquis had me brought to his torture chamber, where, to my surprise and delight, I saw my Master and Mistress. They had come to collect me. The Marquis himself thought that my rebellious spirit had not been completely broken yet, but my Master was more than satisfied with my progress and had decided that I was ready to assume my role as his slave.

My Mistress had brought some clothes for me to wear, including my dog collar. As I was getting dressed, the Marquis remarked, "It's a pity you're leaving now. You're going to miss the harvest festival in a few day's time."

"We're going to do our own version of Thanksgiving," he explained for everybody's benefit. "I have already sent the monks to the farmers in the surrounding villages. They will acquire the biggest carrots and parsnips, the fattest cucumbers and the plumpest corn-cobs they can find for our celebration."

Knowing the Marquis, I was sure he didn't procure those vegetables for their nutritional value. They were not intended for the slaves' mouths but for their other orifices. The thought of what he might do with them tempted me. But if the choice was to stay until the harvest festival or return to my Master and Mistress right away, there was no contest - I wanted to be theirs as soon as possible.

My Master wanted to know if my stay at Sainte Jacqueline had achieved its purpose. I assured him that I would be an obedient slave and would not look for any pleasures other than to please my Master and my Mistress.

"Is there anything that you would have liked to happen which didn't occur?"

That seemed a strange question. Did he want me to evaluate the Marquis' performance? I hated the smug bastard, but that was understandable. Most slaves wanted him to go to hell.

"That's not for me to say, Master," I said after some hesitation.

The fact that I didn't answer with a straight 'no' made him suspicious. "You have permission to speak. What is it, you think was missing from your training?"

I hesitated. I knew that he had decided I should not be spanked, caned or whipped. I also knew that the Marquis had not agreed with this decision and had obeyed it only reluctantly. I did not want to take sides with the Marquis against my Master. But my Mistress encouraged me once more to say what was on my mind.

"I think I need to be flogged to be a better slave, Mistress. I know that my Master doesn't approve of it, but maybe it would help me if I could experience it just once."

"Are you sure you really want this?" My Mistress asked.

"Yes, Mistress, I'm sure."

"So you want the Marquis to whip you while we watch?"

"No. I want my Master and Mistress to whip me until I faint."

"Until you faint? Isn't that a bit too much? Where did you get that idea from?"

"I watched the Marquis do it to another woman," I answered. "Only this once! Please, Mistress! Please, Master!" I sounded like a spoilt child begging for a sweet.

They had asked. They had insisted I tell them. There was no point in asking and then ignoring my wish. They agreed to satisfy my request, but I could see that it was with some trepidation. What disturbed them was that they were supposed to whip me, and that they would have to continue until I'd pass out. They were shocked by the ferocity of my desire to be hurt.

I knew exactly where and how I wanted to be flogged. At this stage I was familiar with most of the gadgets in this hall of horrors. There were two large iron rings hanging from the ceiling, which were normally used to suspend a victim. But they could also be lowered enough so that I was still standing firmly on the floor while I held on to them. My wrists could be tied to those rings to keep me from falling in case I let go of them.

Another two rings on the floor could be used to hold my legs in position, slightly spread, but not too wide, to allow me to get a firm footing. I would be standing in the middle of the room, forming a large X, accessible from all sides. As instruments for my flogging I selected a long horsewhip for my Mistress and a cat o' nine tails for my Master.

I took off my clothes but kept the dog collar on. As the Marquis tied me up according to my specifications, I gave my castigators instructions on what I wanted them to do. I was so excited, I completely forgot that I was the slave and they were my Masters.

"I want that long horsewhip to wrap around my body, from the back to the front. I want it to punish my tits when you whip my back and my cunt when you thrash my ass. And I want to feel that cat o' nine tails on my tits and between my thighs. I want it to bite my cunt without mercy."

My Masters were visibly shocked by my hunger for pain, my desire to let the most vulnerable parts of my body be punished. My Mistress made a hesitant start. The whip hit my back and wrapped around to my front, but stayed a long way below my breasts. It stung nevertheless.

"Higher," I shouted, ignoring the pain. "And harder."

The second attempt was better, but still too weak to make an impact. I had to encourage my Mistress a few more times until the lashes had the desired force and direction. I cried out in pain when the tip of the whipcord grazed my nipple.

My Mistress stopped immediately. "Are you hurt?" she asked with concern in her voice.

"No," I said with tears in my eyes. "That's part of the deal. Carry on - and harder."

Realizing that I was determined to carry this plan through to the bitter end, my Mistress resumed whipping me. After the whip had left its marks on my breasts she moved her attention to my bottom. At first the whip licked my thighs as it wrapped around my hips, but on my insistence, it found its intended target. I momentarily lost my foothold when the cord slashed across my pussy lips. This was the most intense pain I had ever felt. It left me dangling on the rings, only held upright by the ropes which tied me to them. Alarmed by my screams, my Mistress dropped the whip. She kissed and hugged me and wanted to know if I was alright.

I soon found my footing again and reminded them that the flogging had to continue until I passed out. My mistress was so impressed by my screams and the marks which started to show all over my body that she refused to punish me any further. Now it was my Master's turn.

As he swung the cat o' nine tails across my breasts, it was almost certain that one of the lashes would hit my nipples. I could tell that he did not use his full strength - far from it. Even though, the contact of the lashes on my already sore nipples was hellishly painful. To my surprise, my Master ignored my screams. He kept whipping me, moving from my left to my right to distribute the castigation evenly across both breasts.

I was in agony. My head rocked from left to right as the lashes cut into my breasts. My screams turned into a continuous wail as the strokes hailed down on me. It took all my willpower to hold on to the rings. Had my Master changed his mind as far as physical punishment was concerned? Did he whip me this fast and furious to bring my ordeal to a quick end? Had he decided to do his part in making this once-in-a-lifetime flogging a memorable event? Or did he get turned on seeing me suffering so defencelessly?

The strokes shifted gradually lower, leaving their marks on my belly, my lower abdomen, my thighs, but never quite reaching my pussy. Eventually, my Master stood next to me, one arm around my waist, and lowered the cat between my legs. First slowly, almost playfully so, until I pushed my pussy forward to welcome the touch of the leather thongs. Then the whip came down with speed and force and hit the most tender part of my body. I screamed louder than I had ever screamed before. My legs gave way and the rings I had been holding on to slipped from my hands. I was dangling from the ceiling, only held up by the ropes which tied my wrists to the rings.

"Have you had enough?" my Master asked, clearly expecting that I would say yes.

I was barely able to speak. "I haven't fainted yet," I whispered, shaking my head. That's the last thing I remember. A flurry of lashes came down on my pussy, making me scream in anguish. Then everything went black before my eyes.

I came to as my Master lifted me out of his car, wrapped in a blanket, and carried me to the lift in his apartment building. My Mistress went ahead, opening the doors as they carried me to one of the bedrooms and placed me gently onto the bed. Both of them seemed relieved that I had regained consciousness. I thanked them for letting me experience such overwhelming pain. "In future, whenever I think of disobeying either of you, I will think back to this experience, and I will obey you," I promised.

My Mistress wanted to sooth my pain by applying lotion to my bruised body. The cool liquid gave momentary relief, but even the softest touch hurt and I asked her to just let me rest to recover.

As soon as I had fully recovered from my flogging, my Masters took me for a two-week holiday to a luxurious nudist resort on the island of Corsica. There I spent my days lazing in the sun and my nights sharing their bed. However, our love-making wasn't limited to the night, nor was it confined to our suite. We found some sheltered coves a short way along the coast and indulged in the pleasure of making love in the open air with the sound of the sea as an accompaniment. During these two weeks we behaved like a conventional - conventional? - threesome. We enjoyed ourselves as a trio, as a duo and there were even some solo performances. It was a wonderful two weeks, a period of respite before my existence as their slave would start in earnest. It made me think of the night with Lola and the fact that we had never taken her up on the promised return visit. I decided to contact her as soon as I would get back to Paris.

Something else we did when we returned to Paris was to put into action a plan we had worked out during our stay on Corsica.

My Masters had noticed how much I liked being naked in front of strangers. I had been naked throughout my stay at Sainte Jacqueline and now I spent two weeks in the nudist resort without ever wearing a stitch. There were a few single men who had gone there looking for some adventure and I enjoyed it tremendously when they watched me sunbathe and tried to hide their erections whenever I looked in their direction.

My enjoyment was not very slave-like, I admit, the kind of pleasure the Marquis had constantly warned me against, but my Masters hadn't yet fully taken control of me. At one stage I must have commented that I felt like walking down the Champs-Élysées in the nude. This got them thinking. I had already exposed myself by wearing near-transparent clothes or allowed people to take a peek at my panty-less pussy, but now I wanted full nudity for everyone to see. The suggestion to sit as a nude model for an arts class was discarded for being much too tame.

It was my Mistress who came up with the idea we all agreed on. "You know those people who stand on street corners and in public squares, on a pedestal, pretending to be statues, with a box for the public to drop some money?"

We had all seen them. It seems the fad had started a few years ago. Nobody knew exactly where it had started. We weren't sure if those people were out-of-work actors, art students or just a new breed of beggars. They represented a variety of figures. Characters from 'The Wizard of Oz' were popular motifs, but there were also historical figures and images from famous paintings. What they all had in common was that they stood there, motionless, leaving the passers-by guessing whether this was in fact a statue or a human being of flesh and blood.

"What if we get Jacqueline dressed up, or rather undressed, as a Greek or Roman statue, say Aphrodite or Venus? She could hold an amphora in one hand and maybe an olive branch in the other. That would be the only thing she'd wear."

I knelt down and kissed her feet, so much did I like her idea.

It was necessary to do some more research. We had to decide on the exact motif and find out how to produce the marble effect of an antique statue on my naked skin. We found out that rice powder mixed with the right amount of grey would do the trick.

"You know something?" my Mistress asked after having looked through a few books on ancient statues. The smile on her face made me feel apprehensive.

"Goddesses don't have any hair on their pussies. All the statues I've looked at are bare, clean, smooth as a baby's bottom."

That explained the smirk on her face. My Mistress was looking forward to shaving my pussy. And she was determined to make a big event out of it. She stopped short of inviting friends and neighbours to watch, but my Master kept his eyes glued to my pussy while my Mistress went through an elaborate process of first trimming my pubic hair with scissors, then moistening the remaining stubbles, applying plenty of shaving foam, and finally removing the last vestiges of hair with a barber's razor. She didn't even need to order me to stay quiet while she shaved me. I held my breath as the sharp blade slithered around my pussy lips.

To finish the job, my Mistress drenched my now bare pussy in aftershave. Boy did that sting! I'm sure she knew it would have this effect when she applied the lotion so generously. My Master didn't even wait for my gasps to subside. He couldn't get his cock quickly enough inside my freshly shaved pussy. It reminded me of how he had jumped on Lola when he first saw her bare plum.

My Master, but also my Mistress, behaved as if they had been given a brand new toy to play with and didn't let me get much sleep that night.

The following morning, my Master and Mistress covered me from top to toe with make-up and took me to the open space in front of the Louvre, where we had decided my performance as a statue of Aphrodite would take place. They had brought along a pedestal which was really a kitchen stool, draped in black velvet, and helped me to get into position, an olive branch in one hand, the other hand resting below my breasts. After putting a collection box on the floor before the pedestal, they retreated to observe the events from a distance. A few other statues had already taken up position in the same area.

My heart beat so hard, I was afraid it would knock the make-up off my chest. The first people who passed seemed to be in a hurry and paid little attention to me. Or maybe they were so used to this collection of living and breathing works of art that they didn't notice the new figure. Then, one man who had already passed me slowed down and turned around for another look. It was the classic double-take. He came slowly closer and had a good look. Scratching his head, he walked around me to inspect me from all sides. When he had done the full loop he stood in front of me and observed me for a while, probably trying to see if I was moving. Eventually he went away, shaking his head.

A group of Japanese tourists took my picture, probably never suspecting that they were snapping a real woman. More people stopped and looked at me. One man said, "Girl you've got guts," as he dropped a generous donation into my collection box. A group of people formed in front of me. They engaged in a discussion whether I was or wasn't a real woman and once they decided that I had to be real, they tried to figure out whether I was in fact naked or was wearing a body stocking or some other kind of clothing under my body paint. As the group grew larger, it attracted more passers-by who all stopped to have a good look at me. Some were pulling faces or acting funny to make me laugh.

I didn't move a muscle, resisting all attempts to make me give away my real existence. But I was in danger of being betrayed by my pussy. I was getting increasingly excited by all those people inspecting me closely and could feel that I was getting wet. Would my juices seep out of my bare pussy and mix with the rice powder? 'I should have put a tampon inside to soak up the juices, ' I thought. Excellent idea, but terrible timing.

Then something unexpected happened. A woman in her sixties, dressed all in black and carrying an umbrella on such a warm, sunny day, started a tirade against the decline in moral standards. I wasn't sure whether she was complaining about a naked woman exposing herself in a public place or whether she simply objected to the Greek Goddess being portrayed so realistically, with all details clearly visible.

When her opinions didn't find much sympathy with the others, she went away, ranting and raving and announcing that she was going to call the police to remove this offensive work of pornography.

I doubted that any gendarme would pay much attention to this hysterical woman, but I found it better not to risk it. I gave my assistants the agreed signal for retreat by letting the olive branch slip from my hand.

My Master and Mistress arrived, dressed in white coats which identified them as employees of a famous arts gallery. They wrapped a blanket around me, and then my Master carried me away while my Mistress took care of the pedestal. The onlookers stood there open-mouthed and I could hear that the discussion about whether I was made of stone or of flesh and blood restarted.

My Master celebrated the successful execution of our plan by 'fucking a monument' while my Mistress wanted to find out what it's like to be licked by the Goddess of love. We only stopped when my body paint was evenly distributed between the three of us. Then we showered together to clean up.

My letter to Lola returned unopened. 'Not known at this address', it said on the envelope. I had written to her, telling her about the changes in my life and my new relationship. I explained that these changes were the probable reason why my Master hadn't given any indication that he was planning a visit to Berlin. But, I suggested, if she was interested in an adventure, she might show up unexpectedly one day and see what develops.

The fact that my letter hadn't reached her made me wonder what happened to her. I decided to call the magazine which had sent her to Paris to interview my Master. Using broken English and the few German words I know mixed into my French, I found that Lola was no longer working there, but they gave me a phone number where she could be reached.

Lola's voice sounded as cheerful as ever, when I finally got through to her. She seemed very pleased to hear my voice and apologized for not having been in touch. Before I told her about the changes in my life, as I had intended, I asked her why she was no longer working as a fashion correspondent.

"That's a long story," she started. "I published the interview with Ramon exactly as it had been recorded. You may remember he talked a lot about my shaved pussy that day, and also about the things we had got up to the night before. My readers became curious. They wanted to know more. Some wanted to see pictures of my pussy. The people I worked for offered me the job of editor for a new magazine with explicit pictures and stories and suggested I should start off the first issue by writing about my own experiences and include a series of photographs of myself.

"I thought about the offer - not very long - and accepted it. Now all my readers know exactly what happened that night between you, me and Ramon. I also told them the story about Charlotte's lesson, when I met you the first time, and many other exciting things which happened to me since that day. They have seen pictures of my pussy from every possible angle. I get the feeling I must have one of the most photographed pussies on earth.

"But my readers wanted more. They wanted to see my pussy in action: stuffed with a big cock or dripping with cum. That's when I announced that I was looking for partners to shoot the scenes people were demanding. You can't imagine the number of offers I received! Anyway, that's how I met my owners..."

"Your what?" I interrupted, sensing a case of déjà vu.

"My owners. I'm theirs to use and abuse. Their names are Ralf and Rolf. Also known as the A and the O. They are identical twins. It's impossible to tell them apart, so they agreed to have the letters A and O tattooed on the base of their cocks. That way I can tell who is Ralf and who is Rolf. They fuck me like I've never been fucked before. And we publish the pictures for everyone to see."

Lola paused. There was the sound of a door opening and a male voice in the background saying something I didn't understand. Lola said a few words, I assume in German, then I heard her gasp.

"They've come back and want to fuck me," Lola reported. "Ralf's already stuck his cock into my ass and Rolf is waiting for me to suck him. I've got to go. Stay in touch." She spoke with difficulties. It seemed like someone was pounding his cock into her for all he was worth.

I sat still for a moment, the phone still in my hand, thinking about Lola. Was she in trouble? Did she need help? Were those people she called her owners using her against her will? I came to the conclusion that there was no reason to worry. She was well capable of looking after herself and if anybody abused here, then it was because she wanted to be abused. And I wasn't really in a position to panic about her confession. Hadn't I intended to tell her that I now had a Master and a Mistress? That wasn't very different from her situation.

I now have a Master and a Mistress, and I have to follow both their orders to the letter and without hesitation. Sometimes their orders contradict and I am left with the difficult decision whom to disobey, as they don't accept the excuse that my other Master had told me to do otherwise. They tell me this is my own problem as I had chosen to start a relationship with two Masters - now I have to suffer the consequences.

The words 'punishment' and 'reward' have taken on a different meaning in our relationship. The things my Masters do to me as a special treat, a reward for good behaviour, would normally be considered severe punishment or completely unacceptable as treatment of a loved one. On the other hand, if my Masters feel I deserve to be punished, they don't touch me. My punishment consists of being ignored or being tied up and having to watch them make love. I always enjoy watching them, because it is a pleasure to watch these two beautiful people fuck, but the fact that I can't join them and can't even bring myself off while I watch is a severe torture for me - and they know that.