Eva's Education

'Where the hell are we going?' asked Tina, as we headed up into the hills, 'Dracula's fucking castle?'

Marta turned around in the front seat and smiled. 'Almost right,' she said, 'the baron is extremely rich, and his place is huge.'

Eventually, we arrived at a well-hidden, rambling mansion, amongst dense pines, high in the mountains, and rolled to a halt outside a pillared portico.

'Leave your capes with me,' instructed Marta, who seemed to be staying in the car.

I shivered slightly as the cool mountain air struck through my thin negligee, but we were soon led into a big entrance hall by a pretty uniformed maid, with long jet black hair and heels almost as high as mine. We were stood for only a moment before an urbane-looking man in his fifties, with greying longish hair, dressed in a smoking jacket, came down a wide staircase and greeted us.

'I am the Baron Karl von Kappenberg. I welcome you to my home, ladies. I trust that in giving pleasure to my guests and myself this weekend, your own appetites may also be satiated – in that way we shall all be so much the better served. Ah, here are my honoured guests!'

At that, two other men came down the stairs to join them, one in a spotless white Arab dish-dash, the other dressed in formal dinner jacket and black tie.

The Baron introduced them as Ali Ben Sayid and Jean-Paul Marchaud, and, introducing a note of strictness into his voice for the first time, told us we should address each of them as 'Sir.'

As he spoke, we were joined by a slim lady in her late forties, perhaps, very elegant, in a Chanel gown of grey satin, her auburn hair swept back in an intricate style.

'Aren't you going to offer the ladies a drink, Karl?' she said, 'it's the least you can do, when we're going to enjoy them so much – or at least, I should rather think so.' As she said this, she ran her hand idly across Petra's lovely round buttocks, and I felt a sudden pang of jealousy, which I quickly suppressed.

'Of course, my dear,' said the Baron, 'take them into the great room, and we'll all meet there before we go downstairs.'

'I'm Lena,' said the lady, not giving herself a title, and led us through double doors into a spacious, carpeted room, where we were furnished with drinks, and stood around – in my case more than a little apprehensive, wondering what on earth I had let myself in for.

After perhaps quarter of an hour, the men appeared, one-by-one. I was then surprised to hear female voices, as I had somehow thought only Lena would in the house, but when she entered, she was accompanied by four other women, two about her own age, and two considerably younger, and quite beautiful, of Eurasian appearance. All the women were in evening dress, an there was much jewellery in evidence.

'I trust you are refreshed, ladies?' enquired the Baron, and we nodded in assent. He rang a bell by means of pressing a button, and three almost identical uniformed maids appeared in just a few seconds. One of them bore a large tray, which she placed on a table. From it she took broad leather bands which she proceeded to apply to each of us, one for our neck, one for each wrist, and one for each ankle. They were buckled into place securely, and had a stout metal ring set into each one – their purpose plain. Next the same maid clipped chains about half a metre long between our ankle bands, then clipped a chain-leash into each of our collars. One maid took charge of each of us, and the one who had brought the tray said, 'Ready, sir!'

The Baron got up from the wing-chair he had been occupying, and led us through a different door, and down a long corridor. The combination of the shackling chain and the super-high heels made walking very difficult, and progress was slow. It was even more hazardous negotiating the long flight of stone steps we had to descend, then we turned a corner, through a heavy oak door, and out into a big stone chamber, lit by wall-lights. Chairs and couches lined one wall, and the guests sat, but we girls were not invited to do so.

'Welcome to my dungeon,' said the Baron, 'bit of a cliché, I suppose, a bit….er - hackneyed, you may think? Well, maybe, but it can still excite me, and my guests.'

I looked around – didn't know about cliché – the place was terrifying, with what looked like whipping posts, big St. Andrew's Crosses set against walls, sturdy ring-bolts, chains hanging from the ceiling, and an array of big, mainly wooden contrivances lined up down one side, amongst which I recognised a medieval-looking rack, a big vaulting-horse with an immense phallus projecting from its top, and a table with straps at either end and tiny spikes all over its surface. Close to the door by which we had entered, a rack held a wide variety of whips, canes, floggers, paddles and so forth. We just stood and gawped.

'Komm hier,' said the Baron, 'Lena!' He rattled off some intructions to her in guttural German, with a heavy Bavarian or Austrian accent I didn't understand, and she immediately took Tina's leash from her maid, then led her apart from the rest of us. We watched, fascinated as she drew Tina's head to her and kissed her deeply, drawing a harsh word, gain in German, from the Baron. She desisted, unclipped the leash, and slipped Tina's negligee off, so that our friend was now clad in solely her black silk slip, her small pointed breasts now heaving, with either fear or anticipation, making points in the soft silk. Lena manouevred her under a hanging chain, which she reached up and pulled easily down, and we saw that it had a spring-clip at its extremity. This, she slid through the rings on both Tina's wrist-bands. There was a low whine, and we looked around and saw that the Baron had a remote control in his hand. The chain slowly tensed and rose, taking Tina's slim arms up above her head, until she was at full stretch, her feet only in touch with the ground thanks to her high heels. The Baron raised her a further centimetre, until she cried out sharply, and her feet fought for contact with the stone floor.

'There,' he said, for our benefit, 'doesn't she look lovely?' Then he rapped out more instructions in German, this time to one of the maids, who fetched him the nozzle of a hose that snaked out from a spigot on the wall behind us.

'I think this will heighten our pleasure,' he said, then nodded to the maid, who turned on the tap. Instantly, a fierce jet of freezing cold water sprayed out from the nozzle, and he directed it straight at Tina, who gave out something between a gasp and a scream as it hit her with awful force, drenching her so that the thin silk stuck to her like a second skin. In seconds she was completely soaked, and he had the maid turn off the tap, then allowed Lena a moment to caress the shivering, shuddering Tina, who was now crying with pain and humiliation.

'Oh,' said the Baron, 'so you're crying, eh? Now you'll have to have something to cry about, then!'

With that, he gave another brief instruction to Lena, who took a riding crop from the rack and handed it to him. Without delay, he stepped up and lashed Tina hard across the back, the crop's vicious sting hardly impeded by the sopping wet silk of her slip. She cried out harrowingly as he proceeded to whip her mercilessly, concentrating on her back. After ten strokes, he stopped, and said to us, 'I've used her back, in case we want to cane her arse tomorrow.' Then, lapsing into German again, he turned away and spoke to Lena, who took his place by Tina's writhing form, while he let her own with his remote control. Gently, she divested her of her wet slip, and wrapped her in a big white towel, all the while covering her with kisses, and murmuring to her sweetly. Then she led her to a couch, and the Baron followed. Once there, Tina simple lay back on the couch, and opened her legs wide, looking up at the Baron, an expression of something like adoration on her face, the fingers of one hand spreading her cunt-lips so that he couldn't resist her fragrant, wet pinkness. Lena had his cock out and cradle it lovingly, then helped him guide it home, deep and true, right to the hilt, so that his balls slapped against Tina's arse. I found myself getting terribly excited watching all this, and wondered what was in store for me.

In no time at all, the Baron's shout of triumph announced that he had just cum, and Tina was led away by Lena, no doubt to put on something dry, and tend her sore back.

I was obviously going to have to wait, as it was Petra's turn, and one of the younger women led her towards the implements. I thought at first she was to be stretched on the 'rack,' but when the girl took off Petra's negligee, then stripped her also of her red silk slip, so that she was gorgeously naked, my lovely Petra, standing there in nothing but her teetering stilettos, her heavy round breasts majestic in the low light, her proud face a picture of haughty beauty, she was stood next to the table I had seen, with it spiked surface.

'Oh no!' I thought, but before I had time to even think further, the girl, for she was little mor than that, had pushed Petra down, so that her naked torso was hovering an inch above the tiny cruel spikes on the table-top, while her ankles were being secured to the straps at its base, her legs wide apart. Her face was turned towards us as the girl pushed her back down, none too gently, and she moaned in agony, her features contorted, as the cruel little spikes bit into the tender flesh of her breasts and belly. Her moans turned into a scream when the girl came round nd pulled her arms roughly down to fasten her wrist-bands onto the hooks provided, and tears streamed down her cheeks as the same girl now attended to her master, the berobed Arab, Ali Ben Sayid, lifting his dish-dash up to hi waist to reveal a huge, rigid erection. Now the girl returned to Petra, and, producing a tube of lubricant of some kind, smeared some around my beloved's anus, driving me half-mad with jealousy as he slipped two fingers into the velvet tube. Then she stood aside, and her master took her place, thrusting his rod hard into the tortured Petra's proferred arsehole. The action must have pushed her further along the table's awful surface, hurting terribly, and he screamed again, but her screams were now mixed with the ecstasy, I could physically feel for her, knowing the sheer pleasure of having my anus filled with a throbbing, pulsing cock. I was getting wet just watching, and hardly aware when I felt a pair of hands encircle my waist and move up to my small breats, fondling my hard nipples.

'This excites you so much, you little slut, doesn't it?' It was Jean-Paul.

'Yes, sir,' I heard myself saying.

'I'm going to whip you next. You'll like that, won't you?'

'Yes, sir:'

'I'm going to hurt you. Is that what you want?'

'Yes sir,' I told him.

'Then you must ask me to do it!'

Just then Ali gave a great groan as he spent his seed inside my friend's arse, and, judging from The loud moan that Petra gave out, she had also cum.

I looked at the handsome Frenchman and said, 'Please, sir, I want you to hurt me – whip me as hard as you like!'

We stood aside as Petra was released from the table, her breasts and belly now covered in red blemishes where the spikes had bitten into her flesh, but she held herself erect and proud as she scooped up her red negligee, and slipped it over her shoulders, then stood by the side to watch my fate. I noticed that Tina also had returned, now clad in a silk kimono.

Jean-Paul handed my leash to another woman we hadn't been introduced to, but whom I now learned was his wife, Monique, and she led me to one of the whipping posts. Only then did I realise that I was, in fact, going to be whipped, and in front of all these people. I started to tremble, as Monique unhooked my leash and stripped me of my white negligee and my slip. I was now stark naked but for my stilettos. Monique siezed my wrists and clipped them to the snap-link high above my head on the post, positioning me to face the post, which was angled slightly from the vertical.

'What do you think I should use on her?' asked Jean Paul, half to Monique, half to the rest of the pople watching. He had very little French accent.

'The bull-whip would be nice,' said Monique, whose accent was much stronger, 'you are good with it, darling.' She sounded as if she spoke from personal experience. I shuddered. It sounded a good deal worse than the riding crop I had seen Tina receive.

Chancing a look round, I saw that one of the maids had handed a long, cruel-looking whip to Jean Paul, who was testing its weight in his hand.

'Are you sure you want me to whip you, you little slut?' he now asked.

'Yes,' I said, 'do it!'

With that, he drew his arm back and the leather thong snaked through the air. I suddenly flt its terrible stinging sensation just above my waist, and saw its knotted tip seeming to rest for a moment right below my left breast.

'Oh, oh!' I moaned.

'Be quiet!' he said, 'you've felt nothing yet,' and another dreadful lash rained down on my lower back, raising a red stripe the whole width of my white back. I felt I might faint with the pain, but there was no time to consider and another blow, this time higher up, caused me to writhe and jerk against my bonds. I saw Monique out of my eye corner, and her expression was of excitement, some of which communicated to me as Jean-Paul's next ferocious, switch struck my upper back, the lash trailing around so the the tip was at the side of my breast, almost reaching my nipple. I failed to suppress a groan that contained an element of ecstasy. What was happening to me?

'Can you take some more?' he demanded.

'Yes, oh yes!' I heard myself reply, and his whip snaked across the space between us again and fell at the top of my buttocks. It was then that I came, an orgasm as unexpected as it was shattering, and I think I blacked out for a split-second.

'The little slut came, while you were whipping her,' said Monique, 'give her three more!'

It was thus that I got three more awful strokes before Monique took me down, then she led me, still naked, to the same couch that Tina had used with the Baron. There Jean-Paul made love to me as gently as any young suitor, me on top, straddling him, while his wife rubbed balm into the red welts he had raised on my back.

We were surprised to be given separate rooms, and very nice ones, too, at the mansion. The maid who took me there told me I could sleep as long as I wanted, and that she would bring me breakfast as well as the clothes I was to wear next day, when I rang for her. I spent a while admiring the ladder-pattern of welts on my back caused by my first-ever whipping. I still couldn't believe that I had had a spontaneous orgasm just through being whipped.

I slept like a baby, despite my sore back, and winced when I turned over in the morning, too late remembering my whipping. I was hungry, and rang for my breakfast, which appeared with the smiling maid in no time at all, hot coffee, rolls and fresh croissants. As I finished them, she was back with my clothing, and told me she was to help me prepare myself. I was starting to enjoy being pampered, and especially liked the sensation of allowing her to soap me in the shower, her agile fingers lingering in my crack, as she seemed impervious to getting soaked, fully clothed in her black mini-dress and frilly apron. God, I thought, I'm getting horny once again! I soon discovered that she wore no panties under her uniform, and wondered if she doubled as a slave when the masters had no-one else available. But Maria – for that was her name – drew back, a sense of duty taking over, and helped me out of the shower, dried me off, and perfumed me, taking great care with my red stripes, which, to be fair, were no more than superficial.

She had laid my clothing out on the bed, and now helped me dress. The first item was a black corset, which, rather than having the trditional lacing in back, was fastened by means of three broad leather straps, which had big silver buckles. These Maria pulled as tight as her strength allowed, especially the one at my waist, so that I was dreadfully restrained by the cruel garment, which arched up at the back, leaving my buttocks quite free. From it's hem descended long garter straps, to which she helped me cinch seamed black stockings. The top of the corset cradled my breasts, but left them free, making them seem larger than they really were.

'You are to wear these,' said Maria, and produced a pair of butterfly nipple-clamps, which, without further word, she went about fitting, by means of first tweaking my nipples, already hard from the shower, between her thumb and forefinger, then bending briefly, as if she couldn't resist the temptation, and biting each one gently, her eyes on mine, drawing a little 'oh' from me. Then she quickly fitted the clamps, screwing them down tight, so that I gave a sharp gasp, and another when she tugged at their connecting chain. A completely transparent black nylon bolero top was slipped over my head, and then, to complete my outfit, Maria helped me wriggle into the tightest latex knee-length skirt I could possibly have worn. Black patent stilettos completed my outfit, and when I asked her about my hair, she told me it was up to me. I asked her to brush it for me, and enjoyed the sensation of having her do just that, brushing it out to a rich golden sheen. With my anklets, wrist-bands and collar still in place, the image I saw when I looked in the mirror was that of the perfect pain-slut. The effect of the nipple-clamps, the restriction of skirt and corset, the memory of my whipping, and my recent incomplete little episode in the shower with Maria, plus, no doubt, the sight of the other girls being cruelly used the night before, were all combining to do something to me that I couldn't begin to – didn't want to – analyse.

I was called on my room telephone shortly after Maria had left me alone, and asked to go downstairs and meet the rest in the great room – it was an order, really. Walking in the tight skirt and heels was far from easy, but I knew I looked sexy when I appeared in the big room, and the other girls were already there, dressed identically.

'Now,' said the informally dressed Baron, smiling, 'we are going to have a little entertainment. The three slaves will draw lots!'

At that, one of the other maids – not Maria – approached us with a little black bag.

'Take out a ball each,' said the Baron. We did as he said.

'Now,' he said, 'who has the yellow one?'

It was mine – the others had red ones.

'Ah,' he said, 'our little whipped blonde. Good!'

I wondered what on earth was in store for me. I didn't have long to wait.

The Baron whispered something to Maria, who scuttled off, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. A minute later, she was back, followed by Lena, wearing a short white, fur-trimmed silk nightdress and fluffy, high-heeled mules. She walked in, her head held proudly, as if she were still wearing her Chanel gown of the night before, instead of being practically naked before us.

I had still not cottoned on, and thought perhaps she was going to punish me in some way, as I had 'won' the lottery, but then the Baron made a show of handing me a thin birch rod, with a leather grip.

'You will now cane Lena's sweet arse!' said the Baron.

I was shocked. 'I…I can't – I can't do that… sir!'

'You fucking can, and you will, slave!' he rapped, 'remember your place!'

As Lena exposed her well-preserved, firm buttocks, by leaning over the back of a sofa, and one of the younger women took hold of her wrists, I knew I had no option, but it was one thing being whipped, and quite another doing the punishing.