THE RAZOR'S EDGE | abbess naked bound, tied and whipped | bdsm stories

The gag was a torment. Not so much for what it was, but because it prevented her from speech and the questions demandingly on her tongue. Yet Aveline bore Adam Godsoule no malice for the wet wad of cloth that fil ed her cheeks. Certain it was that to take her silently while Miles slept she must be robbed of speech. Adam had performed the task with the same competence he displayed in binding her upon the horse. His had been the only words spoken, and they were hushed.

“I am sorry, M'Lady, but I needs must.”

The gag had folowed, and the binding of her feet. She knew he would take no chances with her, just as she surely knew that, given an opportunity, she would run and scream and seek her Master's arms. She was sick with dismay at what was being done to her. Godsoule was but doing his duty, though for her his duty spelt disaster and a broken heart.

“ ‘Tis best to bind thee so, M'Lady. ‘Tis a way familiar.” He had come prepared. Aveline eyed the extra horse and Rennet's ringed girth with distaste. Once fastened to it she would never escape its shaming exhibition of her femaleness. She looked at Adam in mute appeal, shaking her head in negation.

“ ‘Tis not as far this time, M'Lady. Forgive me for what I must do.”

Aveline fought. But she was naked and a girl and her feet were tied: When her wrists were loosened from the tree she had a moment's hope. But Adam had come ful y prepared, and his binding of her ankles robbed her of much of her defence as she was thrown upon the horse and her wrists tied down in the manner she knew al too well. Never once had she been able to touch the gag. When her ankles were freed so that they might be tied back down to the rings she did not even try to resist. It was too late, she was already helpless. Everything was too late, and hopeless. She felt only a total desolation as she lay along the horse's back and felt the ropes on wrists and ankles again and again until she became part of the animal itself, unable to move. As her mount was led into the trees she was vouchsafed a final glance at the tree and the discarded rope; beyond was the open door of the small hut wherein slept the man who had come to mean more to her than life itself. Her cry of anguish to him was silent behind the gag.

To be splayed open and exposed was as bad as the bonds that held her thus. Aveline could have wept in shame before the grave, regretful eyes of her captor. But frustration, anger, and fear took her beyond tears. She was envisioning a world without Miles, a world without love.

She could well imagine the reception to which she was being conveyed. The Abbot would be ready with his tortures and his insincerities. The best she could hope for was the pil ory and the cage. She would most certainly be whipped. She was sure no one would believe her guiltless. She was, herself, uncertain of innocence. Suppose Adam could perceive tel tale evidence between her legs!

The bound girl judged it a couple of miles before Adam reached down and plucked the gag from betwixt her lips. She fought back a useless scream and looked up at the unsmiling face in anxious query.

“Where does’t ye take me, Adam?”

“Back from where ye fled, M'Lady. I serve M'Lord Malenfant.”

“I wish ye served me, Adam. Is M'Lord wroth?”

She was rewarded with a faint smile. “The Baron Malenfant has a great love for he who took ye, madam. He wil bear no malice. ‘Tis hard to be angry with Miles Hardwin. This be but one more of his escapades. Knowing him, I was certain where to search.”

“I suppose I'l be whipped because of this?”

“I do not know, M'Lady.”

“That means I wil be. Doubtless the Abbot is most angry?”

“He is indeed, as is one brother Anselm.”

“Wil the Baron punish me himself this time?”

“Ye have done naught to be punished for, M'Lady.”

“No one wil believe that, you know they won’t. What awaits me, a dungeon and heavy chains?”

Again the faint smile. “I cannot tell what the Convent of Saint Agnes holds for thee. Mayhap they have a dungeon but ye should not be put in it.”

Shock tugged at her ropes. Aveline turned frantic eyes to the man riding beside her. “Oh, Adam! To make me a nun?”

“Nay, M'Lady, nay. They can make no nun of thee unless ye seek the vows.”

“If they whip me enough I may seek them.”

“ ‘Tis no wise as ye think. Since the Abbot let ye slip through his fingers, the Abbess Cissota petitioned Milord for thy custody and got it. She expects to bring thee to his bed with greater felicity than did Gabelot. I could wish, M'Lady, ye were less stubborn.”

“And bear brats instead of stripes!”

Adam flushed and fell silent. She feared she had offended him. She cried out in desolation:

“Oh, Adam, deliver me not to all these schemes and cruelties. Set me free. Say ye found me not.”

“I cannot do that, M'Lady. Ye know I cannot.”

“But what wil become of me, Adam, if I do not yield?”

“Perhaps ye may find a friend in the Abbess. She is said to possess humour. I hear she finds a piquancy in besting Gabelot and becoming thy keeper.”

“Al they talked of when I was in the Abbot's cage was of torture and the whip. I think it hurts me no less if she be laughing.”

Aveline's captor made a weary gesture of frustration. He spurred his horse into urgent speed.

He knew he had no answers the bound girl would wish to hear. It was better not to utter any.

They rode in silence back to Broule.

Behind them Miles would be sleeping, unaware. Aveline wept.

The Abbess of Saint Agnes was as much a connoisseur of the finer things of life as was her conferee, the Abbot of Aubyn. Entering the room in which Aveline D'Almaine hung naked by her thumbs, she paused in ecstatic wonder at the pure beauty of the stretched nudity that was, as yet, unaware of her presence. Its head had fallen forward in weariness and it moved no whit save for the audible respirations of agony.

The Abbess had been present and had directed the noosing of the slender thumbs and the hoisting of the pleading girl to where she now hung with her feet well above the floor. There had been motion enough then as the ful enormity of what had been done to her invaded the consciousness of the maiden whose struggles had proved futile against the strong hands of the good sisters who carried out their Mother Superior's instructions in the firm conviction of ultimate good to the unwil ing recipient of benevolence. But now the motion was gone.

Aveline had discovered it best to simply hang. Anything she did hurt, and she had pain enow'.

She had become limp and pathetically helpless. In doing so she was unaware of beauty.

Cissota knew the deep satisfaction of possession. This exquisite girl had become her own.

M'Lady Aveline D'Almaine would never again know freedom, there would be a chain on her always. Girls had escaped often enough from St. Agnes. The Abbess no longer took chances with even the most docile of her charges, a stout chain or length of cord was far better than pursuits and apologies. If bondage made the little dears more beautiful it was an added bonus.

She chuckled inwardly at thought of Gabelot's loss, the old fool would be fuming. Wel , let him fume! She'd allow him only a partial participation in the taming of this new treasure.

The Abbess took note of the faint whip marks on the ivory back and the livid evidence of Miles'

wil ows on the curved bottom. At the latter she smiled in approval. She understood Miles Hardwin and bore him no il wil for his use of a renewable resource. She did a swift mental computation of the number of times this lovely girl could be whipped now before her skin must be given time to heal and other more subtle ways of inflicting pain resorted to. The Abbess sighed in happiness.

The suspended nakedness stirred quiveringly. Aveline had become aware of a presence. The tired head raised itself alert. “Please, oh please let me down.” She tried to turn but forbore because of pain. Her voice was husky. “I beg of you ... the pain is too great!”

“Thou art most beautiful, child.”

Cissota moved forward and found the chair provided for such occasions. Seating herself comfortably she surveyed her handiwork with a glowing approval that did nothing to bolster Aveline's fading store of courage. The girl's next words sent a fire flaming through mature loins.

“What have I done? Oh, please, tel me how I have sinned to deserve this ... this!“

“ ‘Tis but a mild correction, child, to help thee to humility. I did not order thee scourged as well.”

“ ‘Tis passing awful. I have never known such. Please, Reverend Mother, please help me.”

“How would'st have me help thee, Aveline?”

“To place my feet upon the floor. Oh, please, punish me in other ways than this.”

“They shal come, girl, in their own time.”

Aveline moaned in a hopeless abandonment of pride. “Let me do something ... Is there naught I can say or offer?”

“None, child. But take heart that ye give me much pleasure.”

“What is to become of me, Reverend Mother?”

“Thou shalt become mine own darling child, Aveline.”

“I understand thee not. Oh, please, how long must I hang thus?”

“As long as it may please me, Aveline. Be chary of compliant, I like them not. They are like to earn thee stripes.”

“Is there naught for me now in life but punishment?”

The eyes of the older woman sparkled. “I can promise thee pleasure too, dear child, but not today. I would fain tell thee of the loveliness of thy breasts; they are as none other. And thy cunt ... come, I must feel it.”

The suspended girl widened her legs to admit the questing hand. She wanted no tussle. Her tortured and wracked shoulders demanded compliance. She hung passively while the female hands fol owed the same paths that male hands had explored the day before. How different they were! She longed for Miles with every fibre of her being. She supposed she would never see him again. No man save the Abbot would ever intrude within a convent wall, and she herself would never escape this place of women that was her prison. Aveline sensed within this woman whose hands were busy with her body a determination and a purpose to keep her captive. No doubt she would learn the motive soon enough!

It took several minutes of their strange communion for the play of the wise fingers to cause the tractioned girl to quicken her breathing and become aware of sensations that surely could have no part of being tortured! Aveline moved her head restlessly in an instinctive revolt against feminine hands encroaching on a prerogative she believed exclusively male. It should be Miles'

fingers on her flesh, not those of the Abbess of St. Agnes! She moaned in manifold distress.

“ ‘Tis good, child. Tell me ‘tis good.”

“No. You must not. You should not – “

“Ye prefer the whip, Aveline?”

“No. Oh, no! I'm sorry. Forgive me. I wil obey.”

“That's better. Hang quietly now while I rouse thy flesh.”

What else could she do but hang! Aveline closed her eyes in shame, but the darkness divorced no part of her from the questing fingers. She found herself quivering in response to their knowledge.

“Tel me, child, is the pain of thy thumbs less?”

“Oh, please! I do not ... I do not know ... Ooooo!”

“A woman's hands are magic. Did'st not know?”

“No, oh no. Oh, set me free. I wil obey you.”

The Abbess smiled. How sweet was this child in her distress! How charmingly innocent. With the memory of Miles Hardwin excised from her girlish dreams she would become most 4

malleable, an erotic slave to spur the pulse. With this choice tit-bit she'd show Gabelot a thing or two. T'would be pleasurable to watch his envy.

“Thy thumbs, child? They hurt thee not?”

“No, oh please! Ohhhh!”

The fingers stopped. Pain reclaimed the suspended girl, her thumbs screamed agony.

Aveline's eyes beseeched the woman who had the power to set her free.

“Our noble Miles Hardwin, child? Tell me of him.”

“He is ... he is very kind.” Aveline sensed a trap.

“Did'st find joy in being fucked by him?”

The hated word! It dogged her everywhere. And how did a girl answer such a question!

“Please, Reverend Mother, ask not such things of me,” she pleaded brokenly.

“But he did fuck thee?”

“Yes.”

“Tel me 'ont?”

The naked girl blushed and squirmed painfuly. Her memory was vivid but she would never speak of it. “There is naught to tell, Reverend Mother.” Her voice had become husky.

“It gave ye pleasure?”

“Yes.”

“How many times, child?”

“Once.”

“Oh, ho! Come, girl, does’t expect me to believe that?”

“ ‘Tis true, Reverend Mother. He had me but a little while.”

“Long enough to mark thy pretty arse. Tel me of that.”

Aveline glimpsed motives. The Abbess was enjoying the interrogation. The helpless girl deemed words less painful than stripes. “He made me cut and trim wil ow switches with which to beat me.”

“A rare one is Miles! I’l wager thy cunt flowed richly in thy task?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Did'st stand for thy beating or did our noble Hardwin fasten thee?”

“He tied my wrists to a tree, Revered Mother.”

The Abbess chortled approval. “So thou had'st no choice but to stand and get thy bottom sliced?”

“Yes, Reverend Mother, I stood and was whipped.”

“And longed to be fucked I, suppose?”

“Please, madam, we should not be talking thus. That word...”

“Oh, ho, my dear! ‘Tis thee who orders me what to say? Perhaps a weight on each of thy pretty ankles would make thee less squeamish?”

“Forgive me ... Oh, please don’t torture me more! ‘Tis all so new to me, I know not how to speak.”

“Stop thy maidenly nonsense and answer what I ask. An’ ye find it hard, your thumbs wil answer for thee. Come now, tell me, were thy loins on fire while he striped thee?”

“Afterwards, Reverend Mother. The pain was very great.”

“Worse than ye suffer now?”

“ ‘Twas most different.”

“Would it pleasure thee to whip my bottom, child?”

The suggestion was so outrageous that the captive's mind refused to accept the absurd premise of a convent's Mother Superior having stripes placed on her seat by a mere girl. “You jest - oh, Reverend Mother, do not mock me so.” Aveline looked up at her tied thumbs in an infinite longing to have done with the whole sil y and agonizing business.

“Nay. ‘Tis a pleasure I wil al ow thee in good time.”

“But thou art a Mother of Holy Church!”

“And I have a cunt wherein a fire can burn.” The Abbess laughed sardonically at her prisoner's consternation. In a voice cleansed of cynicism she reflected aloud. “We are a sorry lot, we nuns. We carry our hungry cunts back and forth to vespers and to mass, and there is none to assuage our need except each of us to the other, or mayhap old Gabelot when he can whip a bottom to spur his cock to stand.”

It was sacrilege, a profaning of all the tortured girl had ever learned. She gazed at the Abbess Cissota in horror. “But, madam, I cannot believe - oh no, no, no!”

Whatever else Aveline might have said was cut short by a startling interruption. With considerable commotion a youngish girl of perhaps seventeen was hauled into view by a stern and irritated sister of the order who clutched a youthful ear with determined fingers that paid scant heed to clutching hands and pleading lips.

“What now, Sister Unity?” the Abbess demanded testily. “ ‘Tis Nest, Revered Mother. The little bitch refuses to be shaved.”

Cissota turned forbidding eyes upon the whimpering girl. “Come, Nest, what nonsense have we this time?”

“I do not want to be a nun. I won’t be shaved - I won’t!” Nest was twisting painful y against the grip on her ear, her face was flushed with exertion and fear, her regard was hostile and rebellious. Her clothes were in disarray, they were not the habit of St. Agnes. Aveline noted the wide eyes and ful lips. In different circumstances the girl would be a beauty.

“You wil do as you are told.”

“I won’t, I won’t! I want to go home.”

To emphasize her feelings, Nest stamped heavily on Sister Unity's foot, but since her own was bare it made smal impression and earned her only a vicious shaking of her captive ear that caused her to yelp in pain.

“You are a foolish girl. Do ye want the whip?”

“I've been whipped already. You're always whipping me.”

“There are worse things than whips, child.”

The delinquent's eyes had focused in dismay upon Aveline's suspended nudity. “What's she done?” Nest demanded belligerently. “You're cruel and wicked ... all of you.”

The Abbess ignored the outburst and spoke to Unity alone. “Take the little bitch back and I'l join ye. We'l teach her a lesson.” She chuckled at her inspiration. “Might not be amiss to bring M'Lady here along too. Get thee gone, we'll fol ow.”

To Aveline the box thrust beneath her feet was better than a throne, a boon ineffable.

Standing on it, her thumbs cried out their gratitude and her wracked shoulders found surcease.

She looked down thankful y at the woman who, by so small a gesture, had ended her torture.

“Thank you, Reverend Mother, oh thank you!”

“Humph! Sooner than I intended. But we've a mission. Mayhap ye'l find a profit. Loosen thyself and step down.”

Aveline looked up at her stil captive thumbs. They were noosed at each end of a bar to keep her arms spread. One could not reach the other. She was not free. “I cannot, Reverend Mother, I am stil tied helpless.”

“Serve ye right if I left thee there,” Cissota said sourly. “But I suppose, if I must.” She stood on the box and swiftly loosened the bands from the small tortured thumbs. “There, you're free.”

For a moment the naked girl believed it worth the travail to know the beatitude of being given back her arms and to be able to massage the cruel red indentations of her thumbs. To be free of bonds, even for the briefest time, had become for her an experience in felicity. To step down from the box to the solidity of the floor was to pace into Paradise. Her first thought was natural enough.

“Reverend Mother, may I have clothing?”

The Abbess had been rummaging in a chest, she now held cord and was regarding her captive's efforts with amusement. “For what purpose, child?”

“ ‘Tis but proper.” Aveline felt inadequate and was eyeing the cord unhappily. “The girl, Nest, has clothes. I thought - “

“I want thee naked, girl,” Cissota said with decision. “Ye've as much need of clothes as a cat of feathers. As for Nest, I'l bare that little baggage anon - or have her naked beneath a habit.”

“But I am a girl - “

“Aye, so I notice.” Cissota was once more enjoying herself. “There's them as one might wonder, but you're nay one of 'em. Come here so I can tie thy hands.”

Instinctively, the naked girl's hands flew out of sight. “Please, Reverend Mother, do not tie me..

There is no need.”

“Of course there's a need. Can’t have girls running loose before they take their vows. Come, cross thy wrists at thy back. It takes but a moment.”

An endless vista of bound limbs stretched before Aveline's apprehensive eyes. If only she could break this inevitable sequence of cords and ropes and leather bands. “I offer thee my word. I wil be docile and obedient. I wil not break it. Please ... “

“Nonsense! I know what is meet. Come now, thy hands.”

Aveline was not unduly disappointed. She had felt smal hope. But she felt sure that in her captivity she must forever strive for a denied freedom, no chance need be too small. She shrugged and forced a smile. Turning before the unpredictable Abbess she crossed her wrists above her striated bottom and stood meekly while they were tightly and skil ful y bound.

“Oh no, oh please - not that!”

The band of rope had circled her neck without warning. It drew snug, and from it a length trailed to the Abbess' hand as a leash. The naked girl loathed it instantly and protested its uselessness.

“I wil not run. Don’t leash me like a dog.”

“Aye, ye wil not run,” Cissota said dourly. “Come, fol ow me.”

The injunction was superfluous, the captive had no choice. Feeling once more shamed, her bare feet padded behind the energetic figure of the strange woman who now possessed her.

When in the corridors they passed any of the sisters, her cheeks flamed anew.

Nest stood in a corner of the room like a wild creature at bay. She gazed at them with both curiosity and fear. She was as much a contradiction in this bleak place as Aveline herself. She watched in silence while Aveline's tether was tied to a ring so that she must perforce stand as an audience of one, bound.

“Off with thy clothes, Nest.”

“Nay, please strip me not again.” Nest looked wildly around as though seeking escape.

The Abbess wasted no words. She went to a rack and selected a whip, the single leather thong of which was heavy with a promise of pain.

“Thy clothes, Nest. Off with 'em!”

“Art thou going to whip me?” Nest stil had courage.

“An' if I were - ‘Tis no affair of thine.”

“‘Tis me who'l bear the pain. Why must I be naked?” Nest was sulenly yielding as little ground as possible.

“For the same reason the Lady Aveline D'Almaine here be naked. If ‘tis good for her ‘tis good for thee.”

Nest's eyes widened at the title. She, looked at her bound companion in distress with fresh interest. Aveline bestowed a smile of encouragement, though to what she might encourage the fearful girl did not know.

“She did not choose it, nor do I,” Nest argued.

Cissota sighed and held up the whip. “Ye have earned no stripes as yet, but hearken now.

This lash be worse than any used on ye before. T'wil leave far better marks on thy fair hide than those ye bear. Our Sister Unity wil count to thirty slowly. Be ye not naked then, ‘tis thirty stripes ye'l get - like it or not.”

Aveline found it a strange tableau: pathetic, absurd, laughable and frightening. The count came like pronouncements of doom from the thin lips. Nest allowed nine of them to pass before she frantically but rebelliously tore at her clothes. Before the final figure she was nude.

“The chair, Nest. Sit in the chair.”

It was a sturdy thing with arms, menacing. The freshly stripped girl stood looking at it with dismay. For her it held a message she did not like. Aveline watched the slender nakedness tense, and beheld upon it a goodly evidence of the whip: no cut skin but stripes enow'.

“Please, Mother, do not make me. Oh, please, I want not to be shaven.” Nest's plea was heartbroken.

“Nonsense, girl, sit thee down so Unity may bind thee.”

“Oh, no!” The youngster recoiled as from a blow. “If I am tied in that chair ye'l do as ye please with me. I beg mercy. Tie me not.”

“Sit down!”

Nest leaped for the door. Cissota tripped her neatly. With dismaying ease the two holy women tied the struggling girl to the oaken seat she so deeply feared.

Aveline watched in fearful fascination, knowing how easily it might be she herself who struggled and was bound. Instinctively and unconsciously, she twisted and tugged at the cords upon her own wrists as though in hope of offering aid to the distressed youngster who was no match for the competent convent hands. The rope leash was heavy on her neck.

It could not be said that Nest used judgement in her speech. Her despairing struggles were vividly interspersed with pleas, threats and imprecations. Aveline admired her spirit and felt guilty at her own lack of belligerence in what was done to her. And yet ... what was the use!

In the end the girl would always be bound or chained as her captor desired. There was no hope for naked captive girls; they had best obey.

When they were done with her, Nest sat as though in state upon a throne. Her ankles were roped to the legs, her concave tummy banded and girthed to the back, her wrists and elbows neatly tied to the arms. She sat there, a naked maid, with tears streaming down her cheeks but glaring defiance at those who had so treated her. Sister Unity dabbed at a bitten wrist with portentous animosity.

“You wil be whipped afterwards, Nest,” said the Mother Superior affably. “Such behaviour!”

“She bit me,” Sister Unity affirmed with venom.

“She wil be whipped for that too.”

“That's all you think about - whipping me!” Nest contributed between sobs and sniffles.

“At the moment we have something else in mind,” Cissota pointed out with obvious enjoyment.

Nest wailed in desolation. “You're going to shave me - I know you are!” Her voice trailed away into a fresh burst of tears.

“Al sisters of the church are shaved, dear child.”

“You aren’t!” Nest bit out the savage accusation exultantly. “I saw once when you thought I was not looking.”

“You wil be whipped for that too, dear girl,” the Abbess promised undismayed as though bestowing beneficence.

“But I am not a nun. I wil not take the vows.”

“Hush, child, cease thy dithering. Yell be proud of thy shaven pate once ye have it. Come, Sister Unity, prepare her.”

The simple efficiency told the watching girl that what she now beheld happened often enough at St. Agnes. The chair came into its own, absorbing the naked girl unto itself in a manner most fearful to see. Aveline writhed in her helplessness. Supposing it was she who was bound there instead of Nest! It could so easily be. Perhaps ...

The back of the chair was high enough that the small half circle accepted the back of the youthful neck with snug perfection. When Sister Unity pressed home the small yoke upon the helpless throat, the two halves meshed to provide a firm circlet of wood beneath Nest's chin so that her head was held immovably, her lovely hair flowing over the heavy wooden imprisonment of its owner's neck. Sister Unity left the room.

“There, child, so much fuss for nothing.” Cissota smiled benignly.

“Please, not my hair?” Nest could do naught but plead.

“Think of thy whipping, Nest. T'wil take thy mind from the other.”

“Forgive me. Whatever I have done, I beg forgiveness. Do not shave my head.”

“Tut, child, thy hair wil grow again should there be need. But thou art a novice, placed here by thy parents.”

“They would not have me shaved. I was sent for instruction. Oh, please! Take this horrid thing from my neck. I cannot move.”

“ ‘Tis a miraculous chair, Nest, designed for such as thee.”

“I beg of you, do not do this thing.” The words escaped Aveline's lips in pure horror at what she was forced to watch. Her heart bled for the girl who was little more than a child and so without defence. “Have mercy on her, she is so young.”

The Abbess cocked a sardonic eyebrow. “You wish to take her place?”

Aveline was close to tears of impotence. She was bound, she was naked, she was tethered.

No matter how great her sympathy for a punished sister no girl could make such a sacrifice. It was beyond any feminine tolerance to ask that she be made bald. She shuddered at the prospect.

“I have not the courage,” she admitted. “But I ask mercy.”

“Poor little pigeons!” Cissota laughed merrily. “So much heartbreak over a handful of hair.

One would think - “ The sentence was cut by the return of Sister Unity with the simple things both girls eyed with loathing. Hot water, soap, a brush and a razor. They might have been instruments of torture - perhaps they were. Sight of them demolished whatever prudence Nest might possess.

“No, you mustn’t! It's wicked. Take them away.”

“Hush, child.”

“I won’t hush! You're a wicked old bitch.”

“Silence!”

“You wil do al the wicked things. You even feel my cunt. It's ye who should be whipped and shaved, ye belong to Satan.”

There was a shocked silence. Even Nest knew she had gone too far, but the words had been uttered. Anguished eyes dwelt upon the intrigued features of the Mother Superior. Cissota was smiling, but her smile was a thing to fear.

“Cunts and Satan, child! These words be over bold. And ye want me whipped and shaved!

Well, well, we shall see who gets the thong and the blade. What say thee, Sister Unity; perhaps for a maiden such as this a shaven pate is not enough?”

“Thou art most right, Reverend Mother.” Unity's voice gloated.

“The head is not alone ... “ Cissota's voice was dreamlike.

It could not possibly be! It was too monstrous. Aveline looked in shock at the child held so totally by the chair, and saw upon her face a certainty beyond her own. Nest knew. Nest had no doubt of the penalty she had earned. It was upon Aveline's lips to denounce, to demand, to plead that this obscenity be not perpetrated in this holy place. But it was borne upon her that it was also a place of women and of female punishments. Perhaps ... Perhaps the shaving of a maiden's pubic hair was a common enough thing in St. Agnes. Perhaps it was not evil, but only a punishment for unbridled tongues. Perhaps it could be done to her! She guessed it all too probable that she could pay for impetuous speech with the loss of her own black bush from betwixt her legs. She felt guilt but she held her tongue.

Nest kept silent. She had lost hope. Perhaps she was resigned and frightened to earn more punishment than she must already suffer. She watched with agonized eyes as Sister Unity mixed the lather and the Mother Superior fetched shears from a cupboard.

Two girls wept and could not dry their tears. Aveline knew a vicarious sorrow so that salt drops streaked across her cheeks and she wrenched futilely at her tied wrists. It was the same with the younger maiden bound in the chair, her fingers worked and her muscles bulged against the ropes as the shears did their cruel task and the golden silk of Saxon hair was snipped and the severed beauty laid reverently aside to mock its former owner, the lovely creature whose scalp had nourished it. But it was when the shears were laid aside and the lather generously applied to the prisoned head that the ful desolation of loss was viewed and felt.

Nest could not move. The yoke that held her neck and raised her chin was snug and wide, its compulsion was total. Save for the misery of her features her girlish innocence gave the il usion of compliance. She sat staring at grim visions of ugliness while the keen blade scraped and the intent fingers lathered and shaved. Little by little, loveliness was stolen by the steel to be replaced by what, to Aveline's anguished eyes, was pure horror. The sweet, small head had its own innocence, its own beauty, but she saw it not. When the head was bald the yoke was removed so that the nape of the neck could be made as bare as the rest. Nest endured this final denuding in a hopeless acceptance of the inevitable.

“ ‘Tis a holy head thou has’t now, child,” Cissota purred. “She'll sin less for the loss,” Unity added piously.

They freed Nest and stood back to view their creation. The shaven headed child rose slowly to her feet, meeting the eyes of none in her shame. Hesitantly, but compulsively, her hands rose to where her hair had been. In a dazed exploration, in disbelief her fingers traced the unfamiliar contours with which she now must live. It was easy to see that she was reluctant to believe their message. “Our work is wel begun,” said Unity with ominous unction.

“ ‘Tis a noble task to mould so sweet a child,” the Abbess confirmed with equal hypocrisy.

“What now of thy cunt, dear girl?”

Nest's hands flew from her shaven head down to her last treasured hair. The motion was instinctive and without hope. Aveline had observed the maiden growth of pubic fronds. They were not as abundant as her own, but they were spun gold and innocently adorned the maiden slit they did not hide. Thought of a steel blade seeking and denuding such intimacy was a thing to send shudders down a female spine. Holding her pubes in cupped hands, the girl being punished made another plea.

“I wil be your slave, but do not touch me there.”

“Ye have been sentenced, Nest. There's naught else to say.”

In a pathetic need to save the treasure as yet unravished, the shaven girl held out her hands, abandoning her secret place in an effort to placate convent wrath. “Tie my hands,” she pleaded. “I wil not cause thee more trouble. Then whip me for my wrong.”

With others it might have bought mercy, but not with the Abbess of St. Agnes, and most certainly not with Sister Unity. Each enjoyed the strangely erotic stimulus of Nest's meek submission to the ful , allowing her to stand nude with proffered wrists until she tired and sensed defeat. Listlessly the small hands fell limp at her sides, seeking to cover nothing in despair.

They tied her wrists, not as Nest had offered them but behind her back, tightly and viciously so that she winced but made no cry. In blank misery she obeyed the curt directive.

“Lay here, Nest, on thy back upon the floor close by the wall.”

With arms bound at her back it was awkward, but the slender girl managed it without complaint. Her legs were closed, protecting her treasure to the last. Sister Unity ran a noose from a defenceless ankle to a ring in the floor and pul ed until her victim was drawn sideways with her leg drawn far to one side. Another noose on the ankle's twin was threaded to a ring well up in the wal . When it too was tractioned, the girl whose pubic hair was to be taken from her lay upon her back with legs grotesquely divided, one up to the wall, the other taut to the floor ring far distant. Nest's bottom scarce rested on the floor, her sex was stretched and spread and offered to the blade.

“ ‘Tis an easy tie and serves us well enow',” Unity proclaimed.

“Wiggle thy cunt, dear child,” the Mother Superior ordered gently.

Nest fought her bonds. Perhaps from an instinctive wish of her own rather than compliance.

She contrived motion, raising herself on her helpless arms and swaying her twisted shoulders in visible struggles that ended at her hips. Her inmost being which she sought to shield moved not at all, her parted legs were rigid with stress, the ropes 'round her ankles biting deep. For brief moments she raised her head high enough to look down and behold her pubic hair awaiting its fate, a fate she could do nothing to counter. It was as though she saw the vagina of another girl pubescently pleading. When she fell back exhausted, it was with a moan of desolation tearing at Aveline's heart.

“ ‘Tis a neat slit she has,” Sister Unity conceded clinically.

The Abbess glowed. “Tell me, Nest dear, has thy maiden cunt ne'er been whipped?”

Both naked girls tensed. For each, the calm question was a new dimension of horror as devastating as the thought of the lather and the steel upon their sex. Nest looked up at the Mother Superior in stark disbelief.

“No. Oh, noooo! Never. How could - “

“I assure you it is a most practical correction, child. We employ it often.” Cissota's voice was bland.

Aveline's flesh cringed. If such an obscene cruelty was practiced in St. Agnes she could not hope to escape. She wondered if it hurt more or less if a girl was shaved between her legs.

She shuddered.

“Please not that too!” Nest struggled once again.

“Perhaps not today, dear, though in truth ye are well spread for it. We have a special whip of many slender thongs that splats well on shaven skin. Thou art most fortunate.”

Aveline longed to kick and claw at the Abbess' calm and carnal enjoyment of girlish pain. It was demeaning to be as helpless as her tied hands and tethered neck compelled. At the moment she was an audience of one to witness the shame and agony of a girl as impotent as herself, but tomorrow it could well be her own skin crying in distress beneath the lash! She writhed against her ropes in mute misery.

The soapy lather heavily daubed upon Nest's sundered sex was an obscenity, its pallid flocculence a punishment in itself. Driven by a fearful fascination she could not control, Nest once again raised herself to gaze in sickened dismay at her plastered loins ready and waiting for the razor's edge. When Sister Unity picked up the wicked bit of metal the girl whose secret hair it would steal fel back in bound hopelessness and closed her eyes.

Aveline was ashamed of her need to watch. She was sure she should have shown her disapproval by turning to face the wall, but she was human and the act performed before her eyes must be seen to be truly believed. Unity's practiced fingers swept back and forth upon the pouting lips and the surrounding skin from navel down to the smaller orifice below. Each fold was lovingly made flat for the flowing caress of the seeking edge. Nest flinched and moaned at each invasion, her shaven head turning from side to side in persistent negation of what was being done to her. When Sister Unity final y took the wet cloth and laved the shaven parts it was as though no single hair had ever graced their symmetry. Stark and indecent as their state might be, it lacked the pure horror of the balded head. The women of St. Agnes stood and 13

surveyed their work. Obviously they found it good. It was also evident that Unity felt the occasion one too good to miss.

“Perhaps a few strokes, Reverend Mother?”

“Mmmmm! She is indeed wel placed.”

“We can whip from each side above the thigh.”

The familiar word roused the newly shaved girl to awareness of a fresh horror. She gazed back and forth between her tormentors and struggled to raise her head. “I don’t want to be whipped there! Oh, please don’t do that to me.”

“A worthy chastisement of a sinful place, dear girl.”

“But it's ... it's so ... wrong! Oh, why can’t you whip me properly! Please whip me in the proper way. Not on my... my cunt.”

“And why should thy pussy not be punished, Nest?”

“It has done naught. I've been good - I have, I have! ‘Tis my back and my bottom ye should whip, ‘tis proper.” “And what has’t thy back and bottom done that thy puss has not?”

It was al cruel, a gloating baiting of maiden innocence. Through the haze of her own indignation Aveline could not but acknowledge the demanding lubricity of the teenage nakedness writhing in futile protest against its impositions. Nest exuded wave after wave of sexual arousal so powerful as to be almost tangible. There emanated from her breasts and armpits and her denuded loins a pungency of musk that touched them all.

“They have not sinned, Reverend Mother.” Nest was groping for suitable words to serve her need. “But ‘tis on those parts a girl is whipped.”

“So ye tell us where to whip ye, eh!”

“No, oh no! I'm sorry. Oh, please!”

“Three from each side, Unity. T'wil be a pretty christening for our little dove.”

“Noooo! Oh, nooo - arrragh!”

It was indeed a lovely whip, its fashioning bespoke its purpose. For maiden breast or maiden bush it would shrewdly bite and cut in loving intimacy as it had now done in the well aimed slash between Nest's wide-spread legs. Aveline observed the inflamed pink response come into being where pubic hair would once have hidden maiden skin.

“Quite beautiful,” breathed the Abbess.

“Not hard enough,” said Sister Unity.

“Arrrrh! Ohhhh! Don’t, oh don’t!”

The second stroke was indeed visibly more severe, and delivered impartially from the opposite side. As though under a power beyond herself, the tied girl rose up on her elbows to behold her wounds. Whilst Nest was gazing in disbelief, the flailing thongs again bedded themselves within her scarlet flesh with an audible impact that flamed fresh scarlet and set Aveline trembling in sympathy. Nest herself screamed and fell back moaning, her legs and loins held motionless in further invitation to the slender thongs.

It is to be supposed that even Nest herself understood the whipping of her vagina a thing of shame rather than an infliction of agony. The pain of the six blows spread and inflamed but did not wound or last. They left her sore and smarting and deeply mortified, that was al . When the holy women freed her ankles and her wrists she gingerly stood and clasped her swol en cunt and wept. They stood and watched, enraptured.

The captive Aveline was glimpsing a new world, a world of women, of female lusts and female punishments. The world of Miles Hardwin was gone; that lovely heart throbbing masculine world of strong hands and lusty vigour she had known for so brief a time. Now she was a plaything for the Abbess. Cissota would use her flesh as Miles had done but it could never be the same ... never! Her bottom bore the scarlet and purple of Miles' wil ow switches, marks she cherished now and longed to bear forever. Yet they would heal and be replaced by worse from whips wielded by holy female hands. She looked at the forlorn nudity of the girl clutching her sex in anguished hands, and herself knew a sudden surge of salacity in the pure eroticism of the unconscious pose.

“I'l wager ye'd welcome a fine male cock, child?” the Abbess inquired jocosely.

Nest shook her head in misery. “No. Oh, no.”

“A fine tongue then?”

The shaven head denied with desolate shakes, the words were husky with despair. “Oh, no ...

no! I beg you, punish me properly.”

“Come, child, I offer thee my tongue - and Sister Unity's.”

“No!”

“Would'st thou take the tongue of M'Lady Aveline D'Almaine?”

Nest stood erect, bewildered, her hands fell away from that part of her too late to protect. Her gaze roved upon those who watched. “You must not ... Oh, no! It is impossible.”

“It is most easy, dear child.”

Aveline was frightened. Here was an abyss, a chasm long known as a dark and fearsome possibility. But not for her! Never for her!

“Come, Nest, we must tie thee for thy whipping.”

It was as though the cruel demand was a promise of joy. Nest visibly brightened. To be tied and whipped in the manner she understood came as a relief. Awful as she knew it would be, it was at least a charted sea, not an ocean of obscenities. Almost eagerly the younger girl stepped to where the bar hung from the ceiling. She held out her hands as though for gifts.

They lowered the bar and bound the girlish wrists one to each end. When it was raised again by its rope and pul ey the slender nudity stood almost on her toes. Aveline could tell the ordeal was not new. Nest had stood thus before and was accustomed to the pose. She made no complaint.

“Art thou well secured for thy whipping, Nest?”

“Yes, Reverend Mother, I am helpless. I can do naught but kick.”

Cissota chuckled. “‘Tis a thing I like to see, a youngster such as thee disporting her legs beneath the lash.”

“Should I spread her legs to the rings, Reverend Mother?” Unity asked hopeful y.

“But then she cannot kick! But, yes, I see thy point. By all means make her open,” the Abbess approved warmly. Aveline watched unhappily; she sensed an import. Unity once again looped the small ankles and drew them far apart to rings provided in the floor. So widely were Nest's feet separated that they now scarcely touched the floor at all, most of her weight was suspended from her bound wrists. Her sweet youthfulness was arched with concave belly and taut protruding breasts. The hair in her exposed armpits contrasting oddly with her bare head and bare sex.

When the leash on Aveline's neck was taken from the wall and she was led to where it could be tied to one of the rings that held Nest's ankle she guessed the worst. Angry and frightened denunciations rose to her lips but she choked them back. It was best to wait.

“Have ye guessed thy task, beloved girl?”

She had divined it al too well, but she could not say the words. To do so seemed an admission of complicity. “I know not of what ye speak, Reverend Mother,” she temporised.

“Nonsense, ye know as wel as I do. Get to thy knees.” Aveline fell to her knees where she stood, and received a searing cut across her back for her pains.

“Play no pretty tricks with me, young woman,” the Abbess warned. “Ye know as well as I ‘tis not for prayers ye kneel.”

Aveline did know. She wracked her brains for delay by subterfuge but could think of none.

Doleful y, yet fascinated, she looked at the opened and proffered vaginal lips of the girl fastened to be whipped.

“Madam, I cannot. It is not meet. I have never – “

The whip sliced her shoulders so that she cried aloud with the pain of it, her protest obliterated by agony. She bowed down beneath the blow, wrenching at her tied hands.

“Ye prefer the whip to a female kiss?” Cissota's voice was hard.

The kneeling girl kept a frightened silence. She knew not what to say; she scarcely knew what to do. She could imagine the technique of the female tongue, but it was guessing! The lash found her again, burning her shoulders with a fiery caress. She moaned and sank to the floor.

Unable to bear the pain, unable to perform the task.

Cissota whipped the writhing nakedness with pleasure and with skil. In seeking to evade the lash Aveline exposed fresh vistas of her flesh upon which the Abbess splatted her whip with a keen and sporting relish. A writhing girl not bound to post or ring offered challenges acceptable to the practiced hand of a Mother Superior who knew much of naked girls and their reactions.

She was pleased with Aveline's intransigence. Being of the Church it was always desirable to have justifications for striping maiden skin.

Between the leash upon her neck and her tied wrists, Aveline was near to helpless. Yet she was amazed at her own agility. She was shamed by her own contortions and frightened by the pain they earned. She was lost in indecision when Nest's pleading voice came to her rescue.

“Please, oh Aveline, no! Give in. Do it. Ye must.”

The blows stopped. Cissota's voice was almost loving. “The dear child speaks wisdom, Aveline.

She has a love for thy flesh that ye have not. Come, let us see the measure of thy tongue.”

Aveline struggled to her knees. When a girl was bound everything became difficult. She shook the hair from her eyes and looked appealingly up at the woman with the whip. She smarted everywhere.

“Please show us mercy. I am ... I - “

What was there to say - or to do! With stricken eyes she watched the Abbess go to the spread nudity of Nest and run her fingers lovingly across the maiden breasts not yet ful grown.

“Exquisite, are they not!” It was as though she thought aloud.

Aveline's heart missed a beat. Evil was close! She saw a fresh cloud of fear cross Nest's face.

“Supposing I was to whip them?” The Abbess directed her gaze ful upon the girl who knelt in an agony of indecision.

Nest gasped and moaned. She had guessed right. To Aveline it was one more horror placed atop the rest. But there was no escape for either of them.

“I wil use the kinder whip so these sweet tits be not sliced away,” Cissota mused aloud.

“No!”

The word had burst from Aveline's lips in an explosion of horror. That anything as lovely as Nest's young curved breasts should bear the imprint of the thong seemed sacrilege. She would want no whipping of her own.

“And why not, beloved Avline?” the Abbess mocked. “Because I wil do it - what you want.”

“Ah!” The Abbess shook her head sadly. “The wonder of the whip! I never cease to marvel.

Without it girls would be as nothing.”

It was a short journey to Nest's cunt. Aveline made it painful y upon her knees. Her audience watched, enraptured and enthral ed. When Aveline came to rest between the straddled legs she realized that she had never in her life been this close to a maiden slit, not even her own. It stared her in the eye and regaled her nostrils with a female fragrance all its own. It seemed impossible that she could do what she was about to essay. It seemed impossible for anyone.

But she knew it was possible indeed and that she was by no means the first to lift her lips to pouting labia as inviting as her own. She had expected to be repelled by the shaven flesh, but she found thereon an unexpected beauty. She found too a guilty thril of eroticism in her closeness to the whipped whiteness on which the scarlet proclaimed itself in the same flaunting as she could feel upon herself where the Abbess' whip had left its recent mark.

“Do it. Do it to me.” Nest's voice was a tense whisper. Aveline raised her head and shuffled close. In an exploratory diffidence she split wide the pungent cunt lips with her nose, thrusting it within and up as though preparing the path for what must fol ow. In genuine love and sweet sympathy she kissed the swol en flesh where hair had been, then kissed again and found it sweet. In an abandonment of emotion she kissed avidly everywhere upon the tumescent loins and finally deep within the scented orifice of the cunt. Of its own volition her tongue sought and found that for which it must give joy. With a moan of pure surrender Aveline thrust hard against the bound sex and sucked avidly in a bliss suddenly insatiable.

“Girls never cease to surprise me,” said the Abbess.

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