The Whipped Heiress Ch. 05

She then produced a tube of lubricant from somewhere, spread my buttocks far apart and began to smear a dollop of cold, greasy lube all over my pink, hairless asshole. And as she pushed her strong fingers into me and speared my anus, she said, "Those sounds you make when you feel helpless and vulnerable, those really enhance your seductiveness. They make me want you more."

I obligingly gasped and panted as she made me bend over at the waist and then she pushed two fingers into my ass as far as they would go. She speared my asshole deep, and I wouldn't have been able to stifle my gasps if I tried.

"It's fun watching you squirm and gasp as I probe your cute, little ass, but it'll be more fun to throw you over my lap and get my handprints all over your firm bottom, get it nice and red."

Ms. Fuller withdrew her fingers from my ass and tore off her latex glove before sitting down and throwing my naked body across her lap. I threw my hands out in front of me to keep my face from crashing into the floor and I ended up with my head hanging down awkwardly and my legs dangling.

Then Grace slapped my left buttock hard, and I yelped in response. "Legs apart," she barked.

I spread my ankles apart about six inches and then she smacked my ass again. "Further than that," she ordered. "When I have a naked girl over my lap, I should have a clear view of her pussy and her anus."

I spread my ankles pornographically far apart and then I felt her fingertips gently brush across the insides of my thighs. "That's better," she said. "A slave should always give her betters easy access to this whole area." Then she gently slid her finger up my swollen pubic lips and across my exposed anus. I shivered as her touch made pre-orgasmic tingles start to spread though my body.

Then suddenly there was a loud CRACK and a painful stinging sensation as Grace Fuller smacked my naked ass with great force. I couldn't help but whimper in pain and I think my legs trembled. Apparently, the landscape designer was skilled at inflicting pain on naked girl's bottoms.

Her hand came down on my naked buttocks repeatedly and again. The slaps on my poor bottom got harder and harder. Soon my eyes welled up with tears and I was whimpering and gasping with every blow. I squirmed and kicked helplessly and hot wet tears lid down my face.

And when my ass was very, very sore and I was sobbing uncontrollably, Grace finally stopped.

"I love watching your girlish bottom wriggle across my lap," Grace said endearingly as I laid across her lap, limp, physically and emotionally drained, "It's like you're doing an impassioned, sexy dance for my entertainment. "

Eventually, Grace helped me up off her lap and ordered me to stand. She wiped the tears from my face and helped me to blow my nose. And just when I thought she was ready to inflict more pain on my helpless, naked body, she surprised me by covering my mouth with hers and kissing me passionately.

Her kiss had heat and affection and I moaned into her mouth as her tongue wrapped around mine and stimulated my libido. I completely forgot that I was an heiress, and she was a laborer. I drifted into a space where I was just a naked slave and Grace was a harsh authority figure who gave me the harsh discipline and libidinous affection that I so desperately needed.

When we finally broke from the kiss, Grace ordered me to lie face down on her bed. My ass was red and stinging and she said she intended to rub something into my skin that would help. She pulled a plastic squeeze bottle out of her purse and showed it to me.

"This is therapy lotion," Grace explained. "It's got vitamin-E and aloe. It's used mainly to treat sunburn, but it should help ease the pain and speed up the healing process for your shapely ass."

Grace poured a generous amount of lotion into her hands and began to gently rub it into the reddened skin on my abused buttocks. My skin was red and sensitive from the harsh spanking I'd just received, and I gasped when Grace gently rubbed the lotion in.

She placed her oily hands on my sore bottom. She massaged the stinging, red handprints and I flinched and trembled at her touch.

"Oooh!" I gasped. Even with her deliberate attempts to be gentle, my flesh was still too sore to be touched without sharp, stinging pain.

"It's for your own good," Grace said defensively. "You get spanked every day. You need something to help your skin recover from all that abuse."

Grace continued to massage the lotion into my sore skin, one buttock at a time. Even though my ass was tender, before too long Grace's hands rubbing the lotion in felt good. I let out an audible sigh as she smoothed lotion into my poor, abused bottom, easing the stinging pain.

"So, when you return to the United States will you still be willing to go over my knee for a spanking?" Grace asked as she rubbed her remarkable lotion into my wounded hindquarters.

"Oooooh, yes," I replied, savoring the sensation of her fingertips gliding across the curves of my buttocks, making me feel deliciously content.

"Are you sure?" she inquired as she worked the lotion into my flesh. "You won't change your mind when they give you back your clothes, your freedom and access to the Mädchen family fortune?"

I was drifting along in a sea of eroticism. Grace Fuller was a beautiful woman who was adept at punishing me as well as soothing away the sting of those punishments. She was the perfect combination of cruel and tender. I adored the way she treated me, and I didn't want it to stop.

"There's a sort of dark deliciousness to being punished by you," I confessed to Grace. "I don't want to give that up. I swear that when we return to the United States, I will drop my panties for you and let you spank me until the pain becomes unbearable."

"Oh my," Grace exclaimed. "You're so passionate. It's almost like you've fallen in love with me."

I paused a long time before answering. Had I fallen in love with Grace? During my time as a slave, I'd gotten swept up in a tidal wave of powerful emotions but were my feelings for Grace love?

I struggled with my feelings for Grace. Did I genuinely love her or was I just being swept up into a potent sexual fantasy?

My ability to ponder these questions was soon disrupted as later that day I was scrubbing the kitchen floor under the supervision of one of the maids when Mrs. Bowden and Ms. Nomikou entered the room. Accompanying them were a Sklavian man and woman dressed in suits.

Mrs. Bowden stepped directly in front of me. I looked up at her and she said, "This man and woman are from a government agency that regulates slave ownership in this country. You'll have to go with them for now."

The government agents were well groomed and polite but utterly lacking in warmth. I asked them where we were going and if I was somehow in trouble. They refused to answer my questions and the female agent admonished me, telling me that if I continued to pester them with inquiries that I'd be gagged.

She grabbed me by the arm and held onto it rather tightly as they walked me outside and led me to car parked just outside the main entrance of Ms. Nomikou's home. A third government agent was waiting in the car, sitting in the driver's seat. I was made to sit in the back with the female agent while the two males sat up front.

The female agent seemed to be the only one who spoke English. She was the only one who spoke directly to me, although the one sitting in the driver's seat seemed to be in charge.

The car stopped in front of an old, large, official looking building and the woman pulled me out of the car. The interior of the building seemed remarkably ordinary at first. Upon entering I saw a marble-tiled floor and a receptionist desk. The woman dragged me down a corridor and told me she was taking me to the processing room.

"There, you'll be examined and evaluated," she informed me.

She pulled me forward, into a cavernous room with polished, hardwood floors. At first, the only thing I could see were the naked bodies and faces of my fellow slaves. All around me I saw a sea of young, athletic bodies with high, firm buttocks that had been reddened with belt marks or stinging handprints.

Most of the slaves had looks of terror or helplessness on their beautiful faces. I'm certain my own face looked terrified. No one had bothered to tell me why I'd been forced to come to this place or what was to befall me here. My heart pounded urgently in my chest, and I felt a certainty that their reasons for bringing me here would involve cruelty, humiliation, or some sort of painful punishment that I hadn't earned.

We had been crowded together and I was admiring the perfectly shaped buttocks of two of the female slaves near me when I heard a stern, authoritarian voice admonishing us not to touch each other or to stare at each other's naked bodies.

I felt a sudden sharp sting of leather across my unprotected bottom and a female security guard barked at me, telling me where to stand and forbidding me to use my hands to cover myself. Other security guards with leather straps moved through the room and organized the slaves into lines. making them stand at attention, posed exactly as I was

To my left was a redheaded slave. She was visibly shaken, her lower lip trembling and her eyes wide with anxiety. Her eyes slid over in my direction, and she apprehensively asked, "What are they going to do to us?"

Her anxiety was palpable, and I found myself wanting to take her in my arms and comfort her.

"I don't know," I whispered back, scared that one of the handlers would hear us, "but we're already slaves. Whatever it is, how much worse could it be than what we've already been through?"

The feelings of vulnerability and fear seemed to be shared by every slave there. It was one thing to endure naked captivity when you knew and adored your captor, but we had been snatched away from our masters and mistresses and brought to this place to suffer an unknown fate at the hands of strangers.

In the back of the room were tables of government employees who were inspecting the slaves. We were moved forward and as each of us got to the front of the line, we were roughly examined. The female slaves had their breasts cupped and kneaded. Their nipples were pinched, and their vaginas were deeply probed with unnecessary severity, causing them to squirm and whimper. Male slaves were bent over, and their anuses were probed with a similar crude and merciless severity.

Some of the slaves were struck with a riding crop or leather strap just to test their reactions. I was never clear if they were measuring our pain tolerance or seeking out a specific emotional response, however, they took written notes as each slave was abused with stinging blows on their naked skin.

The line moved slowly, however, I wished for it to stop moving completely. The employees inspecting us filled my heart with dread. They seemed cold, without an ounce of human compassion and I was getting close to panic, imagining what they might do to me if I failed their inspection.

When I reached the front of the line, the government employee who examined me was at least twice my age and looked like a stern schoolmarm with a severe, disapproving expression on her face. She was dressed in somber-colored tweed and had her hair pulled back into a bun. She looked me up and down and snapped, "I need to examine your breasts, girl. Place your hands behind your head, pull your elbows back, thrust your breasts forward and raise your chin up as far as it will go."

She said this with a harsh tone of disapproval, as if I should have already assumed that pose without being told. I shamelessly arched my back, threw my head back and thrust my boobs out. The middle-aged woman then proceeded to grope my breasts and pinch my nipples. She was rough in the way that she handled my young breasts and then she ordered me to spread my legs.

I gasped as she stroked my swollen pubic lips and then pulled them apart. She said something in Sklavian and then one of her associates brought over a flesh-colored dildo with a thick, veiny shaft. I whimpered and my legs trembled as the examiner pushed the head of the dildo against my pussy and then thrust it upwards, shoving it uncomfortably deep into my moist interior.

"Aaaahhhh!" I gasped. I could feel the veins and ridges inside of me as I was impaled on the thick phallus.

"Keep your chin raised up," the woman admonished me. "You shouldn't be watching me! Keep your eyes focused on the ceiling!"

My thighs trembled as she raped me vigorously with her thick shaft, pumping it in and out of me with all the delicacy of an oil drilling rig. I grunted and moaned as she brutally drove the dildo achingly deep inside of me.

Despite the roughness of the way she probed and pounded my wet sex, I found my loins throbbing as I panted, and a powerful orgasm built inside of me. It was agonizingly difficult to maintain my awkward position as the stern woman remorselessly forced her shaft into me repeatedly.

"Arms behind the back of your head!" another woman barked at me and then suddenly there was a sharp stinging sensation as something slashed across my buttocks.

"Aaaaahhhhh!" I yelped in pain and attempted to resume the position. My pussy lips were stretched and aching as I was publicly raped and my whole body pulsed with feverish need as I neared orgasm. Maintaining my balance with my legs spread excessively wide, my head thrown back, my loins spasming, and my back in an extreme arch was difficult, but if I broke position even a moment something leather and stinging was slashed across my poor bottom.

It was utterly humiliating to be naked and gazed upon by hundreds of strangers as I was raped by a matronly, unattractive, bitter old woman, but much to my shame and embarrassment, the fact that this woman was cruel and unattractive had roused my masochistic sense of lust with a ferocious intensity. It seemed irrational to me. This woman wasn't sexy. She looked like a bitter, old schoolmarm, and yet I adored her dominance over me.

I was deeply aroused as this unpleasant woman crudely thrust into me again and again while her associate smacked my poor, defenseless bottom. At one point I broke position and glanced over my shoulder for a moment or two and saw the woman who was whipping my bottom.

It was an instinctual thing. My body was under attack and on some instinctual level, my brain demanded to know the identity of the threat. I got a quick glance of a woman with high cheekbone and a pageboy haircut, holding a riding crop. She had an imperious look on her face, and she immediately swept the crop down across my right buttock when she saw that I had broken position.

"You're not supposed to direct your eyes at me!" she snapped at me in heavily accented English. "Turn away! Direct your eyes up there!"

Swish! Swish! Swish! Her crop whistled through the air and snapped across my taut buttocks repeatedly, making me cry out as I attempted to once again resume my demanding pose. I was panting and gasping, with my chest heaving. With hundreds of people watching, my legs remained spread pornographically wide while the cruel bitch continued with her deep, steady thrusts into my pussy.

I whimpered and cried out piteously as I collapsed into orgasm. My hips bucked violently and the woman with the pageboy haircut swung her crop and snapped it across my breasts and belly and demanded that I get up.

The thing was, my orgasm was so intense, I no longer had control over my major motor functions. My nervous system had been flooded with an overload of sexual stimulation and until the waves of orgasmic ecstasy passed it was going to be impossible for me to stand up.