Chapter 11
Crushed with shame and despair, but cowed by the dread of further physical suffering inflicted by her four assailants, Diane Wilson crouched on her knees, clad in only her bra, garter belt and hose during her spanking by Myrna Johnson, her frantic twistings and attempts at kicking had scuffed off her dainty pumps. Her white bottom was a flaming red, and stood out obscenely against the smooth, deeply hollowed plane of her beautifully sculptured back. Now she found herself humbly kneeling before the very one who had inflicted this atrociously humiliating chastisement on her, the mulatress, and lest she forget her due, the cynical voice of Gregson Torrance rose now to acquaint her with it.
"All right now, Diane, apologize humbly to Myrna, thank her for spanking your big naked bottom and beg her forgiveness for the insults you gave her. And let me add that if your contrition does not seem convincing, we can always put you back over the stool for another dose!"
Cringing and distraught, tears coursing down her scarlet face, the woebegone heiress stammered in a choking voice, "Pl-please, Miss Myrna, I-I apologize for all I said and did to you and I'm sorry-and-and-th-thank you for giving me the spanking and-and oh my God, how could all this have happened to me?"
In the midst of her humbly, mortifying apology, she burst into tears of utter desolation. But once again Gregson Torrance, directing the seance, cut in angrily: "What's this? I'll give you something to whine about, my girl! Now thank her for that spanking, and use the words I told you to, or back over that stool you go, and this time we'll use that whip that Ben was using on you to help you to undress. Do you want that?"
"Oh God no! Oh, not the whip-I couldn't bear it-oh M-Miss Myrna, I th-thank you for sp-spanking my b-bottom-"
"That's not what I told you to say. I think you deserve to go back over the stool for a harder dose," he again insisted.
Diane Wilson was in a pitiable state of terror now. Glancing feverishly back over her left shoulder now, she crawled forward until her titties, half concealed by the white nylon bra and perceived gauzily through it, were almost brushing the smirking mulatress's lower thighs. Then, in a very access of anguish and fear, she panted out, "Oh no-I thank you for sp-spanking my b-big b-b-bare b-bottom! Oh, please forgive me, I didn't mean to insult you, Miss Myrna, truly I didn't!"
"Well, that's some what better," Gregson Torrance conceded in a somewhat mollified tone. "Are you willing to accept that apology, Myrna?"
"For the time being, I think so. But I want her to get down there and kiss my feet, both of them. Get down there and do it, slave girl. Yes, that's what you are now. I'm the mistress and you're the maid and it's going to be just a little bit different than it was before. Get that face of yours down there to my pumps and kiss them loud and hard, so I can hear-or else you'll hear something loud and hard on that big red ass of yours," the mulatress taunted.
Overwhelmed by her degradation, poor Diane Wilson had no recourse but to obey. As she bent down still further, she naturally jutted out her bare behind to the delighted gray-haired banker, as well as the soft pink cleft of her virgin cunthole, which peeped out in the most lascivious offertory as if inviting a good hard fucking. He could feel his prick stiffen in the fly of his shorts, but he restrained himself because he had worked out a most elaborate program for the humiliation of Diane Wilson. Through it, he knew he could crush and subjugate her and make her truly the lowliest of slaves, dominated by terror and by pain and shame, just as in the past she had always dominated others by her rudeness and selfishness.
Tremblingly, the brown-haired young heiress applied a loud kiss on the toe of each pump, then straightened. Myrna nodded. "That's some better, but you've still got lots to learn, you ofay bitch. Now jist you get over there to Joe and Ben, and you kiss their feet and tell them you're sorry for calling them niggers-do you hear me?"
"Yes-yes-"
"Call me mistress, you ofay slut," Myrna Johnson hissed, as she bent forward, twisted the fingers of her left hand in Diane Wilson's light-brown hair and then slapped the weeping young woman viciously across first one cheek and then the other with her open palm. "Say it!"
"Oww! Ohhhhh-M-Mistress-oh please, my hair-please, M-Mistresss," Diane wailed, squirming uneasily on her knees as the mulatress sadistically tightened the grip of her slim fingers.
"Just don't forget it again, or you'll get the whip on your bare ass," Myrna Johnson threatened. "Okay. Now get on with your apologies."
Sniffling, shuddering with anguish, the almost naked heiress crawled towards the two Negroes. She bowed her head down to their feet and began to kiss noisily so that all could hear, first at the feet of Joe, with some hesitation. But, observing this, Myrna made a sign, and Ben drew back the dogwhip that he had still retained and bought it down across the ripest curves of her already burning asscheeks. With a wild shriek, poor Diane straightened as if sprung out of a jack-in-the-box, clapping both hands to her burning behind, wailing in pain, her titties jiggling with the burning pain.
"Now start all over again and do it right, or else Ben will really do it. Put yur head down there, put your mouth on his toes and suck and kiss them-I want to hear it, too. If she doesn't, Ben, cut her ass a couple of times for her."
"Oh no-don't do that-I will-I'll do anything-don't beat me any more-I'm suffering so-I'll do it!" Diane gasped, and so she did, while Ben's prick thrust violently against the jockstrap which was his only covering.
And then it was Diane's turn to render the same homage to the squat, whip-wielding Negro, who amused himself and tortured her by wielding the plaited tip of the thong, letting it trickle over her naked shoulders and back while she humbled" herself, bowing her face down to the floor and putting her face to his toes and applying moist sucking kisses to them until Myrna at last tired of this little game.
"Now what's next on the program, Greg?" she asked.
"Well, I think that to make certain that our new little salve girl isn't hungry in the morning, she ought to have something to eat before she goes to bed. Joe, will you get that bowl of stale bread and sour milk at the back there, on the little table?"
"Sure, boss." The taller Negro strode down the darkened narrow corridor and returned with a blue china bowl which he set down on the floor. Diane gazed at it, her eyes blinded with her tears, her hands still furtively rubbing her vividly marked bottom. The cruel cut of the dogwhip which Ben had just applied stood out in a darkening welt above the background pattern of Myrna's palm-splotches, and her ass-cheeks shuddered and contracted spasmodically in the aftermath of the humiliating and painful chastisement.
"All right, Diane," Gregson Torrance said as he again lit a fresh cigar and rose from his chair. "Get down there on all fours in front of the bowl and lap it all up. When You've shown enough humility and obedience to warrant being treated like a human being, then you will be. But you're still on probation, and you're going to be dealt with as you've deserved. And in just that way you've treated others, perhaps not literally but certainly spiritually."
But I'm not hungry, truly I'm not, Mr. Torrance!" Diane groaned.
"Myrna, go bring me that leather paddle," Gregson Torrance ordered.
"Oh no! Not more beating! Have mercy-what in God's name do you want of me?"
"Obedience. Ah, here we are. Thank you, Myrna dear."
He brandished an oval-shaped leather paddle with short adhesive-taped grip to ease the heft in the wielder's hand.
"Now then, Diane, you're going to lap it all up. The minute you stop or I hear you not eating, you're going to feel this paddle, and you can guess where. Now begin!"
Again her shoulders heaved with anguished, muffled sobs as the beautiful young heiress lowered her head to the china bowl and took a tentative sip of the contents. Then she made a wry face.
"Ughh-it's turned-it's sour-oh, please don't make me-oohhhrrrr!" Oh, my poor bottom-oh please don't beat me any more!" For the banker had stooped and applied a well-aimed swat at the center of her ovalshaped behind, and poor Diane Wilson again rushed both hands back to her burning posterior, while, turning her tearstained, contorted face back towards him, she entreated mercy.
"Take your hands away and go back to your eating. I told you what was going to happen. Now eat it all up, or you really won't be able to sleep on your back tonight," he warned.
Whimpering, crushed, conscious only of her mortal terror of new tortures and new pain for her tender, pampered flesh, believing that she had already endured more than human flesh could possibly sustain, poor Diane, not yet realizing what still lay in store for her, once more lowered her anguished face to the bowl and forced herself to swallow the revolting concoction. The lumps of bread were stale and hard, the milk was sour. But when she once hesitated and the paddle swept with a sonorous thwackkk! across the crests of both ass-cheeks, she no longer tried to protest the unpalatability of this nocturnal repast. Gulping, whimpering, sobbing, glancing frantically back to make sure that he wasn't about to use the paddle on her again, Diane
Wilson disposed of the contents of that bowl, and then straightened, buried her face in her hands and gave vent to hysterical sobs and tears in the crisis of desolation at feeling herself so utterly humbled, disgraced and martyrized.
"I will say, Greg honey," Myrna Johnson purred as she moved over to stand beside her lover and put an arm around his waist, "that she's done amazingly well in so short a time. There might just be hope for the little bitch."
"Well, appearances are often deceiving. Now, right this minute, you can see your yourself how that sore red ass of hers is making her very eager to avoid any more punishment. But then, we haven't asked too much of her, relatively speaking. But tomorrow, when we have a few more demands to make upon her, then will come the real test of whether Diane Wilson is going to be a really good little slave girl or whether her naked ass is going to require some really serious attention. But now I think it's time for bed, because she's had a most strenuous day. Flying across the continent, after all, and then discovering the house she owns is really going to own her."
The mulatress laughed huskily and gave Gregson Torrance her lips, deftly thrusting her pert tongue into his mouth as his hands reached for her bubbies and fondled them ardently. He was breathing hard, and when she slipped a hand down to squeeze his prick, he murmured, "Now now, you sweet bitch. Let's put Diane to bed first. Then we can go by ourselves."
"I really don't think she needs a bra to go to bed with," Myrna reflected.
"You're right. This basement is well heated and there's a thermostat that will keep her from catching cold. All right, Diane, you've just heard your mistress say she'd like to have you take the bra off. Do so at once!"
Diane Wilson groaned and slowly reached behind her back, for she saw Ben lift his dogwhip and she saw Gregson Torrance lift his hand which still brandished the paddle. The bra dropped and she stood in only garter belt and stockings, dreadfully conscious of her nudity before those two Negro males, the mulatress, and the man who had been her administrator and her parents' trusted friend. She put her hand over her cunt, as if just realizing what she had been exposing to them all this time, and Myrna giggled.
"It's a little late for that, honey. We know you've got a cunny. Now you just put your hands behind your neck and clasp them there and spread your legs real good, so we can all look you over. Come look, boys!" she invited the Negroes.
Again Diane groaned, but Gregson Torrance took a step forward and snarled, "If you ever again show your distaste for an order, Diane, you'll get the whip. Do you understand me? Now do what you're told and do it without any faces or noises, or we'll really give you something to moan about."
Slowly Diane Wilson obeyed, spreading her legs, but Myrna found this not too satisfactory.
"Wider than that, you stupid ofay bitch! Ben, lend me your dogwhip just this once."
"It's a pleasure, Miss Myrna," the stout Negro stepped over and handed the plaited whip to the mulatress.
With a frantic cry, Diane Wilson straddled her legs to the maximum, panting there, her magnificent titties rising and falling turbulently in her shame and apprehension. She closed her eyes, her cheeks absolutely scarlet with the ignominious and mortifying fall from grace which had taken place in so short a time since she had landed at Los Angeles International Airport, and she had to stand there, shivering and trembling, while the two Negroes walked around her, making obscene comments on her figure, even telling her how much they would enjoy giving that hairy snatch of hers a good fucking. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into sobs and tears as this went on.
"All right, put her to bed for the night, Ben," Gregson Torrance finally decreed.
"Glad to, boss," the squat Negro grinned. He walked up to the trembling young woman, seized her by the wrist and led her, stumbling and trembling, to a cell at the far right and beyond this clearing, down the corridor. With his left hand he turned the knob of the door and opened it, then drew her inside. Meanwhile, Myrna went over to the wall and flicked on a light switch. At once the other part of the basement was lighted up vividly, and it was seen that Diane Wilson was in an extremely narrow lockup type of cell, similar to those at police stations. There was a narrow cot, a wash basin, a little stool and nothing else. Directly opposite her cell was a much larger one, and there were singular apparatuses inside, such as a sawhorse and a whipping post. Also, the floor was padded as a gymnasium might be. It was to be, as poor Diane learned the very next day, her "exercise room."
"Lie down on your belly on that cot, honey," Ben commanded, and the sobbing young woman quickly obeyed out of sheer terror. "Put cher wrists behind yer back. That's right. Now then, we'll jist keep you nice and comfy here for the night," he chuckled as he produced a pair of handcuffs and locked her wrists in them. "Dat's so you won't frig yer pussy none while we'se gone, heeheehee!"
Diane moaned as she pressed her scarlet face down against the rough blanket on the cot, wishing herself dead or at least able to turn invisible and able to disappear from the view of her tormentors.
"I think that'll do it," Gregson Torrance chuckled. "Of course, if the little lady needs anything during the night, she'll have to ask for it. Diane, pay attention. Can you hear me?"
"Y-y-yes," the unhappy, naked young captive gasped.
"You will call me master, and you will call Ben and Joe master also, just as you will call Myrna mistress," he Went on in his inflexible tone. "There is a little black buzzer in the wall there, just above your cot. Do you see it?"
Slowly the naked brown-haired heiress raised her head and perceived it, and then she nodded.
"What did you say?" he persisted. "Ben, we might just have to take her outside again and put her over the stool."
"Yes, yes, I see it, m-master!" Diane almost screamed in her apprehension. Myrna and Gregson exchanged a meaningful look, and their fingers entwined. Her other hand went again to his prick and rubbed it through his fly, and he began to breathe heavily. Seeing that delicious white-skinned heiress handcuffed and in a cell, in his power, had given him a ferocious hard-on, but the time was not yet time to take her cherry-or rather, to take all three of them!
"Very good," he said in a thickening voice. "If you want anything during the night, you'll have to press that buzzer. Of course, you'll have to do it with your nose, or maybe with your foot. And if you require anything, you will be obliged to pay for it. And I'm sure Ben and Joe will be glad to explain that to you. And now I wish you a pleasant goodnight. If you dream at all, try to tell yourself in your dreams that you are going to be a very obedient and humble salve girl, beginning with breakfast. We will see you in the morning."
Beckoning to the two Negroes, he led the way upstairs, back into the house. The light switch was turned off and Diane Wilson found herself plunged into the inky darkness of the subterranean basement, naked, a prisoner, her bottom still smarting from the atrocious and humiliating spanking she had had at the hands of the mulatress, consternated to discover that she was being treated like a lowly animal and that there was no escape. . .
A little later, Gregson Torrance stood naked in the luxurious bedroom of the first floor of the house, while Myrna, kneeling before him, herself naked also, ran her hands up and down the backs of his thighs and gave his prickhead stinging little kisses.
"Thank you so very much, darling, for letting me spank ass," she murmured, looking up at him with a provocative glint in her eyes. "I'd just give anything if she were my real slave all the time."
"We'll see. I have someone else coming out from Chicago who'd like to have a little fun with that Diane. You may have some fun with her yourself, my dear. But there's no hurry. Miss Wilson is going to be with us for quite some time."
"Are you going to get her to turn over all her money to you, Greg lover?"
"Don't be so greedy and impatient, Myrna. Of course, but in due time. After all, if we go before a judge and it is discovered that she did so under duress, it wouldn't stand up. She's going to have to learn to do it of her own accord, and that's going to take a little time and little training. And also a good deal of spanking, unless I miss my guess. But that's enough about Diane right now, you sweet little chocolate-skinned bitch. Get to work on my prick, because I'm bursting!"
"I know you are. I could tell how much you wanted to screw that little ofay bitch. Did I spank her nice for you? Did I make her wriggle her big white ass, and did you see lots of her pussy? I was thinking that you'd have given just about anything to have stuck your big dong into that little meathole of hers," the mulatress purred, and then her cheeks bulged and her lips sucked as she accepted his ramrod and voraciously began to suck alone the head and the gnarled, dark-veined shaft itself.
Gregson Torrance uttered a cry and dug his fingers into her hair, his face turned up to the ceiling and contorted in the rictus of lust. And suddenly he felt himself burst, and as the dazzling phantasmagoria of imagery swirled in his brain, he could see Diane Wilson doing this same act, the supreme laudatory homage to the master. And he wondered how much whipping it would take to force the pampered aristocrat to come to this nadir of degradation so that she would suck a man's prick and swallow all his spunk.
When he at last recovered, he panted to Myrna, "Now let's go to bed, and you can work me up again so I can get into that tight sweet snatch of yours, you lovely bitch."
"Who's coming to have fun with Diane, Greg dear?" Myrna wanted to know as she languorously stretched herself on the bed, turning on her side towards him while he lay with his arms pillowing his head, his cock limp. She bent over him and began to lick at his greasy ramrod, her slim fingers stroking along his inner thighs, his balls and scrotum, until gradually his prick began to thicken and throb with the revitalization of passion.
"A very pretty girl. Her name is Betty McDonald. You two ought to get along famously. She hates Diane's guts just as much as you do, but for a different reason. Now shut up and get me hard so I can fuck you.-'
"Yes, master," she giggled, and soon, having with tongue and lips sucked and licked him to potency once more, the beautiful young mulatress clambered over him, took hold of his shaft and guided it into her cleft, and then sank down until it was up to the balls inside of her. Lying over him, as his arms and legs clasped her, she began to. French kiss him frantically, working him as well as herself into that mystic euphoria which at last burst in shattering and annihilating waves into her chasm.