Chapter 10
"Now the men who would have played the fool's game will be shown the folly of their despicable ways," Diana said, jerking her cunt.
The painfully orgasming Bawdress was slid down the crescent trough, slick with her own bodily fluids, onto the flooring.
Immediately, Francis and Alistair approached, dripping with hog-wallow, lady-juice and jism. They tried to deny how they had betrayed their Bawdress by their abstention from action.
But Artemis just hung her wet head in shame.
Pandora, Iphigenia, Callisto and Opis had finished rubbing the joyjuices into the Minotaur's naked ebony skin.
His prick stood out and up, at the ready to fuck with his fair mistress of pain.
"You know of course," Diana said sweetly, "all of us here at Spa Abbey of Theleme have the opportunity to be stars on our own courses through the universe of painful pleasure."
She stood next to the two oilcloth-wrapped forms, a hand on one ripe hip, one hoisting a white mushrooming tit.
"In all of us the mistress of pain finds her home. She is interpreted within each of us differently, according to our desires."
She smiled warmly as the fairy commando team surrounded the humiliated trinity of Alistair Weed, Francis Dash wood and Artemis Schwartz.
"Do what thou wilt is the entirety of our code," she said solemnly.
"But the mistress must at times intervene in the workings of her flagellant flock. It is she who must declare when reign of the old ways is over. And the time when the old man must meet his demise, pay out long-overdue debts."
"She's lying!" Artemis screamed.
"It's untrue," the Bawdress's consort Francis bellowed in the stench of fear.
"It cannot be permitted," Alistair jabbered.
The mistress of pain took hold of the corner of one of the oilcloths.
"Last words of the Old Man of the Mountain," Diana quoted: "Nothing is true; all is permitted."
The metal cords entwined the pricks of Francis and Alistair, and the commandos bent their bodies forward in hideous contortions.
Diana peeled the oilcloth away, revealing the mul-tititted icon of the Cuntress.
Cassandra watched warily, to see if anyone would make a move.
She looked at the dark marble sculpture, its statuesque bestiality for the moment dominant in everyone's consciousness.
This was the moment for which Diana had bargained. She would be allowed to display for this evening the statue of the Cuntress.
The irony, Cassandra mused, was that this copy of the original Artemis at Ephesus was in a decadent Hellenistic style.
While the breathing, pumping interpretation that had been created by Diana Cazadora was by even the most subtle standards a contemporary master-work.
But the mistress knew her theatre.
She had reassumed the power of the night.
Zahndra threw the bruised Artemis Schwartz at the feet of her mistress. Diana forced the woman to drink from the bowl of her toilet.
Shoving her head down into the cavernous basin, her screams echoing like the wails of the undead.
Kicking the scurrying woman's buttocks, Diana forced Artemis to yank away the second oilcloth from the second obscured form.
The crowd was hot in dry-mouthed silence as they gazed upon the new throne.
The seat of power.
The challenge to all who would be mistress of pain.
"No!" Artemis squealed.
Her eyes averted in terror from the image of the device. Infernal. Demonic.
Zahndra strangled Artemis into orgasm and led her to the swinepits on a leash.
"Any takers?" Diana cooed, indicating the contraption, now clacking away.
"How about you, Minotaur? Try this one on for size?" she went on.
With a stomach-curdling howl, Diana threw her arms wide and stood in front of her throne of pain with her legs spread.
The cunt liquor drenched her legs, forming foaming puddles between her ankles.
The four nymphets urged Antoine to the platform of the pavilion. They handed to him a rubber girdle with tweezers, hooks, and a morningstar attached in dazzling profusion.
Alistair and Francis were herded to the stage, their cocks black-and-blue within their cruel bondage of studded leather.
As Antoine slipped behind her, Diana spoke. An uncharacteristic shrillness highlighted her words.
"Let's see the two swine fuck at each other like blind pigs. First we'll see Francis log the hog of Alistair down his throat."
Cassandra saw Ms. Peabody nudge Dandy. She continued jacking away at his protruding pecker as she spoke hurriedly.
The time was right to begin.
Cassandra caught Dandy's eye and gave him the signal, a pattern of twists to her harnessed tits, luminous in the dark fleshmarket.
Dandy delved into his evening pouch and extracted a folded-up Polaroid camera. Ms. Peabody brought her wrist to her yip and spoke into what appeared to be her watch.
Alistair shot off in ugly glops down the neck of the struggling Francis. Dicksie yanked Alistair away and kicked him to the floor, pummeling him with an oiled gilt bough.
"Now get on him and fuck his hiney like a pig," Diana ordered to Francis.
She hooked an arm around Antoine's waist, felt his muscular chest against her back. This one is not bad at all, she thought.
Zahndra burst out laughing as Francis inserted his filthy log into Alistair's asscheeks.
Cassandra tightened her fingers about her tits and yanked. A rubberman came up next to her and grabbed hold deep inside her quim.
Do what thou wilt.
All is permitted.
Antoine lowered the mistress onto an oiled gun-metal railing. He slipped her arms over the sleek metal back panel of the dangerous throne and clamped her wrists to her rubber girdle.
Diana's legs were spread with strips of rubber, and Zahndra lathered up a dish of shaving balm. Antoine jacked off a straight razor along a leather strop.
He tested the shaving edge against the hairs of his scrotum and held the blade aloft. Slowly, delicately, the Creole chef depilated his mistress's crawdad snatch.
Glowing in sweat and joyjuice, Diana Cazadora's cunt shone in unblemished, hairless purity.
Antoine nipped a set of pincers hinged to her girdle of pain into Diana's ravishing right bosom. He snagged the left nip in a miniature noose, slung from a diminutive metal gallows that the girdle of pain also offered its bold wearer.
To the lever end of the gallows was strung a snazzy momingstar, angling tantalizingly toward her clit.
Rubberbands were adjusted about the hooks lying loosely about Diana's cunt folds. Cassandra quaked as she witnessed them pierce the labia of the mistress and draw them apart.
But Diana sank into a withering smile.
Her rutjuices coursed down her legs as the prickrig was slid into place.
The dicking engine was run on the railing that aimed toward Diana's gleaming cunt and pert, bare asshole. On the two metal bases that flanked the reigning mistress were two coupling pairs.
Alistair flailed away at Francis's Jfanny on the left side. On the right hand, Dicksie's cup runneth over with a sprouting red penis, which was buried in Pandora's box.
Antoine slung his footlong over Diana's shoulder as he fit her face with a rubber mask over her jaw and mouth. A matte-black metal penis noseguard jutted from her nostrils to her forehead.
Diana's smile was plainly visible through the stretched rubber jawmask.
Antoine finally lowered the rasplike jaws of the headpiece of the imperial throne of pain, angling it across the web of oily tendrils that was Diana's hair.
The engine began its assault, striking into asshole and cunny in alternating jolts.
The morningstar flailed into clit exposed by pinching hooks. Both boobs bobbed in bondage to the torsion of gallows and pincers.
The left breast stretched and twisted as Diana's rubber-coated mouth moved in whispered words of glorious agony.
Cassandra approached the dais slowly through the crowd. She hoped the police had intercepted the shipment of smuggled artifacts before they had crossed the border.
That way the Canadian authorities would not be involved and the American boys might just hold off a bit. Allowing Cassandra to obtain a full measure of pleasurable pain.
Dandy Voivode was snapping off shot after shot of the festivities with his camera. Ms. Peabody held her silver lynx coat open, beckoning Cassandra to come gnaw at her clipped clit and jingling tits.
Diana was mutilated by the spike-collared thrusts of the dicking engine, careening off into orgasmic spasms.
In her frenzy, she felt the warmth of the woman as she approached. The one whose power was great enough to make Diana Cazadora call her mistress.
The mistress of pain inhabits all of us, Diana thought. Only a chosen few could ever be worthy to represent her incarnate.
The Bawdress Artemis Schwartz had tried and failed. Now humiliated, she rooted in pig shit.
But Sergeant Cassandra Derringer, art squad detective, hadn't even tried. And yet she had succeeded in dominating the reigning mistress of pain herself.
Antoine raised Diana's cool asscheeks with his mahogany fingers. The dicking engine hurled itself into her quim.
He slid his hardwood pecker up her ass from behind, pumping gruesomely, a rictus of madness in his expression.
Cassandra stood with one leg on either rutting stand and unzipped the front of her jumpsuit. She pissed away at Diana's sweat-drenched hair and screamed for a dick to jab up her arse.
Two nymphets clawed at her haltered boobs as Dandy moved in for close-ups.
Shimmering curtains of jism spread from the surrounding forest of spiky timbers sprouting from rubber-clad figures. Clouding the rut soaked air and dashing against the fertile valleys of cunt, topping the tips of mountainous tits.
Yes, the mistress was the slave and the king was a cook. A fallen Abbess sucked slime from a trough while her husband rutted for the camera.
At Spa Abbey of Theleme, everybody was a star, and do what thou wilt was the whole of the law.
Who but the mistress of pain knew so well that nothing was true, yet all was permitted.