The pillory | maid, pain, whip bdsm stories

The Abbot of Aubyn was a connoisseur. He believed in a divine dispensation of the perquisites of his office and enjoyed them all. He sat now savouring a quality mead that had found its way to the Abbey in lieu of tithe. As he sipped, he admired the view.

The view which shared his approval was specific but not wide. It consisted of the reverse facade of a pil ory from which protruded, minus head and hands, the remarkably beautiful figure of a naked girl which, since the pil ory was low, presented as its salient feature a neat curved bottom.

Since the girl was compeled to bend, she must also spread her legs. From between her separated thighs a perky frond of black hair peeped mischievously back.

It was a situation the Abbot approved. It had about it a quality of the delicious. He had ensured the girl be placed thus without knowledge of him. She had been locked within the stocks and left alone. He had come with his cup and his jug and sat himself upon his stool as soundlessly as possible, but he had observed the tensioning of muscles spel ing the girl's awareness of a presence and chuckled inwardly. The sweet creature would be wondering. He would let her wonder. It was part of his pleasure.

The Abbot surveyed the curves and planes of taut stomach and narrow waist, the fleshly enticement of nubile thighs and straining breasts and found them good. His enjoyment was enhanced by the small movements the nude girl was forced to make in seeking easement: a raised foot stretching and seeking, the sway of hips revolting against the immobility enforced by the snug clasp of the heavy timber on wrists and neck. The cameo of loveliness could only be improved by scarlet lines etched upon the virgin maiden skin with a limber sliver of ash or wil ow. He sighed in pure happiness at an ecstasy stil to come.

The good Abbot Gabelot allowed his beneficence to drift in the direction of the neighbouring Convent of Saint Agnes. A mutually advantageous reciprocity dictated his sharing of this quivering morsel with his feminine counterpart, the Abbess Cissota. The stil youngish Mother Superior of the adjoining community of nuns was as appreciative of the finer perceptions as himself. Her skil s in softening feminine obduracy evoked both his envy and admiration. He nodded thoughtful y. Most certainly he would enlist her aid. But not yet! Today this luscious gift of providence should be his alone.

Gabelot sipped his mead and savoured the prisoned girl's unease. Undoubtedly she was bothered by an intuition that she was not as alone as she had originally supposed. It must be disturbing to have one's person divided by the stocks and know her divorced femaleness denied to her own view was flaunted and vulnerable to eyes unseen. Her mind would be busy with visions, painful and erotic, of hostile intent hovering where she could not turn to look.

“I think someone is there. Please speak to me.”

The girlish plea was heartbreakingly pathetic. It should have melted any heart. The Abbot accepted it as a gratifying reinforcement of a growing erection. He kept a prudent silence.

There might be more!

“It's terrible to have to stand like this. Please come where I can see you.”

Gabelot took a hearty gulp of mead, used with judgement it could maintain both sobriety and concupiscence in proper balance.

“I'm frightened. That's what you want, isn’t it! Please don’t be so cruel to me.”

The child was exquisite. The Abbot saw the sweetness of her appeal as proof of Norman blood and good family. Daughters of the nobility had always yielded him pleasure beyond the norm.

“I know I'm going to be punished ... “ There was a hint of tears. “But to stand like this! Please speak ... What must I suffer?”

The silence framed the young and fearful nudity to perfection. It was a perfect backdrop for the maiden's pitiful appeals to a being who might or might not exist. Lewd eyes watched the play of prisoned elbows and twist of shoulders against captivity.

“If I have offended, I ask forgiveness ... “

It was too much. The Abbot knew himself human and demandingly tumescent. To sit and ogle and to listen was more than he could bear. Action was required to prolong such joy. His eye roved and noted with satisfaction the short whip hanging where its victim could not see. He knew he could in no wise forebear the cruel but harmless pleasantry in which he was about to indulge. Setting aside his cup, he possessed himself of the beautiful y fashioned instrument of punishment he most favoured. It was a short handled flagellum whose single thong of solid hide was supple beyond belief, its length sufficient only to span and lap a maiden buttock or maiden back.

Gabelot was certain she had not guessed. No manifestation had changed, no protest broke the silence. The sweet damsel was about to receive the shock of her life. Smiling beatifical y, the Abbot of Aubyn positioned himself with care and swept back his loaded arm.

To Aveline the frightful blow slicing across the ripest curve of her bottom was so sudden and so awful in the flashing intensity of its pain that for a moment she was stunned. Then she screamed a scream in which shock and outrage, fear and agony were nicely blended to the Abbot's satisfaction; he could not have asked for more. The bending knees and jerking hips were nectar and ambrosia to his grateful being.

It was Aveline D'Almaine's first time. A beginning, an awfulness, a fearful vista of knowledge hitherto unknown. She had never in her life been whipped, or previously believed it possible.

Her flesh was virgin and unmarked. The Abbot's shrewd cut had delivered her into the depths of a hellish pain she was certain she could never survive. Its unexpected shock had driven her against the wooden monster in which she was firmly locked and left her struggling helplessly against its grasp. Retreating from the peak of her peal of anguish she sobbingly panted:

“Oh, no! Ohhhh ... no! Not again ... no more.”

The Abbot with a perfect nicety of timing lashed the quivering bottom a second time, cutting it an inch below the first. He conceded that he had never beheld female flesh spring more responsively into scalding life.

Aveline choked back her second scream into shaming sounds she could not name. In a tortured need of expression she fought the pil ory with all her youthful strength and desperation. It absorbed her thrusts and tugs as though it was solid rock. When she lifted stricken eyes she beheld a round and shining countenance above the belted habit of a monk. It was surveying her distress with unqualified approval.

“You are a very beautiful young woman,” said the Abbot Gabelot.

Aveline was not naive enough to believe al who wore a habit were pil ars of virtue. She was aware that custom had bestowed upon both monk and nun certain authorities most painful to those on whom they were imposed. Her situation, therefore, was not without precedent.

Recalcitrant daughters of both the nobility and the poor were often sent to the holy father or 2

the holy mother for guidance and correction; such instruction was expected to be painful.

Whilst it was easy to deduce that the disappointed Baron had placed her within the confines of a religious order whose inclinations to mercy might be dubious, Aveline thought she should at least try. Fear and agony spurred her plea.

“Reverend Father - oh, thank heaven! Please release me.”

She was all he could have asked. Her voice and the manner of her speech! The Abbot was enthral ed. Here was a prize indeed! She would be wasted on M'Lord Malenfant. Gabelot raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Release thee!” It was as though she had uttered an obscenity. “Beloved child ... why?” His cynical query told all. But hope dies hard.

“I am frightened, Reverend Father. And I am naked and should be covered in thy presence.

And ... and I have been dealt most frightful pain.”

“Thou art in good hands, daughter. Ye have naught to fear.”

“But someone ... “ Aveline met his gaze beseechingly. “Someone has just whipped me most grievously.”

“T'was I, my daughter, for the good of thy soul.”

“But, Reverend Father, the pain ... it was great.”

“The scourge cleanses al , dear child.”

She longed to kick him, to erase his sanctimonious smirk with clawing hands. But she was helpless and she was naked. To anger him would be fol y, but how could she placate him when there was nothing to placate!

“Have I sinned, Father - to be so punished?”

“We are al sinners, Aveline.”

He was quicksilver, sliding through the fingers of truth. At the moment, the pil oried girl had one consuming need: to learn the extent of the pain she must endure and to seek to modify it.

She turned to him a most piteous appeal.

“Have I been punished, Father, is it ended?”

The worthy Abbot professed a pained surprise. “But, my dear child, we have but started on thy penance.”

“I know not of what I must feel penitence for. Oh, please!”

How delightful her distress! Gabelot glowed with the joy of possession. His mind was busy with expedients by which Holy Church might divert this treasure to itself. Flickering through his mind were alluring visions of a weekly whipping in the Nunnery of Saint Agnes. Between the attentions of himself and the Abbess Cissota the soul of this delectable girl would be most surely shriven:

“Perhaps there be thy sin, child; that ye do not know.”

“Please do not whip me more.”

“Consider not my labour, child. ‘Tis a duty I perform, and gladly.”

“But, Reverend Father, the pain is too great to bear. It is such as I have never known. Are there ... are there no other ways?”

The Abbot was overjoyed. Guilt added so much to a maiden's confusion. He pounced. “Ye think to appease me with thy flesh, girl?” His simulated shock bore the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning. “ ‘Tis a carnal sin to even think of such.”

Aveline moaned, knowing him false. “Noooo! Oh, no! I did not mean – “

Desolation gripped the naked girl as the Abbot sadly shook his head at female frailty. When he passed from sight to where the pil ory extruded her person for his convenience she knew herself lost.

Gabelot was a gourmet not only of food and wine but of maiden anguish. For him there could be no brutal lashing of bare buttocks; his cruelties were exquisite and prolonged. He was prepared to devote all his subtleties to this mouth watering maiden within his pil ory. Thus having passed from her vision, he quietly sat upon his stool, poured another cup of mead, and tumescently enjoyed the beauty of Aveline's bottom. The dear girl could wait helplessly for the stroke that did not come ... yet!

The Abbot had never etched, nor seen, two more perfect ridges of inflamed female flesh than he now beheld. Whilst engaged at the front his masterpiece had ripened at the rear. The stripes his whip had painted were now in their ful glory of purple and crimson. No doubt it was his fervid imagining which caused them to seem to pulse and throb with past pain and the expectation of more to come. He took a heartening gulp and debated whether number three should cut her above or below its fellows, or whether he should demoralize the maid further by a lusty stripe across the width of her bowed shoulders. He sighed happily at such a plethora of riches.

Aveline with neck and wrists clamped firmly in the stocks knew only a stomach curling fear, a shrinking dread of the next blow of the whip. She knew she was in the power of a force which, since it had all it desired, could be neither bribed nor threatened. The Abbot would work his wil on her without pity, relishing her screams. In each passing moment the pil ory offered her nakedness to him as a maiden sacrifice. So great was her suspense as the minutes passed that she found herself on the verge of pleading that he whip her and have done.

It was then it happened.

It is to be supposed that if an Abbot is a holy man, his hand is holy too: If it raises itself between warm, moist thighs to cup and fondle a damp and engorged female labia, who is to say its intent is other than to comfort and to bless! Aveline's gasp of horror and disbelief was tempered by a naive ignorance of erotic stimulation. The five who had raped her had wasted no time in such niceties of feminine arousal, piercing her with the lusty thrusts that were all they knew of love. Perhaps a father of the Church was allowed such liberties, and perhaps she should feel grateful for them! She stood very still, trembling.

“Thou art in abundant flood, dear child.” Father Gabelot sounded pleased.

The captive knew not what to say so kept a prudent silence, allowing her feet to be kicked further apart to promote the pious probe of her pudicity. When new and strange sensations pervaded her loins she supposed the kindled flame to be no more than was to be expected from such a hallowed source. By the time both the Abbot's hands rose to sanctify her breasts Aveline was panting in the grip of emotions both terrifying and transcendent. As her nipples became hard and enlarged under the ministrations of ecclesiastic fingers, her faith in monkish beneficence revived. When the ardent frictioning 4

ceased and the holy hands withdrew, she continued on in a panting sublimation of awareness of her body. The vicious scald of the whip in the crease of thigh and seat was one more disillusioning shock. It extracted from her an anguished peal of pure pain.

With the solid immobility of the Church itself the Pillory absorbed her surging heaving struggles to escape.

Aveline D'Almaine was in capable hands. Gabelot correctly gauged her gasps, her heaving breasts, her weaving, helpless hips. At precisely the right moment his hand once more intruded within the sweating thighs and brought their owner to an orgasm of such intensity as to provoke him to separate her cheeks and find his own release within his victim's unwilling flesh. Because of his excitation the union was brief. When it was consummated he thoughtfully retrieved his whip and carefully slashed a new stripe high upon the now well-punished bottom.

To the pilloried girl it was all nightmare without beginning or end or purpose. She understood neither herself nor the man who whipped her. The incredible montage of pain, pleasure and fear rendered her unsure of anything, even of herself. She felt a great need to plead, but knew not the words to use on this supposedly holy man. She had a fear that death awaited her at the terminus of endless pain. The pain of the Abbot's whip was of an intensity which no past experience had inured her to cope with or accept. The sensory pleasure invoked by the manipulation of her sex had transported her to wonder and to hope soon excised by the lash. Now she stood in cringing apprehension to await the next infliction of her traducer on her expectant flesh. “Please, Father, I beg of you, whip me no more.”

The Abbot sat, gently sipping and watching the last mark placed on the girlish flesh become proud with its suffusion of blood and assume its royal glory of coloration. He was well pleased. The captive was responding magnificently and vocalizing in a manner deeply satisfying. The Abbot had always found maiden speech and feminine pleadings an enhancing adjunct to maiden agony. One complemented the other for an effect excruciatingly exquisite.

“Patience, Aveline my dear, thou art in good hands,” he intoned whilst his eyes devoured the glistening sweat of her pain and fear.

“Please, Reverend Father, may I be freed - even for a few moments? I am in much distress.”

How sweet the girlish hope of clemency! The Abbot noted the constantly changing stance of the bare feet seeking, by changing weight, to counter the pillory's relentless grip. The little dear would be cramped from her enforced stoop, and would want to rub her bottom.

What relish to deny, to fail to answer, to keep her on the qui vivre.

“I will be obedient to thy will.”

She sounded anxious. The Abbot sighed and sipped. It was undoubtedly time to place another mark upon the tender skin. Soundlessly, he picked his target with care and struck Aveline so that the whip's thong spanned the breadth of her naked back below her exposed armpits.

Resuming his seat he leant a critical but pleased ear to her vocal dismay and watched the twisting torso expend its pain in futile revolt against the stocks. Each cry and motion of this nubile girl would be a jewel within his crown of memories.

Enjoying Aveline's unconscious artistry, the Abbot's mind reviewed the performance of other novitiates: some sent for his personal attention by trustful parents, others recruited to become nuns of Saint Agnes under the appreciative scourge of the Abbess Cissota. His visits to the adjacent convent were almost daily to attend the spiritual and fleshly needs of its worshipping sisters. His memories of doe eyes and anguished pleas were treasured gems: a long 5

procession of young female nudity hung by their wrists or clamped within the stocks, each with their own repertoire of cries and contortions beneath his whip. Yet each one pathetically grateful for his indoctrination into grace. Mead was good but girls were better.

The Reverend Mother Cissota was prudently generous in sharing with her male confrere a pleasant duty that was unfailingly cock raising for the Abbot and twat teasing for herself: It was the shaving of the novitiate's head. They also shaved her pubic hair as a tasty dessert after the feast of her flogging. The Bishop had never been consulted regarding this special indulgence; he might not have approved. The denuded damsels were unaware of extra curricular privilege, and between a tender bottom and back and bald pate were little disposed to argue. The Abbot's penetration of their hopeful y virgin vaginas was accepted by the youngsters in much the same spirit as a sprinkling of holy water.

Feeling it time to relieve any possibility of boredom for his Pil ory's tenant, the Abbot absented himself briefly and returned with a large and amiable col ie. He went to some trouble to parade the beast in ful view of Aveline's apprehensive gaze, pointing out its better features and emphasizing that since it wore a crucifix about its neck, it must assuredly possess some canine virtue denied to most. Patting it thoughtful y he directed it to sit while he himself retired to his stool, his cup, and out of sight of the captive girl. With care and consideration for dumb animals he then looped a noose upon each of Aveline's big toes and, using rings provided in the floor, exerted sufficient tension to ensure the wide separation of her feet. That her thighs were also well divided by his kindly act may or may not have been coincidental. Resuming his seat he waited patiently. He was a man of faith.

Aveline sensed trouble, yet was innocent enough to fail to understand the portent of the colie and the bite of the thin cord around her toes. She knew only that her posture was now more shaming than before and felt more than ever divorced from those portions of herself she could not see. The dog and she exchanged a curious regard, and if she saw within his canine eyes a wisdom beyond her own, its nature was beyond her ken.

The dog had the air of one well in command of a situation. No doubt the Abbot had employed him previously. He eyed the lovely head protruding from the stocks with a proprietary anticipation in the manner of canines surveying their bone in a quaint detachment before gnawing it. Aveline returned his regard without affection. When he negligently got to his feet and ambled back beyond her range of vision she suspected the worst. She wanted no living thing to see or to touch her nakedness which the Pil ory made available to al .

Having prepared his stage with its simple but effective props, the Abbot sat in quiet contemplation of Aveline's wealed bottom and the tantalizing tufts of pubic hair the divided thighs offered to view. When the col ie entered from the wings the holy man sighed in bliss.

The dog approached its consecrated task with a genteel diffidence, first sniffing the extended toes so that they tugged at the cord tying their largest member and caused their fair owner to gasp in a natural reflex to a fresh source of shame. Having completed its preliminary reconnaissance and smelt no justification to pee it moved forward to take up position for the piece de resistance. Its snout rose to scent the waiting cunt.

Gabelot felt the pride of perfection. Vicariously he shared the tremors of Aveline's shrinking flesh as her helpless nudity tensed within its wooden imprisonment. Her gasps were plainly audible as she tugged frantically against her captive toes in an unsuccessful effort to close her legs. The Abbot felt sure of her frustration at finding herself spread open by so trifling a tether.

His eyes glowed as he beheld the lifted foot pul and twist against the cord, only to fall back defeated by the pain of its effort. One foot and then the other, the little dear was realizing the ful import of what portended. When the cold, wet nose gave precedence to the strong, pink tongue it was to the watching man as though cymbals and trumpets had crescendoed in a fortissimo of triumph.

Aveline screamed.

To the pil oried girl it was one more entry into the impossible, the unthinkable, the outrageous.

As the eager canine tongue lapped her most female place and sought its easy entry therein she convulsed in a spasm of revulsion so great that for a moment every particle of her being and her strength was exerted against the pil ory and the cords. Both held her with an implacability that mocked her helplessness. Her scream was unconscious and instinctive, a maiden cry for the intercession of Holy Church. It was inconceivable to her that the Abbot would permit this animal violation of her sex. She pictured the cowled figure busy with its prayers and unaware of the thrust and rasp of the canine tongue. It seemed to the shamed maiden most proper and right that she should acquaint the worthy man of the dog's indiscretion.

“Father ... most Reverend Father ... the dog!”

The Abbot's voice was unctuous. “Yes, dear child?”

“The dog - oh, Father, please ... stop him!”

“What is he doing, my dear?” Gabelot inquired happily.

“Father, cannot you see! He – “

“Yes, child? Come, speak up.”

“He is ... he is - he's licking me.”

“A dog's devotion is a lesson to us all, Aveline.”

“But he's licking my - oh, Father, cannot you see!”

“I perceive perfectly, dear girl; a chivalrous beast.”

“But not there! Oh, Father, not there. He musn’t.”

“He anoints thy sweet flesh in innocence, dear child. Let us not gainsay his gift of affection.”

“But it's wrong. It's ... it's not decent. He shames me.”

“But, my dear, ye have yet to name that spot upon thyself where his attentions offend thee.”

Aveline knew the names but could utter none of them. They had always seemed to her as obscene as this thing being done to her now. Her voice faltered into a despairing wail. “He's licking my ... my - oh, Father, my private place.”

“Call this thy confessional, Aveline. ‘Tis the only privacy Holy Church condones. Come, tel me where the dog offends.”

Aveline guessed what he sought. If it would end this lapping shame she would give it to him.

Hating herself and him she uttered the loathsome name: “He licks my cunt, Reverend Father.”

“Ah ha! He smells thy lust! Perhaps the lash should leaven thy lubricity, sweet Aveline.”

She scarcely heard his pious insincerity. Throughout their thrust and parry the avid tongue had found its range and was busy frictioning her most sensitive tenderness. The captive girl was astounded to discover a similarity of sensation to that invoked by the Abbot's holy hand. A fire rose steadily within her loins, fed and inflamed by a tongue no longer content with pubic hair but nuzzling its stroking probes wel inside the maiden orifice spread for its delectation. When 7

the fire consumed her utterly rising and burning with a fierce heat of passion so that she was an animate and sweating female held fast in the stocks despite her surging, heaving orgasm, then and at that precise moment, the Abbot planted his thong deep within the flesh of her bottom on virgin skin as yet unmarked. The slashing cut had behind it all the excitation of his own rejuvenated rut. The dog lapped, unconcerned, enjoying Aveline's flavour with avid appetite.

Abbot Gabelot knew his dog; he also understood the responses of female flesh. He was well aware that after orgasm a further frictioning of a ravished sex must only result in its owner's excruciating distress. There would be a period in which Aveline's orgiastic excess would provide a fresh nuance of entertainment. Grateful y, he sat down to enjoy it.

There could be no doubt that, between the orgasm and the lash, the girl held fast in the stocks had experienced a new and devastating series of sensations. Pain, fear, and bewilderment were manifest in her twists and turns and tugging toes. As the happy tongue continued to inexorably find the chafed clitoris the nude jerks and convulsions provided the watching eyes with an entertainment par excellence. The contortions were provided with an accompaniment of maiden gasps and cries exquisitely in keeping with the occasion. The Abbot refil ed his cup.

“Please, you must stop him, you must!”

“Another lash, child?”

“No, Father, not that! No ... please. But take the dog from me. He is ... he is – “

“Yes, Aveline?”

“I don’t understand --- I don’t.” The girlish voice wailed its desolation. “It is al so ... so -- oh, Father, have I sinned?”

“Thou art a most lustful girl.”

“I do not know - oh, Father, I am not, I am not!”

“The scourge shall cleanse thee.”

“Please don’t whip me more. Oh, please! And this terrible dog - take him away.”

“He is but a guide and portent to thy malaise, Aveline.” It was al so plausible, and she was young. For al she knew the busy dog may indeed have revealed some wicked flaw in her being. Certainly the play of its tongue was bringing an awareness of inclinations and responses new and strange. They were intense and devastating enough to be the work of Satan. At the moment Aveline was tied up in a knot of protesting nerves demanding cessation of the questing tongue. She was prey to the unknown.

“Father, I cannot bear more. It is passing awful. Please take the dog from me. I ... I'm ... I am fearful.”

“Ye have my permission to plead for the scourge, Aveline.”

It was as unreal as al the rest. To plead to be whipped! And to what purpose! The helpless girl choked brokenly: “I cannot, I cannot bear the pain.”

“He is a most noble hound.”

“He is kiling me. Oh, Father ... “

The Abbot imbibed cheerful y. Every word the dear child uttered was quite perfect; she was a gem. Yet even without her maiden vocals he was able to interpret every sensation she tried so prideful y to subdue. Muscles and tendons, sinews and nerves, al conspired to his benefit. The hapless girl in the pil ory was whol y his; she could do or say nothing but that it might be used to mortify her flesh. His erection seemed endowed with ears, so great was his wish to hear the sweet voice plead for her whipping. It would be her ultimate response to the litany they shared. “Thou art most lustful y alive, girl.”

She knew it true, and moaned in despair. Innocence was fleeing, raped and routed by a dog.

Its retreat was precipitated by a resurgence of her sexual conflagration and the sudden entry within her person of the hard phallus the Abbot could no longer deny. After the resulting explosions and moaning ecstasies the punished girl could well believe that sin was hard at work. But whose it was or where the guilt she did not know. But she knew most abundantly that the rasping tongue was as assiduous as ever within her pussy.

“Father, release me. Oh, bring an end.”

The Abbot watched the writhing hips. He noted with satisfaction that, even though the child must know it useless, she continued to raise one or the other of her feet and tug in futile and painful protest at the cord snaring her big toe. He could well imagine how infuriating it must be to find oneself so tenuously control ed.

“Thou art captive to thy own lust, dear girl.”

“Father, what must I do? Oh, anything to end this!”

“I have told thee.”

It was too cruel; she could not do it. But the words formed themselves and escaped her lips:

“Father, I beg of you! Scourge away my sin.”

Gabelot's maleness stirred again on hearing the innocence of the maiden plea. Aveline's longing for release was demandingly erotic. “And how would'st have me do this, girl?” he asked gently.

“Whip me.”

It was as though the two words had stopped his world. They were the ineffable, the quintessence of his deepest need. Taking one last sip he put down his cup and picked up the whip. With care and finesse he cut up under the leg and into the softness of the white thigh.

Aveline shrieked.

It was the newest and worst of all her agonies. The pain was so intense she feared to sink into the darkness. She was certain her toe was cut where the cord had bitten at her involuntary pul . She was in such a maze of agony she forgot to plead. With ambidextrous skil the Abbot sliced her other thigh to invoke a matching wound.

“Not there ... “ The protest surfaced through the moans. “No, no, it is not right. Not there upon a girl – “

“And where else, child! ‘Tis closest to thy sin.”

“I have not sinned. Oh, Father, whip me not between my legs. Mercy, I beg you.”

Gabelot hit her again in such fashion as to cause his thong to curl around a thigh above her knee. After her screams had subsided, Aveline moaned despairingly: “My back ... Please, Father, whip my back.”

How sweet she was! “And where else, child?” Gabelot asked gently.

“My bottom. On my bottom.”

The Abbot of Aubyn flogged the naked Aveline D'Almain for the pleasantest five minutes of his life.

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