Church of Chains (7 page)

“Well my little whore. Now you can use your hands as well.”

She needed no further bidding but simply reached forward and felt the long bulge of his erection at his crotch. Slowly she set about freeing it and at last it reared up before her. This time she closed both her hands round the shaft and drew it towards her mouth eagerly, teasing him with her tongue for a long time before letting her lips close softly around him. Her hands reached round his hips and pulled him forward as her mouth ran down and down the length of his shaft and then up again. She explored him with her hands, reaching into his clothes to stroke the tight scrotum and cup it gently when finally she surrendered to his urgent thrusts. She let him move her head to meet them, not caring that he was ramming the back of her throat, just waiting for that precious moment when he would swell even more inside her and then begin his release. He gave a gasp at last and she was rewarded once more by the hot jets flooding into her. He held her head tightly to him for a long time as his hips pumped at her and his sex jerked wildly in her mouth. But at last he was spent and regretfully Paula cleaned him up before he withdrew.

“If you respond to the whip like that,.I’ll have to give you a real thrashing one day,” he said.

Chapter 8

For the next month a relentless routine was established. The day began with their declaration of submission to Sister Lavinia. The four strokes of the crop were followed by breakfast. After breakfast they would be marched into the house itself for prayers. These were conducted by Father Burton in a kind of crypt under the house. The girls would kneel and pray for forgiveness for their sins against those whom God had meant to be their masters. And within a few days Paula had forgotten that she had no sins of that type to confess and did so anyway. After prayers on most days they would be led to the Pen and there they would be harnessed like the girls they had seen on their first morning. Paula soon got used to the cold feel of the chains being fed through her nipple rings and labia rings. She took longer to get accustomed to having her arms tied at full stretch to the metal bar which ran across their shoulders. But she was beginning to get accustomed to having no choice, and once harnessed they were driven naked out to the fields.

The heavy chains that hung from the bar they were tied to were then attached to ploughs and harrows, and the day’s work began.

Paula suspected that there were two aims, the first was to make them fit and to work off the dissolute lifestyles they had led. That was not so much of a problem for her, but some of her companions suffered terribly, ending the day hardly able to stand and the others on the team having to work all the harder. The second aim, she thought, was to keep them so exhausted that they accepted the discipline quietly and any memories of their previous lives faded quickly.

The days in the fields were long and arduous. They staggered through the heavy soil pulling the machinery behind them and all the time the whip played on their shoulders and backs. At night they rubbed on the cream only to present the whip with nearly a blank canvas the next morning. And on that the brothers would once again inscribe their crisscrossing patterns of weals.

On those days they didn’t return till late afternoon. At about midday they were given a brief rest when their driver would feed them with fruit which they ate from his hand standing in their harness. And then they worked on until they were driven back and were allowed a few minutes to shower before prayers again. Then they had the evening meal, preceded by the inevitable beating before being exercised in the courtyard.

On some evenings there were punishments at the T shaped whipping post. They learned that these were punishments that Father Burton wished everyone to witness. There were many others administered in the Punishment Wing, frequently they were led past it and heard the swish and smack of a whip, or the agonised groans of a girl undergoing some painful bondage or suspension.

On days when they weren’t working in the fields they were taken on runs. Paula enjoyed these. The brothers would mount their horses and ride alongside the girls as they ran across country. The monastery estate was vast and they never saw another person, nor did Paula ever get any clue as to where they were. She didn’t really care any more; there was just a residual curiosity.

In that previous life which she now hardly remembered she had run for the police athletics club and she would easily outpace her companions and often she would run almost alone. When she got ahead it was usually Brother Davis who rode up and accompanied her.

She found that she loved the feel of running naked, the cold air on her body, her muscles moving smoothly under skin that glowed with health. And beside her, the steady pounding of the horse’s hooves with Brother Davis spurring her on to greater efforts. He was a superb horseman able to lean easily down out of the saddle to flick his crop at her tight buttocks as they shuddered temptingly with each long stride she took.

Paula came to accept quite calmly that she could run much faster with flashes of pain from a whip striping her bottom to spur her on; and welcomed the aid to her performance.

She became aware as the days passed that pain and pleasure were mingling inextricably for her. The pain of a beating with the crop had come to mean the welcome taste of hot food was not far away, and the pain became an acceptable part of hunger and appetite appeased. The blazing sting of the lashes wasn’t any less; it was just that it didn’t register so much as something unpleasant. Similarly the backbreaking work in the fields was making her tougher and fitter than she had ever been, and it was the whip which drove her to that increased toughness. She was stronger and faster than she had been and it was Brother Davis’s relentless wielding of whip and crop which was achieving that.

In the evenings, in the few minutes they had before they were chained for the night, she would look down at the muscular contours of her body with real pride, the stomach and thighs firm and strong but still sheathed in smooth womanly curves.

Father Burton told them that this first month, the month of purification, was when their slates would be wiped clean. After this they would begin the long climb towards their new status within the Church.

And certainly Paula found that she was changing.

The distinctions between punishment and reward were blurring as well as those between pain and pleasure. She was beginning to react to them as parts of the same thing, different sides of the same coin. And all of them were dispensed by the Masters, acting for the Church of Ultimate Purification which was the creation of the Patriarch.

Chapter 9

The weeks passed until it was only a matter of days before the month of purification would be over and Paula’s group would become novices.

Even though the group was forbidden to talk at any time, except to answer a direct question or at the order of a brother or one of the sisters, Paula could feel their excitement and shared it. They knew that the novices didn’t work in the fields and that they were allowed to wear clothes. It was only a simple shift which would barely cover their modesty but that seemed now like a luxury beyond their wildest dreams. And then at last they would become initiates and be allowed the short white dresses... and shoes! She had seen how at prayers the short skirts could be flicked up when sitting or kneeling to reveal tantalising glimpses of what was on offer for the brothers. She had seen the flirtatious glances directed at the men from under the lashes of respectfully lowered eyes.

Of course the brothers could take what they wanted at any time, but Paula found the prospect of inviting them to take it, deeply thrilling. Being naked and available was all very well, but to be just clothed enough to have something to reveal made Paula feel very hot and moist.

Paula could also see similar attitudes developing in her companions. Some of them seemed to positively invite the whip. Hardly a day went by without one or other girl being put in the pillory outside the cells and given a sound thrashing while the others looked on. Inevitably the squirming of the body under punishment inflamed the brother inflicting it and he would have her as soon as the girl was well striped. But Paula noted with growing incredulity that as the days went past the girls’ wrigglings were becoming less those of pain than of pleasure. Instead of backs bowing away from the lash they began to arch so as to offer themselves up more openly. And now the sex of whichever brother took the girl would slide easily into her body when the punishment was complete. Sometimes Paula glanced along the line of watching girls and caught that same look of excitement she had noted that very first night when they had seen the whipping post used. But although girls who were sent to the Punishment Wing often returned dishevelled and marked, yet obviously secretly proud and happy; they all feared the whipping post. Two of them had received thirty lash sentences during the month and the whipping was so heavy that it was clear to all that there could be no pleasure to be had there.

She was reflecting on this while they were being run one afternoon. They were far out on the estate, the brothers on their horses guiding them through woods and across moorland they had never seen before. She was thinking that the Church was maybe the strict hierarchy she had always wanted. Like the police force it had levels of seniority, it had uniforms and it had rules. She knew exactly where she stood and she liked that. She responded to discipline and order, wasn’t that why she had joined the police in the first place? Although that discipline now seemed a poor thing compared to the ruthless discipline of the Church.

She thought with some pride of the fact that she had never been put in the pillory outside their cells and had never had to wear the awful training harness after a punishment. In fact she had never been punished. Since the day they had been ringed she had submitted gladly to all the rules and after the whipping Sister Lavinia had administered in the Games Room she had made sure her sex and her mouth were always ready and willing to serve. Paula couldn’t help feeling a little smug about the fact that she seemed to be picked to serve in the Lounge more often than any of the others. And although she couldn’t ask, and he certainly wouldn’t say, she had a feeling that Brother Davis was proud of her. Often when one of the men finished with her and she stood up to wipe herself, she would see him keeping an eye on her from across the room. Once they became novices however, he would no longer be in charge of them. And Paula felt a tingle of excitement at the thought that then he might take her himself a bit more often.

Her reflections were interrupted by the sound of a horse’s hooves catching her up. She looked around and realised that she had got a long way ahead of the group. Unusually Brother Harris was in charge today instead of Brother Davis. He was a thickset, dark man with a quick temper and a hard whip hand. To her surprise he didn’t keep pace with her but pulled in front and reined in. She stopped and looked up at him.

“We’re going to see just how fast you can really run Number Three. Hold your hands out.”

She obeyed automatically but was puzzled by his uncharacteristic good humour. He was grinning as he dismounted and approached her. Using a long rein he tied her wrist restraints together and then tied the other end to the pommel of his saddle. Paula looked on in dismay but didn’t dare say anything.

He remounted without even looking at her and put his heels to his horse. At first it was just a walk. Then it was a trot and finally it was a canter. Paula ran as she had never run before but the fact that her arms were tied in front of her made it doubly difficult to keep up. Brother Harris looked back and laughed as he pulled his horse away from the route the other girls were taking, the way back to the monastery.

Through sweat-blurred vision Paula saw that they were going even farther out into the estate than they had been before. Already her breath was rasping in her burning lungs and her legs pumped desperately. And still he pulled her farther away from the monastery.

At last, inevitably, she couldn’t keep it up and fell headlong with a despairing wail. Her arms were wrenched cruelly as she pitched forward, hit the ground and was dragged along over grass and mud until Brother Harris reined in. She lay still, panting and gasping while he dismounted and came back to her. Her nipples were aching from having been dragged violently across the ground and the whole of her breast flesh felt bruised.

Suddenly a line of white-hot pain exploded across her shoulders and there was a dry Crack! as if a pistol had been fired. Paula’s body reacted with an involuntary arching of the back and she saw him reeling in the long horsewhip, preparing to lash her again. It was the heaviest whip she had ever experienced, the pain and the weight of the blow had left her breathless. She had become well used to the crop but grimly she realised that she was in for a totally new kind of flogging. She got her arms under her and began to rise but another lash cracked down and this time the whip curled round her ribs and bit into the soft flesh at the side of her breast where it hung beneath her. She cried out and flattened herself against the ground again in an instinctive attempt to shield herself. But the next lash had her desperately rolling away and trying to rise again. Brother Harris had moved round to stand at her head, and it was laid down her back, parallel to the spine and buried itself deep in the crack between her buttocks. The long braided cord snaked into the secret crevices of her body and tore into the soft flesh of her sex lips. It made her shriek and frantically try to get her legs under her. But Harris gave her no chance to rise on her own. He pounced on her and deliberately hooked his fingers into her nipple rings to haul her up. She screamed again as the tender pink nipples were wrenched away from her body and she shot to her feet faster than she believed possible. He kept pulling up though, so that she had to dance up onto tiptoe to try and stop the pain. Only then did he speak.

“There’s only a few days left Number Three to make quite sure that you know you are nothing except what we allow you to be.”

“ Master!” Paula cried desperately, “I know I am nothing! Really I do!”

“Father Burton wants to make absolutely sure.”

He released his agonising grip on her and returned to his horse, urging it back into a trot. Paula staggered after him, trying hopelessly to galvanise her aching legs into action again.

The next time she fell, he dragged her for much longer before he stopped. Paula knew what was coming this time but had only got up as far as knees and elbows before he whipped her again. And again he went for her breasts to start with, they swayed invitingly beneath her body, Paula knew, but there was no help for it. She had to get up. But two lashes in quick succession, which made them judder, had her helplessly folding her arms under her to protect them. Too late she realised that this left her haunches raised and once again the whip cracked down between her legs. Instantly her anus and the entrance at her belly were engulfed in fire. She curled herself into a ball and squeezed her thighs tight shut but still the whip found its way between her buttocks and she stretched out in agony. But Harris obviously knew just how much to inflict and coiling the whip he hauled her up by her hair this time. Pain and exhaustion made her slow to focus her eyes on his face. He left her for a few minutes. She was shaking and crying and it took some time before she was ready to face any more. Once she had got her breath back, she tried begging him for mercy, but he just smiled and put his heels to his horse again.

Father Burton and Brother Davis stood at the window of the Father’s office and looked down into the courtyard. Paula’s group were being herded in at the end of their run. The naked girls either collapsing or standing bent over with hands on knees while they recovered enough to be led away to the showers.

Brother Davis’s brow creased. “There’s only nine Father.”

“I know,” Father Burton replied and then paused for a second. “Brother, you have done your usual fine job with the new intake, but I am concerned about Number Three. I have watched her carefully, and from the very first she has held herself differently from the usual sluts. While the Church has been running this programme I have come to know how sullen and defiant they can be to start with. And how they slouch until they are trained not to. But this one is different.”

“I know what you mean Father. She has pride.”

“Exactly. And whoever heard of a street whore with pride? But what’s worse is that she still has it. And as you know, they must be stripped of all traces of their previous selves before the Church can construct their new characters. This is what the Patriarch teaches us.”

“She is very obedient Father.”

“Hmm. Have you ever before seen a slut go through her purification without at least one thorough chastisement? Have you ever known one avoid being displayed in the pillory, or never having had to wear the training harness?”

“I think Father... I think she takes pride in her obedience.”

“That cannot be tolerated. I have given orders that she will have a special regime between now and the end of the month. She is to be pushed to her limits.”

“She can take it Father. In her own way she’s as hot a little slut as any of them.”

“She’ll have to be Brother. I have been told that the Patriarch himself is to visit us soon. And I will have nothing go amiss.”

“No Father.”

At that moment Brother

Harris rode in beneath them. The horse was walking now. At the end of the leading rein Paula was being dragged full length through the dirt. She was streaked with mud and grass stains but even through the dirt the livid welts left by Brother Harris’s whip could clearly be seen.

Father Burton smiled bleakly, “It has begun.”

Paula had crawled on hands and knees to the shower and let the water cascade over her. Brother Harris watched her silently and all too soon made her dry herself and go to prayers with the others. For the first time in weeks taking the four strokes of the crop before supper was a major ordeal. The horsewhip had been applied, she realised, with just this in mind. Sister Lavinia made her spread her legs a little wider so that the tender skin on the insides of her buttocks which bore the marks of that earlier beating, could get the full force of the cuts. She yelped and cried at each lash, wriggling so much that Sister threatened her with extra ones if she didn’t keep still.

She wasn’t exercised with the others. Instead she was put in the pillory and left there until all the others were chained for the night. She just couldn’t understand what she was being punished for. Tears of self-pity stung her eyes as she shifted uncomfortably; the wood clamping her neck and wrists was tight around her collar and restraints. Her striped back and buttocks felt horribly exposed and at least two of the brothers had taken the opportunity to deliver stinging smacks as they passed. If she had broken any rules she would have expected punishment and accepted it as necessary. But she had always tried to be obedient. Her thoughts ran on and on, but got her nowhere.

At long last she was allowed out. But she was shoved straight into her cell and chained tightly for the night before she had had a chance to answer the call of nature. She tugged hopelessly at her chain but it had been deliberately shortened by over a foot. There was no way she could reach her toilet.

The result was inevitable and the brother who woke her the next morning made sure everyone knew. Paula wanted to dig herself a hole and pull it in after her as he yelled insults at her and told the whole group what she had done. She was given an extra stroke of the crop before breakfast and could see the smirks on her companions’ faces. It was worse than anything she had ever known. Even the day of Contemplation after they had been ringed hadn’t been so awful. At least all of them had been tortured and humiliated together. Now she was being singled out for no apparent reason and she felt terribly isolated. She was made to scrub the floor of her cell while the others were harnessed for the fields, but Brother Harris left her in no doubt that she would wish she had been able to go with them. She was to have another Contemplation Day, on her own.

She was marched to the Punishment Wing and waiting for her was Brother Davis. For some reason the most horrible moment of all was when Brother Harris told him how she had wet the floor of her cell in the night. She could feel her face flaming bright red as she looked down at the floor.