Chapter 8
Territory nights could be almost cold. Alec drove Joanna home alone in the Lagonda. Cynthia had expressed a whiskey-vague desire to stay at the Bensons a little longer. Some swain would restore her to order and return her, so Alec smilingly informed the handsome brunette beside him. They themselves had left late enough. Dawn was already whitening the edges of the sky. Cool fog of the first of day drifted off the barren ahead, smoky in the glare of their headlights.
"Not a bad party," Alec pronounced at one point.
"I got some of that Territory hospitality you talked about," she said, curling into her seat. "Right up the twat." As she said the words she realized she spoke them with ease; there was a new relationship between herself and Alec now. He merely grinned.
"Also," she added, "two belts with that frightful rope of his, after."
"They say it bruises," he said.
"All I know is, my little tricot pants seem twice as tight. I feel as though I'd been visited by Zeus."
"You're one of us now," he said.
"That's it," she laughed gaily. "My real name's Semele. Screwed by lightning. What a way to go."
"You are of the species," he replied.
"Meaning?" she asked with curiosity.
Alec said, "Oh you know how it is. In your country it's all breasts. They're all very well, and Cynthia's are quite splendid even, but essentially the female bosom serves a function, that of feeding infants."
She sighed voluptuously. "What wouldn't I give for someone to suck my nips right now. A real strong baby. They're both so tense they feel like bursting." She drew her left bub out and peeked at it. Surely it too looked twice the size. Perhaps she was a goddess, after all. But Alec was continuing, eyes ahead.
"You take the backside...."
"What Shakespeare called 'the afternoon of the body.'"
"Bless Shakespeare."
"Amen. But that's different. Its only function in both sexes is as padding to sit on. Monkeys blush with their backsides, did you know?"
"Well, so did I, this afternoon," Joanna affirmed.
"Thus a woman's bottom is non-functional. You might say it's entirely devoted to adornment. Function always makes a compromise with beauty. So why, dear Joanna, were you provided with such unnecessarily magnificent-one might say, impatient-buttocks?"
She laughed in answer. They were approaching the estate gates. It was almost light but she could feel the headlamps prying through her frock as she got out and went forward and opened the lock for him. He parked the car and together they walked into the silent house.
Outside the door to her room, she turned.
"Thanks, Alec," she said a trifle unsteadily. "This has been the most incredible day of my life." She gazed at him. "Unforgettable. I never thought it could happen. I'm very grateful."
"Even though I gave you six of the best?"
"Just because you gave me six of the best. You brought my being awake. And," she added with a smile, "I still insist I should have had eight."
"You'll get what you get," he said. "And one day you'll ask me to give you a hiding. Beg me to. Cynthia does when she's gone too long without. The only thing is, she doesn't often go too long without."
They were speaking in lowered voices.
"I'm asking you to now," she said. "I should have had those extra two."
"You're really game, aren't you, Jo?" He put his head back on the wall and regarded her with a smile. "And I must say I'm not satisfied."
"I can see that," she said, and she could, despite the half-light they were standing in. "And if you call being satisfied having a steel-hard length of gristle explode inside you after a couple of thrusts, I'm not either."
He chuckled. "It'd have to be four."
She frowned. "Four?" Always worse than expected, just as Cynthia had said.
"Yes, because, you see, your canes up here are the light kind, and two on top of six is much worse than a couple cold."
"I'm warm," said Joanna.
He said, "Tell you what, I'll have you decide."
"Me?"
"Yes. Depending on your answer to this question-do you want me to punish Cynthia for having had too much to drink tonight?"
She breathed deeply, and gave a blink. "Yes," she said, avoiding his eyes.
"You win," he said won a laugh. "That's the Territory answer." And she knew it was, as he led her in. "Take everything off except your stockings and shoes and stand out there." He went to the closet while she obeyed. This time she did so without reserve, almost in haste, preparing herself for the yellowy limb he flexed as he watched her. He had not put on the light and the first broadening of white in the sky beyond her veranda gently lit the chamber. She tugged up her high, self-support nylons and faced him, feeling, as she had said, as if her skin were too taut on her body.
"I want them nice and relaxed for this kind of cane," he told her. "Stand facing the windows, with your arms above your head. Keep them there." He wobbled her underbuttocks with the stick. The wood felt cold and she shivered.
"Must it be four?"
"At least," he said. "Oh Jo, you have a great pair. What massive solidity. Healthy strength. Young and springy, yet close-cheeked and firm at the base. For such small knees, these are phenomenal."
"I'm glad you like them, sir."
But he had vanished into the bathroom, only to reappear a second later with a piece of wet soap which he stuffed into her mouth.
"Bite on that. If you cry, you'll wake up Pam. She can hear the cut of a cane in her deepest dreams. If you let it drop you'll have extra. I've made Cynth take ten with a soft peach between her teeth and given her five more when she dropped it, too. Control, lots of self-control, that's our motto in The Territory."
Then the air thrummed in the silent room and the cane thrashed across her seat with its characteristic snap. She jerked but took it. The second hit her where the rope had fallen and she staggered a step with a gurgling moan. But these were lighter strokes than she had had, though stingy. Twice more he cut her, then let her go. The soap fell with a thud and she was hopping and prancing about, gripping her scalded bottoms.
"Whew! Ou! God, that cane is snippy...."
She arched, gasping, thought that she had mastered the pain, only to feel the final wave drench up her, irresistibly. Her eyes squeezed shut, she dropped to her knees, kneading her cheeks.
"That did hurt," she got out, finally.
But when she opened her eyes there, in the half-light before her face, moved the unwieldly pole of a prick, the second she had seen so that day. Alec had stripped, and stood astride and erect, waiting. Joanna knew then she had been finally transformed. The sight seemed perfectly appropriate, to both the scene and mood, from the hairy wad of balls to the sullen fish-head that stared at her so accusingly.
"More Eskimo hospitality?" she murmured. "What would Cynthia say?"
"I'm afraid it'll be a soapy kiss."
She teethed the red and rubbery corona, then swallowed all she could and sucked the stem. It leapt and she tasted a salty ooze. After a minute she heard him breathing harshly. She released the bounding animal.
"Alec. Please. Finish me off. I wasn't fucked, I was stuck."
She was unprepared, even in her passion, for the violence with which he grasped her short black hair and swung her to the bed. It struck the back of her legs and she sprawled on her back, her calves dangling over the end. There was froth on her cropped but hairy crotch and, grasping her smarting butt, he easily slid his greasy pole between her pouting lips. Then he jammed home, driving the breath from her body. Her head went back, the tendons of her inner thighs stood out as she kinked up her hips to meet his thrusts. It was a long slobbery fuck and she felt herself spewing at least twice as his corona roughed her clitoris. It was pure and utter bliss, five times what she had felt with Cynthia earlier, un-like anything she had ever known before. There was just enough pain left in her buttocks to make it exquisite. Then she pumped again, swearing, and he had to ram her limp for a minute. He was kneeling on the bed, one hand under each ass-cheek, and then a finger was on the ringlet of her anus.
"Noooo-uuuu!" she wailed, twisting.
He laughed. "Thought that'd bring you to life. It's twice as good after a beating, confess it now."
"What they used to say ... in the sorority," she whimpered, "a clean ass and a dirty mind ... oh Alec, give ... jam ... sock it ... stuff...."
She felt totally wedged with prick. And when it swelled inside her she could almost hear it snorting. Then her senses went blue-black. His gism seemed to stream through her veins and ears as she experienced the longest most racking come she had ever known.
What happened then was not too clear. But it seemed to be much lighter when she returned from the bathroom, steady and sated, wrapped in her toweling robe against the chill of the morning.
"Alec? Where are you?"
He was leaning against the rail of her veranda, a glass of Scotch in one hand and a towel wrapped round his bony hips. He was listening. There was the sound of an approaching car.
"Alec, that was a fantastic fuck."
He smiled and made a mock-bow. "You were lubed, ready. But now you know what it's like to be within The Territory."
"And to have , " she said. "Thanks."
He said solemnly, "There's no turning back for you now."
She went and got a drink. They stood together, sipping. A car came up to the front of the house, stopped, there were voices, the slam of a door, the car drove off.
"Cynth?"
He nodded. "Ask her to come in here, would you?"
"You're not going to let her off?"
He stared at her. "Hey! Joanna! Surely you know by now that no one is ever let off."
Cynthia stopped on the stairs when Joanna appeared. They exchanged a long baleful gaze and Cynthia seemed visibly to pale at her sister's beckoning finger. It was as if she knew already about Joanna's complicity in the affair. Nor did she show the slightest surprise at Joanna's or her husband's attire, as she stood before him on the veranda.
"Remarkable how quickly you can sober, dear."
She said at once, "I'm sorry if I appeared inebriated, Alec."
"Drunk in public," he murmured absently. "You know house rules."
"I'm sorry." Her eyes strayed to, and held, Joanna's.
"That's a word. A wave of sound, a vibration of the ether. There is little meaning to a word unless it has some physical reality." He moved past her and pressed a bell push in one wall.
"Please, Alec," she said with a catch in her voice. "I've been whipped enough today."
"Yesterday," he corrected. "And alcohol sends up the pain threshold. I'm sure you won't feel a thing."
A maid knocked and came in. A tall, sturdy, very dark girl, she had on sandals and what seemed to be a hastily donned white housecoat, or duster.
"Is Bella up, Sheila?" Alec inquired with a frown.
"Yess'r. She up."
"Tell her I want to see her here, please." The maid was turning when he said, "Were you on night duty, Sheila?"
"Yess'r."
"Then why aren't you still in uniform?"
The girl looked sheepish. "Because ... you see, suh ... I was jus' going off and I thought it would be all right...."
Alec glanced at his watch. "Night duty lasts till six. It isn't six yet. Tell Bella I want to see her and tell her I want you to have a dozen, before you go off. What's more, you're to get six when you come on duty for the rest of the week."
The girl trailed unhappily off. In the silence that ensued Alec said, "You have your sister to thank for this, my dear."
"I'm grateful to Joanna," Cynthia said expressionlessly. She stood in the center of the room now, almost where Joanna had just been beaten. She looked dead ahead.
Bella came in. She was a magnificently built ebony of six foot' four, her height emphasized by her creaking high-heeled thigh boots. The rest of her uniform was a fitting black leather tunic, the skirt short and pleated. A Gladiator's switch dangled from her belt. Alec went straight to the point.
"Bella, good morning. Chastisement is required. Have we got anyone around here who could give Mrs. Reddick a beating?"
A slow smile stole over the Negress' features. "Sho' have, Mr. Reddick, suh."
"Fine. The offense is drunk in public. I suggest you sober her first. You know, a nice strong clyster of hot oil up the...."
"And an emetic, after?"
"Good idea. Then it's ten with the tawse. Give them all across the buttocks, please. You'll find them well marked and accordingly responsive."
"Very good, suh."
The immense woman approached her mistress.
"Thumb cuffs," Alec explained to Joanna as Cynthia's hands were secured behind her back by the simple expedient of two thimble-sized manacles around each thumb, attached by a tiny chain. Then Bella took from her well-provided belt a strap hanging from a key chain. It went round Cynthia's neck. She was led from the room like a dog, and when she had gone Alec's manhood was manifest once more. He helped himself to another drink from her tray. They sat and chatted quietly.
"Of course, I didn't really want her beaten," Joanna said with a shiver, wrapping the robe round her more tightly.
"Which is to say, of course you did."
Joanna thought. "Her expression was exciting, wasn't it?"
"Before, and after," he agreed. "Before, a joy proposed. Behind, a dream. How was it the poet put it?"
"But ... a clyster. What's that? Isn't it some kind of enema, or something?"
"It certainly is. Bella isn't gentle. Poor Cynth is probably retching her insides out at this moment."
"Will she hate me for it?"
"Absolutely not. She'd do the same for you."
"Do you want me to tidy up that pole for you again?"
"It mightn't be a bad idea."
"Promise it won't spit in my eyes?"
"It's tough on the tonsils, but I'll do my level best." Ten minutes later it was almost day, and the dry crack seemed to ring through the rafters of the old colonial house.
"Quick!"
He took her wrist and together they padded barefoot down the passage to the far wing, where the balcony surround overlooked the kitchen and servants' quarters. Here there was a small grassy court, surrounded on three sides and usually hung with washing. Joanna had seen it once, and wondered what the worn pole in the center was. Now she knew.
"Eight more," Alec said as a second slap greeted their arrival, overhead.
The space was empty but for the maid Sheila, in uniform now, waiting disconsolately to one side.
At the post in the center had been strapped Cynthia. She was naked, her braid undone and her long fair hair drawn over her left shoulder, soaking wet. Her whole body was wet. She gripped the square post with her legs and knees and arms, her arms being secured to it at wrists and elbows, her waist being belted to it, and her legs strapped tightly at ankles and at knees. But her richly wealed buttocks humped awkwardly out, as if wishing to expose themselves for punishment, and Joanna saw that a small leather pad had been run up the post under her frontal pelvis. The division of her cheeks was emphasized by the strap that had been drawn through them from in front and buckled to the belt in back. Her mouth was wide open and straining. Cynthia was bitted like a horse, the steel links fastened at her neck behind.
Alec Reddick read her thoughts. "The post's a copy of one in Brixton, last century. Several of us have them. It's a satisfactory model."
I'll say, thought Joanna. She was dry-throated again.
"Why the gag?"
"I don't want to wake everyone up."
"That ... whip!"
"The tawse. Scottish. Tails hardened in the fire. Bella's good with the tawse."
It was a broad leather strap, thick and heavy in appearance and perhaps three feet in length. The striking end had been slit into tails and Bella, holding its shiny wooden handle, was preparing another stroke from her side.
Cynthia seemed aware of this intent. Her muscles tightened and she threw back her contorted face, pressing herself into the post. But the belt held her firmly at the pad and she could not reduce the fleshy width of her cheeks an iota, skin now streaked with two awesome blood-blue weals, black at the right. She tried to draw herself on tip-toe as the strap whacked resonantly around her again. Bella grunted as she struck. She was a true ex-Gladiator and enjoyed her work, it was obvious. Cynthia gave a gargling moan. The blow seemed to stun her against the post. It had clearly carried considerably weight. A new welt sprang up.
"That made her jump," Alec laughed down to his chief maid from their vantage point. "Give her lots of time."
Bella signaled the maid. Sheila came forward with a bucket and sloshed it over her mistress. The streaming buttocks were almost limp when the strap slapped into them again.
Joanna knew she was coming after the seventh blow. It was incredible, and ridiculous, and of course utterly impossible, but it happened. She gritted her teeth. Then her quim quaked and sent a short, sharp orgasm flooding through her nerve centers. She was aware of wet flesh whacked methodically, meatily, then of Alec saying as he took her arm, "Well, she needed a good hiding. And in half an hour she'll be up to a fuck. I don't doubt."