The Couriers

Chapter One The First Course “The false belief that a woman can do as she pleases remains a challenge that we are glad to contest”......Emil Brillcart “You, my dear, are going to learn to do as you are told. Instantly, without even thinking about it,” Carlton muttered, paying more attention to recoiling the long horse whip than to the naked, sweating body stretched before him. “At first” the man continued, gently poking his subject’s right buttock with the whip’s rough handle, “when you are given an order, you will rebel, thinking erroneously that you can last this out, enduring the endless floggings and impalements.” Carlton continued to lightly stab with the end of the whip handle, delicately circling the exposed anus of his victim, not penetrating nor forcing, but just providing repulsive memories of her recent session on The Reminder. He had mounted her helplessly on the long and well-greased, c**k-shaped probe. Her arms were bound behind her in leather straps, her thumbs cruelly encircled with rawhide thongs and pulled upwards to the steel collar. Her big toes were similarly bound and each supported a one kilo weight as she tried desperately to keep from slipping further down the probe’s serrated length. The steel shackles on her ankles did not help. Only at the last possible moment was the overhead chain attached to her upper body harness suddenly pulled tight, keeping her, for a time, from the horrible fate of being too deeply penetrated by the post. Lisle wept and struggled, praying that they’d lift her off the ghastly thing that had taken her anal virginity only a few days before and was each day going deeper and deeper inside as she slid slowly down its length. “Ah, yes, Lisle, you are remembering the sweet and lengthy butt f**k of the mahogany post, aren’t you?” Carlton murmured. “Such thoughts are common, but pointless. No one who comes to us ever, ever fails to obey. Sooner or later, perhaps after a great deal of discomfort that can easily be avoided, you too will cooperate. You will even come to enjoy it, the torture and torment that symbolize your commitment to doing what you are told. You will also perhaps recall the feelings of this whip or maybe the sting of the cane on your hardened n*****s, or you’ll remain fixated on the futile, but fascinatingly fruitless struggle to keep the vertical wooden d**k from slipping further up your ass. It will take time. You will be much happier if you simply accept ...this...” The grease and sweat-stained, braided rawhide horse whip whispered and sizzled through the air of the underground training hall. The last three feet of the whip landed on Lisle’s already well-marked hips, leaving a deep, horizontal, red streak that aligned precisely with earlier ones. She screamed. Or rather, she tried to scream, but the carefully designed bridle gag with its mouth-filling leather d**k and sealing pad muffled the shrill scream and what was heard was more of a high-pitched whistle as the air forced from her lungs escaped through the feeding and breathing hole in the front of the gag. Her body twisted slightly in an effort to avoid the next blow, but her chain restrains held her in the position Carlton had selected and personally tightened himself. He was alternating between tormenting Lisle and sampling some tasty items displayed on a sliver tray, sent down to the dungeon by his chef. “These little sea food tarts look especially good,” Carlton said, mostly to himself, but knowing that in her always hungry state, Lisle would be further mentally pained by the aroma of the tray’s sumptuous contents. “It’s too late for High Tea,” Carlton added, sampling another tiny bit of sea scallop and bacon. “Our chef makes these just for me...a sort of first course to more inviting items, like your sweet little ass, Lisle. Later, we’ll have you join us for dinner, although, frankly, I’m not especially into that sort of thing. There’s always debate about the presentations and some of us even argue about whether to hang you up over the dinner table so that your toes dangle in the soup or to lay you out flat on your back with an apple in your mouth as a gag and other garden vegetables stuffed in your ass and cunt.” Lisle shuddered in horror at the idea of being used as a table decoration or worse, but Carlton, noting her visible anxiety, decided to elaborate. “We like to use a different decoration every evening,” he said. “Since there are plenty of you girls around, that’s not hard to do. But, as you might expect, some of us old timers here prefer our t**s and ass in the dungeon, (as you are now), and would like to eat Chef George’s superb cuisine without having a n****e here and a clit there while we eat. Why, just last week, one of the newer guards took a liking to the fresh turnips displayed in the center of the table and insisted on jamming a couple of them into the v****a of one of your buddies who was seductively arrayed with her legs appropriately splayed wide and her little pink n*****s wired for a bit of electrical stimulation. Even though we had given her a couple of especially nasty enemas that afternoon and fed her nothing, she persisted in making so much noise that we had to throw her back in the cellar. Chef was mega-pissed off.” Lisle was no longer listening to him. Carlton’s narratives often actually lulled the girl to a semi-conscious state and this was one of those times. Her head was down, her chin resting on her chest. Her breathing was slow and even...until Carlton decided to rouse her by taking a decorative, especially large carrot from the food tray an unceremoniously inserting the larger end into Lisle’s ass. The girl started, tried to twist away and then went limp as the huge vegetable violated her nether port and was slowly urged up into her colon. Carlton stuffed about seven or eight inches of the carrot into its new home and then left the narrow end dangling out, looking like a vestigial tail peeking from between the girl’s rounded buttocks. “Carrotass,” Carlton said. “I think that is a fitting name for you. And I doubt you’ll succeed in getting that monster veg out of your butt,...but...just in case, let’s add the little pineapple as an accompaniment.” Carlton picked up one of the mini pineapples on the tray, ran it’s prickly surfaces up and down the inside of Lisle’s spread thighs and poised the fruit’s rough base between the girl’s whip swollen lower lips. Lisle twitched and again tried to dodge what was coming, but Carlton, with his usual persistence, pressed the pineapple hard and slowly it began to enter the girl’s p***y, pushing the lips roughly and painfully aside and borrowing into the warm, wet cave. “Lisle, Honey. I know you can take this fruity thing. Last week Carlos fisted you twice without any trouble, and I know Carlos has a very big hand. Come on, Honey. Take the fruit. You’ll love it. Those little spines on the outside will tickle your t**t nicely.” Carlton pushed harder. The pineapple entered, moved slowly inside and the vaginal lips and muscles slammed the door shut, once again leaving the even more abrasive, spiny green leaves sticking out between Lisle’s thighs. Satisfied with his efforts, Carlton again turned to the whip. He still had an hour to tenderize the evening’s dinner time attraction.