The Chamber

THE CHAMBER

Part 4

Introduced to self flogging

Chapter One

Virtually unshackled for the first time since her nightmare began, her feelings, senses returning to her extremities, her bruised flesh responds to being bathed, oiled.  The thoughts of her treatment still to frightful to expound upon, barley able to distinguish reality from being delusional, but for now being able to feel, massage her own body, her particularly aching breasts, her thighs with her bare hands as the steam accumulates around her, she leans back against the tile wall of the small but functional shower stall, apprehensively enjoys the warmth of the swirling water from the shower head cascading across her shoulders as the last of the lotion rinses down the drain.  Turning the water off, toweling herself as it trickles to a drip, she steps from the shower, approaches the clothed mannequin positioned in the corner of the small Spartan furnished bedroom.

An all white habit, a series of printed instructions pinned to a sleeve, she steps toward the outfit, reaches for the note.  Glancing over it, reading, comprehending the several brief orders, using a second towel to dry her hair, dropping the towel and twisting her still wet hair into a tight bun, she slips the habit from the mannequin, slides it over her naked body finishing with the wimple and veil.  A pair of sandals for her feet, stepping back into the bathroom, glancing into the fogged mirror, her reflection’s an almost mirror image of the novice from the first day on the rack.  Naked beneath the habit, the material thick and her already raw nipples tender, she senses the scrapping of the course cloth across her bare flesh from the flowing garb.

A tap on the door as she hears it swinging open, turning toward the bedroom, she observes the Nun and her novice quietly entering.  Hesitant to even move, eyes lowering, she still sees the Nuns hands crossed, hidden in the sleeves in front of her, the novice carrying an ominous whip, all black with a long handle, multiple strands of flailing leather strands swaying back and forth, the tightly knotted tips almost scrapping the floor.  Otherwise, in their familiar garb, the novice a couple steps behind, for the first time, Jodi hears the Nun speak.

“So… I see you wear it well.”  Her voice quiet, yet strict, one of an authoritative nature as she steps within an arms length, reaches out, touches the white cloth with its occasional damp stains, while adding.  “You’ll get use to it… This particular garbs’ going to be your discipline apparel.”

Already apprehensive, feeling the hanging cloth scraping even harsher across her sore, shivering breasts as she tries to control herself from trembling, her eyes remain fixed on the ominous black leather strands intermingling as they brush back and forth in front of the novice’s white habit.

“I see you’re interested in her self-flogging implement she’s brought to display for you.”  She nods toward the novice’s hands.  “You’ll learn to use one just like it… And very quickly… Or you’ll suffer the consequences.”  Reaching out, the back of her fingers gliding back and forth across the still noticeable mounds concealed beneath the course material of Jodi’s habit, pressing firmer against the obvious puffiness in the cloth formed by the nipples, she adds.  “Of course you’ll have this habit removed during your penance exercises… Obviously your naked flesh will be offered to the leather totally exposed.”  Turning back toward the novice, taking a couple steps toward her, reaching out and gripping the handle of the whip in one hand, the swaying knotted tails in her other, she silently nods an obvious command.

Crisscrossing her arms, the novice reaches down, lifts the material upwards past the sandals, the white cloth slipping past her hips, her bare stomach, up past her shoulders as she obeys the silent command by revealing her otherwise nude body.  Only the white band left from above her eyes as she allows the garment to drop to the floor beside her, the scenes’ surreal as Jodi can’t help staring toward the naked, youthful body fronting her, not unlike her own.  The girl’s bared breasts surprisingly large, her waist slender, she can’t help staring at the naked girl, most of all the numerous signs of faint bruises, of tracks of obvious thorn branches that had recently looped around her chest, hips, and even more noticeable, several more obvious recent, reddish welts rising from between her thighs to her navel, others circling beneath her shoulders, ending across the outer edges of her nipples, her globular mounds now jaunting firmly outward as her shoulders arch back.

“See?”  The Nun questions as she glances toward Jodi, lets the strands of leather drop as she brushes the back of her hand across the girl’s bare breast.  “See… She does her penance…  She’s learning her place… Just like you will… There’s an art to whipping your own breasts and vaginal area with a cat-o-nine tails.”

To frightened to speak, to shocked to try to utter a word, Jodi watches as the Nun hands the handle of the whip back to the novice.  Stepping away, a nod of the Nun’s head, Jodi watches the novice obediently position herself, spread her legs, arch her shoulders back with her free arm stiff, slightly raised out toward her side.  The nine leather strands flexing, somehow for whatever reason actually trying to count them off in her head as they flick back and forth, Jodi watches the tightly knotted tips scrapping across the floor.  Glancing up into the novice’s gaze, their eyes interlock as the whip swings forward, backward a couple more times, the long leather strands curling, intertwining as the girl’s gripping fist finally disappears forcefully back behind her.

The silence eerie, the quietness of the black strands of leather circling, arching up behind her, flailing above, then down across her left shoulder, the small room resonates as the spreading leather strikes the novice’s bare flesh.

‘Smaaaccckk!’

The series of tongs slashing across her thrust out chest, flattening her right breast echoes off the barren walls as the strands spread apart, dig into the supple flesh.  Her naked body jerking, the unobstructed breast bouncing, swaying, the novice stands motionless for a moment or so, slides her free arm back behind her, grips the whip’s handle from her other hand.  Bringing her free arm stiffly out toward her other side, flicking the handle, the lithe leather jerks away from her welted flesh, more then half the strands leaving their marks on her bruised breast as it bounces, sways free.

Swinging the handle back and forth beside her, picking up momentum, the stands snapping, bouncing across the floor, her eyes stay focused on Jodi’s as she tenses, swings her hand completely behind her.  The strands of leather again looping, circling from above her right shoulder this time, the sight of her left breast disappearing beneath the clump of leather’s quickly followed by a similar, even harsher echo.

‘Smmmaaaccckkk’.

Her bared breast completely covered as it flattens across her chest, the sound of the girl’s grunt follows as her knees nearly buckle.  Again a pause, this time for more then a moment, the novice slides her free arm behind her, grips the long handle with both hands, tugs, slides the flexing black strands up off her breast, across her shoulder.  The firm mound discoloring to a purplish bruise as it bounces, the nipple flattened, just a couple floggings and the severity of the whip’s abilities are more then obvious.

The novice breaking eye contact, she glances toward the Nun, getting her quick response with an affirmative nod.  Sliding the whip out around her, gripping it in both hands in front of her, she hesitates, begins swinging it back and forth between her spread thighs. Again picking up momentum, the strands scrape briskly across the floor between her spreading legs.

Almost mesmerized, watching the whip’s strips of leather circling outward, flicking downward, a grunt from the novice, her arms locking as they spring forward straight up over her head, Jodi sees the tangling knots flicking up over the girl’s head, disappearing behind her flexing shoulders, the swishing sound audible as more then a few inches of the tongs reach their target, ‘smack’ curl up through her spread thighs, burrowing into her vaginal area, flattening across her pubic mound, a couple flicking all the way across her belly button.

“Ooomph!”

The novice’s naked body arching, tiptoeing as she gasps, the leather momentarily adheres between her thighs, slips away leaving the telltale red welts.  Regaining her balance, her composure, another glance toward the Nun, turning, handing the reversed handle to her outreaching hand, she leans over, retrieves the habit and quietly slips it over her head, dresses.

Still almost in a daze, seeing someone else’s naked body brutalized, even more so by their own hand, Jodi’s eyes again focuses on the whip in the Nun’s grip before glancing hesitantly toward her face.

“Come with us.”  Three short words as the Nun speaks, turns, steps past the also turning novice.  Jodi obediently following, her mind nearly blank, she’s almost afraid to think, to process what’s happening.

Into the hallway, down another corridor, the Nun stops, presses open a large oak door.  Glancing toward Jodi, a nod to enter, the Nun leads the way.  The chamber’s walls flickering with the mounted torches, seeing the back of the oval wooden apparatus, a brief moment for her eyes to adjust, Jodi realizes it’s the rack she was drawn on her initial day in bondage.  Heart pounding, almost refusing to enter any further, another jolt to her thought process as she realizes a naked body’s strapped to its front side.  Obviously a young woman, her body arched, breasts thrust up, the nipples sadistically clamped, Jodi senses her own chest aching from the unattended reflex, her body feeling the pains inflicted on it just days before on that very rack.

“Silence.”  The Nun orders her followers in a quiet tone, a finger in front of her lips as the current victim’s moans are more of a constant inaudible groan through a rag stuffed deep in her throat.  Nodding, leading her pair, the Nun steps in front of the rack, nodding the two to either side.  Still silent, handing the whip to the novice, reaching up, she twists the implanted wooden thumbscrew another full turn across the twitching nipple.

“Aaaaaagggghhhh!”  The naked girl’s body arching, her chaffed wrists and ankles stretching in the creaking ropes, a trickle of fresh blood oozes from her deformed nipple, drips across her outthrust chest.  Another turn of the matching thumbscrew on her other breast, another shriek from the stuffed rag, just a spurt of blood flicks outward, spatters the glistening torso arching outward.

Glancing toward Jodi, having her step in front of the rack’s current victim, she allows her a closer look.  Heart thumping, the painful memories still fresh, she hesitates, yet steps directly in front of the bowed girl, her tortured breasts at eye level, thrusting outward, the nipples twitching beneath the jiggling clamps.  Again a quick comparison inevitable, she’s another big breasted youthful victim, again about the same age, her welling eyes darting, staring through blurry tears into nowhere while muffled pleadings garble through the damp rag as her naked body involuntarily flinches.

The Nun stepping forward again, brushing against Jodi’s shoulder, she reaches out, grips the third clamp almost unnoticed between the girl’s thighs.  An unsympathetic full turn of its thumbscrew, a spurt of urine companioned with the paralyzing shriek echoing off the stone walls, Jodi’s eyes become transfixed on the swollen, nearly golf ball sized nub of the girl’s purplish clit as the Nun nudges her arm, points toward the doorway.

Trembling, glancing back a final time as the Nun hesitates, adjusts the lever behind the apparatus, the familiar ‘Clank’……’Clank’ of the responding gears, the stretching of the ropes, the grunts and groans of the girl feeling as if her limbs are being ripped apart as the clamps noticeably vibrate across her outthrust titflesh, Jodi finds herself in the hallway between the pair.

“That rack’s available at any time for you… You can be in her place in a matter of moments if you don’t strictly adhere to our policies.”  The Nun preaches as she flicks the handle of the whip back and forth across her palm, glances into Jodi’s widening eyes as they walk.  “Now for your first self inflicted flogging for the group to witness… I advise you to follow her leads she gave you to the ‘T’… A good, crisp dozen to start with.”   Nodding toward the novice, she continues.  “Of course with the same enthusiasm she exhibited… Understand?”

Ashen faced, her breasts already aching, almost nauseated by the sight of the occupied torture rack, she can only nod, glance down toward the whip as they walk down the corridor toward an open entry way with mingling robed monks.

End Part Four…. Now for an added bonus… A brief tidbit to follow below….               

  

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………....

THE CLOTHESPIN…

An added short subject tossed in just for kicks, totally unrelated to the story…

The Clothespin squeezes slowly shut, alternately opens between the bright red nail polish of the thumb and forefinger.  Wooden styled, it has a metal spring clip, one not quite like any other ordinary run of the mill laundry clothespin from just out of the bag.  The tension of the spring seems substantially firmer then most as its manipulated, maybe because it was replaced for added strength, a firmer grip, because of what it’s about to be used for.  Also, on closer look, the tongs’ flat tips are modified with specially grooved serrated edges, certainly for the obvious reason.

Held up in front of her partially bare breast peeking up over the folded bra cup, her nipple standing out on the silver dollar sized smooth surface of her areola glistening on the firm, globular mound, just the edges of the partially open pin brushes across the dark nub, its instantaneous response visible on the quivering exposed flesh as the entire areola shrivels in its own anticipation.

Another set of manicured fingers slipping up from beneath the symmetrical mound, the thumbnail and fingernail forming a subtle ‘O’ tweak at the base of the nipple, gently tugging outward, manipulating the hardening but stretching nub while one side of the clothespin presses firmly across the areola leaving just the slightest indentation as it’s horizontally aligned.  Her head tilted forward above her diamond necklace to concentrate, lips parting, the tip of her tongue curling, lying across the bright red lipstick perfectly making up the lower, she watches the fullness of her breast settled in her upraised palm, the nipple pushing further forward over the low cut of the white lace French bra flattening beneath the melon sized mound as she senses the widening tips of the spreading pin reaching their pinnacle as they slip into position.

The rhythm of her heartbeat noticeable even in her cupped breast, a nibble on her lower lip, her matching diamond earrings swaying, her stomach rippling, her hollowed navel twitching, she follows the trail of the prongs pressing deeply across the nub, resting between her fingertips and the shimmering surface of her areola.  Finger, thumb carefully spreading apart, the wooden surfaces pressing in opposite directions across, sinking into the exposed titflesh, her lips form a silent oval as the targeted nub’s aligned with the pair of standard circular grooves deep on the clothespin’s prongs.

Another measured breath, the pin further released in careful, almost methodical increments as the series of serrated indentations meld into her sensitive, flattening flesh, her naked breast bobbles above the stitched hem of the flattened lace cup as her chest arches pensively outward.  The pin finally fully implanted, the nipple, areola responding, jiggling firmly outward, just the slightest sigh escapes her parting lips while her fingers hesitate, almost apprehensively slide off the makeshift clamp.  An overall tremor, not unlike a cold chill spreading across her entire body, her fingertips gliding down across the oblique curves of her health spa trim profile, her hands interlock behind her strapless back, fingers clenching together as her eyes remain transfixed on the throbbing nipple.

Allowing herself a brief, discrete moan, bowing her shoulders, the pin jiggling as the nub of her nipple continues to discolor as it swells, partially concealing the edges of the wooden clamp’s gripping teeth; she senses the simplistic, yet sadistically designed pressure forced across the pinched nub, the burning sensation of the series of serrated grooves spreading throughout her breast, aching across her chest.

A hint of a tear welling, not enough to mar the mascara around her dark brown eyes, she rotates her hips slightly to the side, glances toward her stunningly beautiful, expensively draped silhouette in the mirror, the unfathomable contrast of a fifty cent wooden clothespin jaunting out off her exposed, proud breast.  Reaching up, cupping her pinned melon, tediously aligning the brassiere the best she can while slipping her firm titflesh painfully back into place, the clothespin further tightens across her aching flesh as it disappears beneath the pressing lace cup.  Slipping the spaghetti straps of her evening gown back up across her shoulders, the plunging neckline again revealing the impressive curves of her pendulous breasts below the gleaming strands of diamonds, just a hint of the clothespin’s outline protrudes from beneath the scant, yet elegant black material as she thrusts her shoulders behind her to assume her proper posture.

A final check of her makeup, refreshing her lip-gloss, closing her purse, she steps from in front of the powder room’s mirror in her six inch stilettos, breasts bobbing, throbbing as she maintains her balance while unlocking the door that allowed her privacy, shutting it behind her.  The purse in hand, its contents include two other matching clothespins, possibly, actually certainly to be applied again by her own hands one at a time to his other two favorite places on her bare flesh during the course of the rest of the evening.   Until then she’ll be expected to obediently mingle with her husband/Master, to be shown off as his half his age trophy wife with the formal gathering of his group of close acquaintances and their spouses.

FINIS