Poor Claire: Week 01

"Cunt, bring me the port." Louis at last gave her a reason to get off the table.

She set the silver tray beside him and waited.

"Go upstairs. You know which bedroom. There is a bidet in the bathroom for you to use." He dismissed her. "My friends, Cunt will await your pleasure...if any of you feel so inclined. Port?"

As she left the dining room, she heard his announcement and knew that her ordeal was just beginning. She could here ribald laughter at his suggestion and the clink of glass as the port circumnavigated the table. Upstairs she entered the bedroom he had taken her to before. She lay on the white coverlet and awaited the inevitable.

She did not have long to wait. The first to enter the room was the youngest guest, Frank they had called him. He was, by the look of him, younger than her. He stripped completely without saying a word to her. His body was athletic, well muscled and tanned all over. His penis was so erect it pointed upwards more than outwards. It was as long as her master's but thicker. He was clearly proud of it too. He approached her, flipped her over onto her tummy, lifted her hips off the bed so she could get her knees under her and slammed into her sex. She stiffened in discomfort. He pounded her relentlessly, seemingly tireless: All the energy of youth and the same cruel indifference to her feelings that her master showed. It seemed to go on for hours, but having hosed her womb with the contents of his balls, he dressed and left only thirty minutes after coming upstairs.

She staggered to the en suite bathroom to use the bidet. Cool water soothed her burning labia and sluiced out the slimy, sticky semen Frank had been so bountiful with. She heard the bedroom door close and returned see who her next abuser would be.

Carlos was leering at her.

"Don't worry, Cunt. I haven't the energy - nor the endowment - to use you as Frank surely did." He lay on the bed, placed his hands behind his head, fingers interlaced. "Our host tells us you are quite adept at fellatio."

As he lay there, she clambered onto the bed and with shaking fingers unbuckled, unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, fishing out his semi hard penis.

"Don't admire it." He chided. "Suck it."

As she closed her mouth around his cock, she discovered it was less than clean. It tasted rancid, musty. She gagged but his hands on the back of her head kept her face pressed to his crotch.

"Oops!" he remarked in mock surprise. "I forgot to wash it after... Can you taste my secretary's cunt, Cunt?" he laughed at his own pun. "Better lick it clean."

Appalled, she nonetheless sucked hard on his cock, hoping the rancid taste would pass that much quicker. She was nauseous at the thought of it - another woman's secretions, stale in her mouth. She worked hard, using every trick she'd ever learned to make him come quickly, the sooner to be rid of this filthy man with his filthy penis. Unfortunately, his previous bout with his secretary meant she had a lot to do to coax an orgasm from him. It took her five minutes to get him really hard and another ten before he grunted, tensed his hips and squirted a thin stream on watery fluid onto her tongue. She swallowed it, retching as it went down her gullet but knowing it was expected of her.

Carlos pushed her away so roughly she rolled right off the bed. While she regained her feet, he fastened his trousers and fished in his pocket for a fifty pence piece that he placed on the bedside table. "The house tariff is fifty for a blowjob. Right, Cunt?" He laughed at his own joke as he left.

She fled to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. She rinsed her mouth three times and washed her face in cold water to try to assuage the redness of her eyes. She returned to the bedroom and waited.

And waited...

And waited...

Forty five minutes passed before she heard footsteps on the stairs once more.

Darryl was the same age, or thereabouts, as Carlos. He too settled for fellatio, insisting that she straddle his chest so he could see her sex while she worked on him. At least his penis was clean. He was circumcised. The first cut cock she'd sucked. All the while she sucked him, his fingers toyed with her sex, peeling her lips apart, pinching them between finger and thumb and stretching them out painfully. At one point he forced a finger through her anus, wiggling it around inside her rectum. This started her tears again. Not the pain, which was minimal, but the violation. Nobody had ever intruded there. It was disgusting, vile. She knew, even as she reacted, that her very disgust condemned her to much more of the same. Her master would not let this pass.

Darryl came loudly, filling her mouth with hot seed. She was too slow to swallow it all and a trickle escaped down her chin. Seeing it, Darryl caught the white blob on the tip of a finger and crammed it back into her mouth. The finger stank. She shrank back in revulsion. It was the same finger he had sodomised her with. He laughed at her reaction, washed his hands in the bathroom then returned to the party, surely to tell her master of his discovery.

Ernest was next, the oldest guest by far. He seemed too frail to do her more harm. Nevertheless, he took off his trousers and underpants to reveal a wood-like erection.

"Viagra." He said, slapping his hard-on appreciatively. He lay down beside her. "Get on top. My hips ain't what they used to be."

She straddled him, guiding his penis to her sex as she lowered herself onto him. He reached for her breasts, twisting her nipples violently until she shrieked out loud.

"Faster, Cunt!" He commanded her. "Or does it take a finger in your arse to make you buck?" So Darryl had told them all already. Her cheeks blazed but she posted more quickly on the old man's old man, forcing herself to a pace that was way beyond comfortable. She fucked herself every bit as hard as Frank had fucked her. She was beyond caring about the pain now.

Ernest soon came. As she climbed off him he insisted she lick him clean. She could taste herself on his cock and, for the third time that night, she had to taste another man's semen.

Blaise was about her age. He had a cold look about him. He had her undress him, standing calmly as she removed ever scrap of clothing from his body. As soon as he was as naked as she was - literally, since his pubic hair was shaved off - he swept her into an embrace and kissed her, open mouthed. Unthinking, she opened her own mouth too. He threw her onto the bed. "Hah! So even after four men, Cunt is insatiable." He flipped her by one ankle so that she was face down, then plonked down on the bed beside her and dragged her backwards over his lap. Immediately, his hand slapped down hard on her bottom. She squealed. Again and again and again, the slaps rained down on her exposed behind, sometimes on the fleshy part of her buttocks, other times on the sensitive tops of her thighs. Once, he smacked her squarely in the middle, right on her sex, precipitating not just a wail of agony but a fair bit of futile struggling - futile because he was so much stronger than her.

When his hand grew tired, Blaise fucked her doggy style. He was not the biggest she had had that night but, bruised as she was, he felt brutal as he thrust into her. Her seared bottom made her writhe every time he sank home but soon he spent inside her and, after that, showed no more interest in her at all. He dressed and left without a word.

When Anthony came to her, she was still curled foetal on the bed, sobbing and sniffling. He had with him a tray containing two carafes of water and a glass.

"Louis said you'd know what was expected, Cunt. I'll be back shortly." And he left her.

Stirring, she went to the bathroom to clean herself once more then started to drink the water. She managed a litre and a half but no more. She waited.

Eventually, Anthony returned to her, leading her to the bathroom where he made her stand in the tub. He spread her legs and reached between them to cup a hand around her tender sex.

"Piss." He ordered her. She relaxed her hold on the water and let it flow from her, over his hand and splash down into the tub. Her shame was nothing compared to the relief of being rid of the liquid. As the flow diminished, Anthony raised his cupped palm to his lips and sipped at her urine. When he returned his hand between her legs, two of his chubby fingers curled up into her sex, sinking deeply into her flesh. When she could pee no more, he withdrew his hand, shook off the drops of warm urine and again lifted his fingers to his mouth, tasting her secretions. After wiping his wet hand on a towel, he unzipped his pants and fished out his limp penis, looking at it forlornly as it lay on his palm.

"Impotence, Cunt. It's made a voyeur of me. Such a pity. My son, Frank, said I'd have enjoyed you. Kneel down."

She knelt, feeling her own warm pee sloshing around her knees. Anthony stepped closer to the bath, still holding his limp penis.

"Open you mouth." He waited for her to comply then pointed his penis right at her face and cut loose, a golden arc of urine traversing the few inches from his glans to her mouth. She reflexively turned away. "Drink it!" he demanded, sounding angry. She turned back, opening her mouth again, letting the hot, salty piss fill her mouth. "Swallow it, Cunt, or I'll force feed you shit 'til breakfast time!" His threat was unthinkable. She swallowed, sure that none of these men would make idle threats, especially this one. She swallowed again. As his piss trickled and stopped, she swallowed one last time.

He tucked his penis back inside his trousers, made himself presentable then reached over to the shower controls turning it on cold and leaving her to clean herself in the icy water.

When all his guests had left, Louis found her curled up on the bed, shivering. He sat beside her. "You may stay here tonight, Cunt. There are no more trains. Blaise was very disappointed that you struggled so much when punished. We shall work on that this weekend. Tomorrow, you will go shopping for a riding crop. You will tell the salesman what it is for and you will ask him for the one that will hurt the most. Bring it with you tomorrow night."

She did not respond. He drew the bedding over her and left her there, turning the light out as he closed her door.

She was awakened early, a hand shaking her shoulder. He was standing over her, naked and aroused. He pulled her around until her legs were over the side of the bed then pushed her ankles up past his shoulders and stuck his hard cock into her sex. She was dry and sore and his abrupt penetration made her flinch. He pumped her hard and fast, finding release in only a few minutes. Then he left her. A few minutes after that, she heard the front door open and close as he went out for the day. She was alone again. She got up, showered and went to the hall where she dressed for the outside world and left.

"I hate him. I knew I would grow to eventually, for his indifference, but his cruelty has made it easy to hate him in only a week.

To have his friends use me so... How could I not hate someone who would ask six men to rape me? It would have been rape, if I had had the will to say no.

And now he sends me to buy a crop. I don't think I could bear the pain. I've seen pictures of women beaten with crops - an ex boyfriend had some very sick pornographic magazines. Those women bled where the crop cut into their flesh. Surely it must scar them.

Perhaps he's just testing me. Testing my resolve? Of course not! He will beat me. I cannot expect mercy, do not expect it. I do not deserve it. He is my punishment for a sin he doesn't even know about.

So I shall buy a crop and I shall take it to him and I shall bear what he inflicts. In submission I may find redemption."

She returned to the house that night, a slim package in her hand. This she set on the sideboard then put away her clothes and waited. He came out of the kitchen, towelling his hands.

"Come into the dining room. Bring that." He pointed at the package then turned away from her. She followed, holding the parcel gingerly in two hands as if expecting it to hurt her merely by its presence. He took the parcel from her and unwrapped the crop, which was long and very thin. It whistled as he whipped it through the air experimentally. The noise made her cringe. He smiled approval at her choice. This would certainly punish her.

He set the crop on the end of the table and drew a heavy carver chair out into the open. "Bend over." He patted the back of the chair. She stepped up to the chair and tried to bend over it. It was a little too high until she stood on tiptoe. The curved wooden edge dug into her abdomen cruelly. She gripped the front edge of the padded seat. "No, Cunt. Grip the rail." He tapped the rail that braced the chair's front legs to indicate where her hands should be. She strained to reach it, her toes leaving the ground as her centre of gravity moved forward. She waited for the whistle of the crop. Instead, he talked to her.

"Anthony said you should be tied for this. Personally, I don't like restraint. It smacks of compulsion. I'm not interested in compulsion, only submission." The pressure of the chair back against her abdomen was increasingly painful. It felt like really bad period cramps and it was only getting worse. "You will not be required to count the strokes either. I prefer that you continue to obey the rule of silence. I do not want to hear anything but your screams and, believe me Cunt, you will scream." She trembled in terrified apprehension at his words. "You will be wondering," He walked around her, looking at her from all sides and flexing the crop in his hands. "how many strokes you must endure. As many as it pleases me to give you. Perhaps five, perhaps fif-" Without warning, the crop bit into he buttocks. "ty."

She screamed: A high, piercing shriek of absolute agony. Her entire nervous system felt on fire. As the blinding pain ebbed, the second stroke flared across the crease at the top of her thighs. She screamed again, knuckles white on the wood of the chair as she clung to it. Her eyes streamed as she writhed under the caress of the crop. Stroke followed stroke followed stroke. She lost count quickly, aware of nothing but the continuing agony and the need to hold on. As the leather tip of the crop curled between her buttocks, igniting her sex, the pain overwhelmed her finally. She slumped, unconscious, her hands limp on the brace.

He set aside the crop and viewed his handiwork. Her buttocks were a mass of red and purple striations, ridged and bejewelled with occasional beads of blood where the skin had broken. The lattice of wounds extended up over the curve of her ass as far as the two small dimples at the base of her back and down onto her thighs, halfway to her knees. Her labia bore signs of bruising too, particularly close to her clitoris. Her breathing settled and she groaned as she started to stir.

He unzipped his trousers to free his erection and stepped close behind her. She wailed as his cock plunged through her burning flesh. As usual, he attacked her loins with uncompromising vigour, intent only on his own gratification. She writhed and thrashed about as wave upon wave of pain washed through her, clawing at the air, howling and moaning until he ejaculated copiously, deep in the cauldron of her abdomen.

As she lay slumped over the chair, limp, pale and whimpering, he tucked his penis away and lifted her up in his arms. He took her to the usual bedroom and laid her face down on the cool cotton, leaving her alone in her misery.

He let her rest for a couple of hours before returning to her. Noticing she was awake, he went straight to the bathroom and drew a lukewarm tub for her.

Seeing her clearly unable to stand, he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bathroom, lowering her slowly into the tub. The water was only tepid but she let out an agonised gasp as it scalded her abused bottom. Still he lowered her into the tub.

He left her to soak: It did help ease the throbbing flesh. Eventually, she felt restored enough to get out of the cool water herself. She dried off very gently, barely daring to touch her backside even with a soft towel. He was waiting for her in the bedroom.

"You may go now, Cunt. Rest tomorrow. Be here at seven on Monday."

He returned to his study. When she retrieved her clothes from the sideboard she saw the hateful crop stored in the same cupboard.

"I thought I would die. I don't know how I bore the pain, but when he fucked me - when he fucked my tortured flesh, I felt something. Perhaps the pain is the nearest I will ever get to true release. He wasn't fucking Claire. Poor Claire was gone. He was fucking Cunt.

All I felt was Cunt's pain: inflicted by him.

All I knew was Cunt's purpose: being used by him.

All I could do was be Cunt: be his Cunt.

I hate him, but I am irrevocably his.