Outer Island

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

On the day of the third flogging, Delila was at peace, at peace enough to consider Briel’s words. “The more you welcome it, the more you’ll pleasure in it.”

It hadn’t dawned on her that this horrifying treatment might arouse her sexually, but there was the indisputable fact that it did. Even the thought of it gave her a sudden jolt between her legs. The thought that Briel would bring her to another orgasm made the prospects of punishment filled with such lush sensations that this time when she was led to the dais and bound in place, she walked with an effortless willing gait feeling her thighs rub, which put a smirk on her lips.

When the lash struck this time, at least for the first few minutes it was sheer bliss, and she writhed like a serpent to catch the next stroke with her body. When the intensity of the flogging increased, and there was nothing but pain, Delila focused on the other side, on Briel’s gift, and her anticipated arousal.

“Cane her!”

The command jarred her from the mindless erotic stupor, the voice of the judge ringing out above the murmurs and gasps of her audience. The flogging was over, but she wasn’t untied this time. Instead, a bar was once again thrust at her hips so that she was awkwardly posed—posed so her crimson bottom could receive another punishment

Not seeing what was happening behind her, Delila’s only clue that the caning had begun came swift, a swoosh through the air, and then a searing pain that instantaneously made her shriek.

The leather lash was gentle compared with his. The administrator did not finish until there were six wicked cuts across her ass.

When she was untied and lifted from the dais, Delila was not as proud as she had been. Although she’d planned to gaze haughtily at Armand and the dark man at his side, there was no haughtiness left in her, so she averted her gaze while she was dragged away.

***

“You’re not going to learn, are you?” Briel said. She stood next to Delila, who was lying face down on the cold metal table in the sterile room. “You don’t act proud, you don’t swagger, and never do you smirk the way you did. Despite what you may be feeling, you must remain contrite, look contrite, act contrite and take your pleasure at another time.”

Delila said nothing.

Briel was not massaging her right off, but attending to two places where the skin on her bottom was broken from the cane. She winced when the disinfectant got inside the cuts.

“You’re lucky that you weren’t permanently marked. I’ve seen that, Delila Armand, and it’s not something you want.”

After the sting had died away, Briel returned to the treatment that she’d given her prisoner twice before, though this time she was more vigorous with her rubbing, her anger coming through her nurturing hands. She kneaded cream into the roughed up behind, and even dropped her hand between Delila’s legs. The humbled prisoner opened them voluntarily, hoping that she still warranted the lovely gift that she’d had the week before. Afraid to pleasure in it too much, however, she allowed herself to orgasm quickly, keeping the moans of pleasure subdued.

“You are a tramp, a fine one, but a tramp,” the matron said slapping her ass with a sharp spank.

Pulled from the table, Delila’s prison dress tossed over her body, she was returned to her cell, with no smiles or further affection from the woman.