## Archive-name: claudette

From: Fanakapan <doneese@ix.netcom.com>

Subject: Claudette's Story

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.stories,alt.torture

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Here is text of Claudette's Story, as complete as it is. One part remains unfinished. It also appears that a couple of parts never left my server. I apologise for that. Reagards, Fanakapan.

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This document describes fictional events of explicit, sexual abuse, and is intended for mature readers only. If you are offended by such material, or prohibited from reading such material by local laws, delete this document before proceeding further.
This document is intended for personal entertainment and may not be used for commercial gain.

Claudette's Story

i
I entered a tiny, windowless room, allowing the heavy door to shut behind me. Claudette hung from the ceiling, bathed in light, and suspended by her wrists near the center of the otherwise featureless cell. She wore a long-sleeved dress closely fastened at her neck. The dress would have modestly covered her thighs when she stood. Her hose shone. Her shoes lay on the floor.
I approached the adorable creature. She whimpered, but said nothing. She had been brought there at some time during the night and it was then mid-morning. I have no idea how long she had been hanging, but I suppose long enough for all hope to drain away. I studied her from close up. She was twenty-two or twenty-three - a year or so out of college - and had that intelligent expression that young women adopt in their sophomore year, perhaps as a result of being intellectually bedded. Her face was exquisite; rather, the expertly applied cosmetics made her face exquisite. But it was a face you wanted to be close to, yet not kiss: despite the intelligence, an innocence resided there as well, an innocence that would be better taken away by other means.
The dress was pink; entirely pink apart from a tiny collar of white lacework, and matching fringes at the cuffs. A narrow white, patent belt encircled her waist. The discarded shoes could have been cut from the same material as the belt. Her figure still retained some adolescent plumpness, but that would have naturally disappeared in a year or two. I moved closer and placed my hands around her knee, drawing them up, and lifting the dress so that I could see, as well as feel the enticing curve of her thigh. She trapped my hand between her legs but not before I discovered that she was wearing stockings instead of pantyhose. The experience of having my fingers caught was far from unpleasant, and so I left them there while I let my free hand move up further beneath the dress. I stroked her tummy, which was firm and flat, and then moved down to that intriguingly feminine rise at the base of her belly. She shuddered as I gauged it, no doubt fearing that I intended to intrude there and then. But I had done with that part of her anatomy for the time being and withdrew both hands.
I felt her breasts. They were what some called 'ample'; I would describe them as plentiful. They moved in a way that only some women's breasts move: as if balloons, loosely-filled with water, were concealed inside her brassiere. They were not firm, nor did they boast a definite shape, but they were nonetheless erotic to fondle, perhaps because the pair of small nipples pressed solidly into my fingers. I gestured to the face staring through a grille in the door, and a few moments later heard the hum of well-oiled machinery. Claudette descended slowly. Her feet touched the floor but she stumbled, unable to catch and keep her balance at first. I waited until her arms were bent and her hands only just above the level of her head before signaling to the eyes still watching at the grille. The machinery stopped.
"W-what are you going to do?" the young woman asked, unable to keep fear out of her voice.
"Punish you. Hurt you," I replied.
"Why? What have I done? Why am I here?" Now she was becoming terrified. She struggled, even though she well knew that her wrists were still secure. "Let . . me . . go!" she cried, frantically tugging at the bindings. I watched silently for a few moments, then left the cell.
"See that her shoes are replaced. And fasten her feet so that she can't kick," I said to the guard outside the door. The man threw me an inept attempt at a salute and grinned. He would enjoy himself for an hour or so, I presumed.
When I returned, I was wheeling a small, wooden cart before me. Claudette's gaze fell upon the tray of instruments sitting on top of the cart, and her eyes widened. She was horror-struck. I could see her throat moving as she attempted to swallow. I parked the cart next to her, deliberately close so that she could better study the contents of the tray. She watched my fingers select a large-bladed scalpel, then, unable to form coherent speech, she backed away from me as far as her bonds would allow, shaking her head from side to side, and uttering: "Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . .."
Suddenly, she found her voice when I took hold of the lacework at her neck. "Please don't hurt me," she implored. Her knees bending, she sagged subserviently. Then her eyes focused on mine. "I . . . I can't stand pain," she confessed in a bold voice, but the tears still welled up. I raised my eyebrows, uncaring, and parted the front of her dress with a single downward sweep of the blade. It was the work of moments to reduce the rose-colored garment to a unusable heap of material. Claudette shivered and, although it was not cold in the cell, gooseflesh appeared on her arms and the tops of her thighs between the stockings and her culottes.

The young woman watched me with fascinated horror while I undid the left shoulder- strap of her brassiere. Her breast fell slightly without the support, but the smooth, upper curve continued to heave alluringly as she breathed heavily. I folded back the satin material forming the cup until her nipple became exposed. It was small, the size of a pea. (I considered how prolonged the sessions would be if the nipple were forcibly enlarged.) I picked up a fine, hollow needle, as long as my finger, attached to a tiny, rubber ball. Holding the ball between my finger and thumb, I squeezed gently and a droplet of clear liquid formed at the end of the needle. The liquid hung for a moment before dropping onto the surface of the cart. Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then the light-colored wood turned black, and a wisp of fume arose from the spot where the droplet had landed. Grasping Claudette's semi-bared breast while the young woman's gaze was still transfixed upon the smoking acid, I pressed the tip of needle against the nipple. Claudette squirmed and tried to retreat, but it was too late for her to react successfully: I had a firm, unshakable grip on her breast, and the needle was already poised. There was a slight pressure at first as the small, but solid, protuberance resisted the needle-point. Then all opposition vanished, and the fine, hollow shaft began to disappear into the pliant tissue. Claudette cried out, more panic-stricken than hurt, but I continued to press until the entire length of the needle was lodged inside her breast. Then I squeezed the rubber container again.
It took a few moments for the effect to reach Claudette's senses. Her face adopted a strange expression of wonder. That look slowly evolved into astonishment, then amazement, then stupefaction and, finally, shock. Her mouth opened and a low moan escaped, followed by a moment's silence before the full extent of her agony erupted; announced by a protracted shriek filling the cell, and the corridors beyond.
Claudette screamed for more than hour, but when I returned to her cell in the early evening, she was quiet once more. She hung from straightened arms, her knees buckled and almost touching the floor, sobbing silently. But when she saw me enter, she raised herself and pulled away from me.
"The other breast, now," I said.

The acid caused Claudette more agony than trauma. The breasts would heal, but the memory of the horrifying pain would never go away. That was what we wanted. We wanted her to know the rewards of disobedience. We wanted her to understand what waited for her in the cell. We wanted her to want to be what we wanted her to be. Our method worked well, and we had little doubt that Claudette would soon be contributing to the pleasure that the other young women were already giving to our guests.

ii
An ancient, liveried retainer makes his slow, arthritic way down the length of the Salon, drawing purple drapes across high, gothic windows, and shutting out the end of a grey-cold Winter's day. Throughout the room other servants move softly, silently, among lavish furnishings, switching on standing-lamps to cast pools of yellow illumination filtered through richly-woven shades, creating scattered islands of light isolated by tiny oceans of gloom. From a cavernous fireplace set into the wall opposite the windows, and beneath a long stone mantle, burning logs - apple-logs - radiate their sweet-odored warmth into the quiet room. The flames shed brief, shifting patterns of light and shade upon the furniture and distant walls.
The air is replete with the smell of cigars and the scent of expensive perfumes. Low conversations from a dozen-or-so early guests set the background for other noises: the chink of ice dropping into lead-crystal; the crack of a log splitting in the hearth; a short-lived gasp, a brief, muted cry - unmistakably the sound of a young woman - clear, describing the accommodation of some mild discomfort. But the evening of entertainment at Chateau D- has hardly begun: later, this relative quiet will drown in the sounds of far more protracted, and serious, woes. Claudette is there. Outside, snow begins to fall.
She kneels upon a glass table. She has no clothes. Soft light ensconces her. Golden hair falls onto her shoulders; the ends, in loose curls, spill over. Her arms rest by her sides, but her hands lay against her belly and she is displaying herself. Her skin is perfectly white, but each pair of lips and each nipple have been decorated with rouge.
A tiny audience watches, obscured in shadow. An old man in a leather, wing-backed chair looks on impassioned but passionately from the penumbra. Two women, one gaunt, maternal; the other younger, virginal - Claudette's age - are seated, obscured, anonymous, upon a shadowed chaise, sipping nonchalantly from champagne flutes, attempting to hide from each other their lascivious preoccupations.
On an otterman set between the armchair and the chaise, however, and closer to Claudette's nude form than any of the others, a young boy leans forward, refusing to let his gaze shift from the young woman's hands. His own are pressed together and slipped between his thighs. He is overtaken by the concupiscence of what he witnesses. An idea strikes him. He will ask Papa if he can have this woman.
Claudette masturbated. Her legs parted - her knees taking her weight - she arched her spine and held her shoulders back, so that her breasts rested upon her chest and her nipples were elevated. With a fingertip, she played the delicate prominence on her left breast (it was more sensitive than the other) because that excited her. She pressed her free palm against the nadir of her belly, extending her fingers downwards, holding the lips apart to expose her clitoris. Using her middle finger, she caressed herself, letting the excitement mount slowly. When the first orgasm came, she accepted it naturally, bathing in its pleasure, yet not forgetting that she was a performer: the stiffened, trembling fingers; the slight tilt of her head; the brief, guttural moan that tumbled from her lips were all genuine. But she shifted one knee slightly, opening her legs a little more and rotating her hips in a subtle gesture, pointing herself at the boy and conjoining him in the moment. Allowing herself only that short respite, her fingers softened and she continued to play with herself.
The boy's intimacy had escalated: his arms rested upon the table - his hands palms down, his fingers entwined. The tip of his chin touched the backs of his hands, and his eyes were transfixed. His breathing came as heavy as Claudette's and, when the young woman reached her climax, he groaned in unison with her.
"Papa!" he shouted. "Papa, I can see the stuff coming out of her . . . "
"Shush!" said the younger of the two woman watching. (She might have been the boy's sister.) The boy turned his head, glaring.
"It's true!" he insisted, his voice hushed, but still as urgent. "Just as Papa said . . . but . . . but I can't see everything . . .."
Claudette, approaching her second climax, but cognizant of the boy's remarks, did not wait for the old man to respond. With a degree of control over her muscles (that once upon a time she had not known possible) she dilated her vagina: the boy's eyes feasted upon the vision in the mirrored surface of the table. Her second orgasm was more violent - but not uncontrolled. Her hips thrust forward two or three times - quick, yet in simple movements. Her head fell back, and this time an animal groan escaped from her throat. "Can I have her, Papa!" the boy shouted. "La plus jolie." The prettiest of all. "Please, Papa . . .."
It was unlikely that the old man was the boy's natural father, but he responded as if he were. He threw a glance to the women on the chaise.
"It is his fifteenth birthday . . .," the older one said.
". . . . You said I could have whatever I wanted for my birthday," the boy interrupted. There was a silence during which the old man contemplated. Then he nodded. The younger of the two seated women rose.
"He won't know what to do with her!" she huffed, entering the light bathing Claudette. She stared at Claudette for a few moments, then left the circle carrying her champagne. Her companion smiled.
"Perhaps not," she said, looking over her pince-nez at the young women going in search of other excitement. "But I suspect you would not care to exchange places with . . . " - she glanced down into her hand - "Claudette, for tonight."

Claudette slid from the table and slipped into her waiting shoes. She walked carefully around table and stood in front of the woman.
"Madame?" she asked. The woman offered a fine, gold chain whose center-piece bore Claudette's engraved name. "Merci, Madame," Claudette said, retrieving the chain. She clipped then ends to her nipples and spent a quick curtsy.
"At nine-o'clock you will go to Maurice's room," the woman said to Claudette. She gave the young woman directions. Claudette nodded, and curtsied quickly once more before leaving the group. She moved to the next island of light; the gold pendant draping from the tips of her breasts a sign that she was available.

In some distant corridor, a clock rang nine. A gentle knock came on Maurice's bedroom door. The boy, dressed only in his pajama bottoms, was lying upon his bed, carefully masturbating. At the sound of the knock, he sat up quickly, threw his bare feet over the side of the bed, hurriedly tucked his penis inside his pajama's and said: "Come in." Claudette entered. She wore only a pale-blue, satin chemise; a brief garment the boy had demanded. The chemise was supported by thin straps and left the young woman's midriff bare. The boy played a game with her.
He told her to sit on a bureau-chair which he had drawn into the middle of room. With scissors, he cut the straps from the chemise while Claudette held the garment in place. "Can you make these larger?" he asked pointing to the small protruding nipples. Claudette blushed. The older guests were more subtle. The boy's directness was embarrassing.
"No," she answered politely, "but if you touch them, gently, they will become harder."
"You do it!" the boy directed without hesitation.
He watched Claudette apply a wetted finger to each nipple in turn. The small, rose- colored shapes clung to the material of the chemise. The boy tied them with the narrow straps he had removed from the garment.
"Now take it off," he ordered. Claudette lifted the satin over her head, then pulled the material free of her nipples, wincing as she did so. The boy told her to put it back on. He tied the straps for a second time, knotting the thin, satin, makeshift ribbons tighter than before, and causing Claudette to gasp. Again she had to remove the chemise. It was necessary for her to hold each breast in one hand while she wrenched the satin free with the other. It took several minutes and when she finally held the straps in her hands, there were tears in her eyes. Yet the boy was not satisfied that he had tormented her enough. He made her replace the chemise and tied her nipples once more. Claudette yelped when the boy viciously crimped the tips of her breasts that already were dreadfuly sore.
"I-I can't get them off," Claudette bemoaned after a long while.
"I shall have to tell Papa that you aren't trying, then," the boy replied haughtily. Claudette looked at him, then at her breasts. With a tremendous tug, accompanied by a cry of utter anguish, she accomplished her task. Her breasts were on fire; her nipples an agony.

Now the boy is standing on the chair, Claudette standing in front of him. He has an erection and Claudette is holding the penis protruding from the pajamas. The boy is gangly enough, with his fifteen years, but Claudette will have to lower her head slightly to bring the penis to her mouth. She is clutching the very base in one hand. With the fingers of the other she manipulates the prepuce, attempting to ride it back over the glans. She has performed fellatio more times than she remembers, but on this occasion she finds the prospect particularly distasteful. An unpleasant smell emanates from the boy's genitals. Suddenly the foreskin slips back, uncovering the head. Claudette gasps and draws her face away. The groove between the end of the shaft and the rim of the swollen glans is encrusted - and the source of the vile odor.

"Clean it!" the boy said, grasping Claudette by the hair and holding her head still while he pressed the end of his penis against her cheek.
Claudette whispered: I shall be sick," but the boy pretended not to hear. He waited. Claudette closed her eyes and parted her lips. She began the awful job of eliminating the foul, smegma from beneath the boy's foreskin.
The boy ejaculated an instant after the last remnant of cheeselike substance had been removed. Claudette had been obliged to soften the caked encrustment in her mouth for several minutes before her tongue could break it free. She had dreaded what came next. The boy made her swallow what she had in her mouth.

Claudette stood alone in the corridor outside the boy's bedroom. His ardor to hurt and humiliate had been spent along with his semen. He had climbed onto his bed, pulling the cover over him, and ordered Claudette away. Claudette was frightened. Her reward for being found unaccompanied in the guests quarters would not be pleasant. She recalled the agony she had suffered in the cell.
She set off along the hall in the direction from which she had been brought. She tried to retrace her earlier steps, but somewhere made a wrong turn. She found herself in a gallery, overlooking a refectory. Several people were seated around a table upon which a young woman lay naked. Resplendent platters of food were arranged around the woman. She lay perfectly still. She was a centerpiece.
The feasters talked noisily, and drank wine: some were clearly inebriated and reached across the table-top to fondle the woman's breasts, or to take turns in letting their fingers invade her body. Not one cared to look up, and Claudette watched the scene unnoticed. Not even the naked woman appeared to recognize Claudette, although she stared up from the table and could not help but see her. Claudette recognized the young woman, though. It was Maurice's sister.

iii
The events related in the first two parts of this account concerning the experiences of Claudette at Chateau D-, were separated by an interval of six months. I am not a guest at the chateau, and the Salon is not a place I frequent. So it was unsurprising that I had not come across Claudette since the day following her arrival - when I tortured her by introducing acid into her breasts. She was not a young woman who is easily forgotten; in a place where beauty is commonplace, her charms were outstanding. It was particularly exciting, therefore, to see her name appear on the punishment roster. The anticipation of hurting her again gave me considerable pleasure: I glanced at the nature of her peccadillo - she had been discovered in the residential area without an escort - and smiled when I conjured up the image of her suffering the requisite punishment.
She was brought to me in the early morning. An eccentricity I have concerns dress: it was unlikely that Claudette would have worn more than the slightest covering since our last encounter, but I insisted she was well outfitted for her punishment. It is more enjoyable (for me) to bare only that part of the young woman's body I intend to abuse. Therefore, she arrived in a crisp, white, poplin blouse and a dark, short, fitted skirt that outlined the flowering hips and beguiling tapered thighs that I recalled so well. Tan hose and black patent pumps completed her visible ensemble. I knew that all she concealed was the brassiere pressing obviously against her blouse. She was clearly terrified, entering the room I used for my larger contraptions, and entreated with those who urged her along. She claimed she was not guilty of any purposeful infraction, and begged to be released. When her gaze reached me, however, all hope left her, and she sank at the knees; a soft, prolonged expression of negation leaving her lips.

The sensation of a small rubber ball, the size of a child's marble, falling a hand's-width upon any part of the body is insignificant. Permit the ball to fall onto the same spot one hundred, or two hundred, times, and the blows become progressively more difficult to ignore. A device for imparting such a torture can be easily imagined. Simple mechanisms for raising the ball, releasing it, and timing the frequency of these actions can be devised by the least qualified engineer. In my version of the machine, I replaced the ball with a tiny, rubber-headed hammer, and a handle mounted over a fulcrum. A large wheel with extended spokes, turning on a horizontal axle, provides the lifting and releasing actions. The rate at which the wheel turns, and the number and spacing of the spokes controls the frequency of the impacts.

The first blow fell upon the left side. As did the second. The next two came in rapid succession; one on the right; the other on the left. Claudette hardly winced. The poplin blouse was open and parted; the brassiere beneath unclasped at the front, the cups freed from what they intended to support, and pushed aside. Each breast was held secure by a band, and their small, protruding tips rested over a slim, polished metal bar. Claudette would receive three hundred blows on each nipple in the course of an hour. She winced after the twentieth had fallen.
A quarter of the way through her quota, Claudette groaned each time the solid rubber fell. By the time half of her torment was done, she howled continuously, her crying punctuated by an expressive scream when she felt another impact. Her agony increased relentlessly, and when I stopped the wheel after the last blow, her face was fixed. Her eyes had long widened in an expression of unbelievable pain; her screams had turned to hoarse utterances; and there were no more tears left to flow.
Her nipples would never regain their pea-sized, virginal demeanor. They resembled overripened cherries and would continue to swell until they were twice that size before returning to the cherry-like appearance. For several days, Claudette would suffer excruciating torment in her nipples, not able to bare anything in contact with them.
I released the bands holding her breasts, but before releasing the ties that held her fast to the machinery's framework, I replaced her brassiere and watched her eyes roll when I snagged the clasp.

Going back over my records, I see that almost a year passed before I saw Claudette again. By then she had lost all of her youthful plumpness and had bloomed into one of the most erotic visions I had ever seen. On that occasion, she had been found attempting to run away (I dislike the word 'escape', don't you? - It conjures up such a dreadful concept of prison). I remember torturing her. It was an ecstasy. Claudette was taken from Chateau D- soon afterwards. I am told she walked from the vehicle that left her in Paris, but that is just hearsay. It may be true. I hope it is. I receive an image of sensual perfection each and every time I gaze at the only photograph I ever had taken during a session of torture. It shows only Claudette's face, but in all its wondrous beauty, a moment or two before I began to peel off the vaginal integument.

iv

"What is your name?"
Claudette stated her name.
"Where were you born?"
Claudette gave the name of a small town in the southern region of France. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-two."
"When is your birthday?"
"It was last month. The fourteenth."
"Ah! Bastille Day," someone remarked.
"Yes, Bastille Day," Claudette confirmed.
"Is that the natural color of your hair," a man asked. Claudette said that it was. "How often do you play with yourself?"

A pause followed before Claudette understood and found herself able form a reply. "I . . . don't remem . . .." Her voice trailed off. All around, faces were looking at her, waiting for her to continue. The question was repeated. Claudette's mouth went dry. She had known she would be embarrassed, yet had been caught off guard. She dropped her gaze to her lap and spoke softly. "Once, sometimes twice, a month." Low conversations broke out around her, but she was not able to make out the words. She sat motionless during the hiatus, keeping her gaze lowered, surrounded by a audience of a dozen or more people, not wanting to see the faces of these men and women who had gathered to watch her be humiliated. Her thoughts turned to the events of the past few weeks.
The time she had spent in the cell, with the man who had hurt her so badly, was a memory. Her breasts no longer ached. But any desire to return to that place would be a negation of sense and reason. In the days that followed her torture, and before the agony in her breasts had subsided, she resolved to acquiesce to any and all abject demands placed upon her. This decision was not an emergence of latent, masochism (she had truthfully confessed to the man that she was unable to bare the thought of pain), but a result of the torment she remembered suffering.

Since that time, Claudette had begun to learn the nature of the place in which she was incarcerated. She knew it as The Chateau, but its location, and even its extent were mysteries to her. She understood that her purpose for being there would soon be realized: that she would provide sexual services for those who were called Guests, but not until after she had been taught how to perform in a proper manner. Saddened beyond words at the prospect of being held against her will as an unpaid prostitute - a slave, in fact - she was, nevertheless, sexually experienced and wondered what more there could be to accommodating some unwelcome man beyond opening her thighs. Her chagrin grew replete after she had been told it was unlikely that sexual intercourse would appear often on her agenda: day-by-day she learned of new ways in which a beautiful young woman could provide pleasure of a concupiscent nature. Pleasure not only for men, but also for the cadre of women who sought entertainment at The Chateau. The appetites Claudette found so disgusting were indeed unnumbered and diverse. Exposing embarrassing facts about herself satiated some appetites, and, although not physically painful, was a degrading experience.
She sat on a high, chrome stool, wearing only shoes and a slim, velvet choker about her throat. One leg was crossed demurely over the other and her hands were clasped around her knee. Her hair, pulled back across her temples, had been tied in a knot at the back of her head and hung like a golden tail over her shoulder. Eyes that were accusing, but lips that had surrendered, created a face of such exquisite beauty that it enchanted. The skin, which had been powdered, radiated softness, but refused to shine in the strong light. On the other hand, her nipples, which had been painted with the same rubiate gloss that decorated her nails, were obdurate, and glittered.

The questioning continued with demands for details of her fantasies while masturbating. She supplied hesitant answers, not bothering to lie, aware that only her reluctance and obvious embarrassment bore witness to the truth of what she said. She explained that a man she had once known casually, but with no degree of intimacy, had impressed her sexually, and featured in most of her current fantasies. She divulged that, on an occasion, she had imagined watching him ejaculate into one of her brassieres. "And then?' a woman wanted to know.
"I . . . put it on," Claudette confessed in a whisper.
"Speak louder. Answer the question again. And look up when you reply," a voice demanded.
"I put it . . . I put the brassiere on," Claudette said in a voice that ensured everyone in the audience heard and understood. There were tears in her eyes by then. Inwardly, she screamed. She prayed for this mental torment to end.
"Why?"
Resigning herself to her fate, Claudette spoke slowly, admitting: "The idea excites me." "Do you also use a dildo to arouse yourself?"
"No."
"Then, how do you stimulate your vagina?"
"W- with my fingers . . . only."
"Explain how you do that. No. No. We don't to see you do it. Describe it to us."
"Your nipples are varnished."
"Yes."
"Does that excite you?"
"No. It irritates." Claudette added: "It's uncomfortable." "You mean it's embarrassing?" a man asked. Claudette hesitated before answering. "Yes," she said quietly. "It is embarrassing."
"Is your clitoris varnished, too?"
A pause; after which Claudette said that was so.
"Show us."

The mood of the questioning turned to menstruation and her feminine hygiene. Claudette was obliged to take her audience through the minutia of her period. The questions became unbearably intimate, eventually bringing Claudette to tears when she was obliged to describe in excrutiating detail how she applied her tampon. On several occasions after that she had to overcome sobs before she could continue. She was asked if her breasts and nipples became sore as that time of the month approached. She admitted they did and, when asked to explain what measures she took to relieve her discomfort, confessed that it was then that she masturbated.

Finally, the topic of sexual intercourse was broached. A woman asked Claudette to describe the entire coital sensation: of a penis entering her vagina; of its motion against her vaginal wall; of her breasts being fondled; of her nipples being suckled; and of semen being discharged inside her. And, of course, what she felt during orgasm. Time and time again, Claudette's description was deemed unsatisfactory, and she would be made to expand on the theme, to be more explicit. She was castigated for using clinical terminology, and, when she resorted to street argot, found that to be even less acceptable than medical jargon. She was urged to use nipple rather than teat or tit. Vaginal canal and cunt were unnacceptable alternatives to vagina. Labia and lips had to be replaced with the lengthy but more expressive 'larger (or smaller) folds of flesh at the entrance to my . . ." The inquisition seemed interminable to her, yet, like all trials, it eventually concluded. It left Claudette mentally dissected. She was drained, and ashamed. That night she cried herself to sleep suffering emotional pain, knowing that she was no longer a person, but a chattel whose responses to any carnal stimulus could be predicted.

v

Her introduction to the Salon became worse than she had anticipated. When she entered, the long, quiet room was bathed in golden sunshine and lit by flames from logs burning in the grate. Light streamed in through the tall, lead-paned windows and struck the floor at an oblique angle, making the dark mahogany parquet appear on fire. At the far end of the Salon, a man was beckoning her. She made her way towards him, beneath the stained glass windows, her heels clicking on the wooden floor and betraying her presence. Turning her head slightly, almost unnoticeably, Claudette saw out over the grounds of the estate. It was autumn. Beyond a cultivated park, where deciduous trees were losing their leaves, pine forest stretched to the horizon. There was no clue to her whereabouts. Within the confines of the room, though, over the fireplace, where a Bosch triglyph depicted in one of its frames the excesses of the Underworld, Claudette might have recognized her Chateau D-.
It was early evening and the Salon was occupied by only three groups of guests: one by the fireside, illuminated only by the burning logs; another near one of the gothic windows where the light of day still reigned; and the third, in dim shadow, where Claudette was headed.
A girl - she was only a girl and several years younger than Claudette - stood with her back to the fire, her arms outstretched and fastened to the stone mantlepiece. She wore nothing other than cotton shorts (the material was pink and Claudette thought the color seemed oddly more virginal than the pristine white of her own wrap), and these had been opened - or left open - at the front to expose her navel and reveal the convex, girlish curve of her belly. Her figure had not yet matured. Slim hips, scarcely wider than the petite body they gave support to, barely narrowed into long, white and delicate legs whose only sensuous virtue was promise. An elderly man, standing, facing the girl, held a hand raised to one of her breasts. Claudette could not see what the man was doing, but the girl sobbed audibly and fitfully. Close by, a younger man sat in an armchair with his fiancee upon his lap. Both were absorbed in the young girl's trial. Claudette had to pass close to the second group. Here, three old women with creased faces, and dressed seemingly in mourning clothes, stood in a hunch-backed huddle - like the weird sisters of Shakespeare's Tragedy of Macbeth. Beneath their gazes, a naked woman of Claudette's age lay on her back upon a chaise-longue, her legs straddled, holding herself open with trembling fingers. Where her pristine skin had been touched by sunlight, the tone inveighed the need for hose, or indeed a garment of any kind: her golden thighs beckoned, the slim touches of white skin, where the Sun had not kissed her, drew focus. One of the women prodded her with what appeared to be a bodkin. The other two crones watched and cackled each time the pin elicited a cry of anguish. Slanting sunshine spilled onto the young woman, causing the sun-kissed skin to glow gold, setting it off from the black widow's-weeds and creating a macabre scene. The man who had beckoned Claudette was not a guest, but an usher. He directed the young woman to a sofa where a middle-aged man and his wife were sitting. Then he melted into the evening's gathering shadows. Claudette was invited to sit between the couple. The sofa was plushly cushioned and she sank into it. The back was low and the woman suggested that Claudette rest against it and place her arms upon its top. The middle-aged man slipped his hands between Claudette's knees and, smiling, drew them apart.
Claudette wore a pleated wrap, fastened at the side of her waist and barely concealing the tops of her stockings. A buttonless bolero, open at the front, offered effortless access to her breasts. The woman pulled one half of the bolero aside and fondled Claudette while her husband investigated the region of bare thigh left uncovered by Claudette's hose.
Claudette wore no underwear, a fact the man soon discovered. He drew a gasp from Claudette by indelicately pushing his fingers into her vagina. Then he ordered the young woman to begin copulating with his fingers, and Claudette acquiesced to his demand by moving her hips quickly back and forth. "Close your eyes. Rest your head back." It was the woman who spoke. Claudette obeyed. A few moments later she felt lips close around her left nipple. At the same time, the man's finger came into contact with her clitoris. After a short time she began to pant as the excitement rose within her. Without warning, the man withdrew his fingers, and the suckling at her breast stopped. Claudette had been close to her orgasm and winced at the discomfort she experienced at being left hanging. Then she felt the front of her wrap being parted and she heard a strange sound. Suddenly something warm and smooth pressed against her vagina. Instinctively she tried to close her legs.
Her thighs pressed against the dog's head. The creature took no notice and delved deep into her vagina with his tongue.
"Keep your head on the sofa," the woman said sternly when Claudette moved, then added: "and open your legs - as they were before." Claudette groaned and complied. In a brief moment she had seen the usher standing before her, holding a leash in his hands. She had not gained a good view of the creature that was assaulting her, but realized that it must be a big animal. The woman ordered her to reach a climax. Claudette felt sickened.
Several minutes passed before she was able to will herself to become aroused by the animal. She pressed her clitoris against the dog's snout, trying to keep her attention from the tongue, thick and disgusting, moving inside her. When the climax came, she thrust her pelvis in a brief frenzy and moaned unhappily. Perspiration glistened on her forehead. She went limp, but the dog continued to keep its head buried in her groin.
The animal was clearly excited by her female odor and by the fluid she excreted. He strained at the leash, and the usher had to use two hands to hold the beast back. The brute caused the young woman to gasp as his tongue extended into the very depths of her vagina. His appetite became ravenous, and a long time passed before it was finally satiated.
Later, Claudette was taken to the fireplace. The long, stone mantle could accommodate two young women: one at either side of the cavernous hearth where the hardwood logs roared. The young girl in the pink shorts was still there, standing on the left of the fire, still fastened by her outstretched wrists. Claudette, after being disowned of her bolero, was secured in a likewise manner at the vacant side of the hearth. The girl's quiet sobbing continued and Claudette turned her head to discover the cause. She saw the cone-shaped coils of wire that had been wound onto the girl's breasts. The girl was only a few years into her puberty and still suffered the natural discomfort of her changing shape: the wire devices were intended to aggravate that condition as well as painfully extrude her nipples. The highly sensitive tips had turned an angry shade.
The strangely nostalgic redolence of burning wood mingled with the odor of other emotions pervading the Salon. Beneath the tobacco and perfume more subliminal exhalations existed: anticipation - both for excitement and fear - hung pregnant in the air; the flavor of arousal - welcome and unwelcome - grew and faded throughout the room; and there was, of course, the ever-present essence of perspiration emanating from glistening, pain-wearied bodies. The Salon was full. Three dozen guests were present. Some occupied the lavish chairs and sofas, watching the entertainment; others stood in small groups, talking, seemingly overtaken by a brief season of ennui; the rest participated in the concupiscence. There were women present as well as men; young and elderly as well as those in their middle years. If any common thing united them, it was the shared nonchalance of what was going on around them, that nonchalance that only the extremely wealthy manage to learn well. And they were all so perfectly dressed in their rich evening-gowns and expensive smoking-jackets.
If any one thing united the young women, it was their lack of dress. (Some might argue though, demanding it to be their exquisite beauty.) None wore as much clothing as had earlier covered Claudette: most were clad only in shoes, stockings and the ubiquitous velvet choker that was their mark of rank at Chateau D-. For every three guests, one young woman was there to serve and entertain. They appeared incongruous among the lavish attire and the formal settings of the Salon. Each young woman not engaged in some entertainment wore, between the delicately rouged tips of her breasts, a chain of fine gold bearing her sobriquet. The chain tacitly announced that its bearer was available. Once removed by a guest, however, it remained a symbolic link between the young woman and its acquirer. Then she was beholden only to the one who held her cognomen. By mid-evening the majority of the guests had exhausted their own imaginations and were impatient for the more ingenious, staged attractions arranged for them by their hosts. They eagerly awaited the introduction of Claudette. Apart from two adolescents, the guests began to migrate to the vicinity of the fireplace. The two who remained - a boy barely in his pubescence and a girl, a couple of years older but not yet matured (her dress lay flat across her chest) - appeared to be engaged in some kind of sibling affair. They knelt on opposite sides of a low coffee-table. Between them, a young woman, who might have been as old as their ages combined, lay on her back, her knees raised, her thighs parted. She held her breasts in her hands, as if offering the luscious points. The boy fumbled with the woman's genitals, his eyes staring at what they and his fingers were encountering - possibly, for the first time. The young woman gasped as his fingers disappeared. The boy's sister, more experienced yet equally unsubtle, used her varnished fingernails and small, white, childlike teeth on the woman's nipples. They were absorbed in their ministrations and unaware of what was happening at the fireside.
The firelight played upon Claudette's semi-naked body; shifting shadows followed the curves of her side and back; her stockings shimmered. Her pelvis ached; a result of the numerous orgasms she had been obliged to produce during the enforced encounter with the dog. Her nipples tingled, each one tipped with a shiny, metal cap whose tiny barbed pin was lodged inside the sensitive tissue. Unseen beneath the buttoned wrap, several filaments of fine wire passed through her clitoris, and the tiny organ complained, making Claudette continually shift her stance in an effort to alleviate the annoying discomfort. The audience, who had gathered around to watch this supremely attractive young woman being prepared fora painful ordeal, were offered an appetizing view of her hips moving constantly in a seductive and tantalizing fashion.
A strip of thick, clear plastic stretched across the front of her breasts, barely touching the capped nipples. The plastic was supported by a sturdy contraption resting on the hearth behind the spot where Claudette stood. An usher, who had arranged the mechanism, demonstrated how it operated.
Both for the edification of Claudette and the audience's enlightenment, he showed how the plastic strip opened and closed a switch. He held a small light-bulb in his hand, and attached to it two leads emanating from the device on the hearth. The bulb glowed dimly. Then he ordered Claudette to press her breasts against the plastic strip. Claudette obeyed, but with some trepidation. By conforming to the usher's demand, she knew that the short, viciously-tipped needles already embedded within her nipples would be pushed even further into the sensitive tissue. Carefully, she complied. To her relief, it took only the slightest pressure to move the plastic. The light went off. But it remained off for no more than a few seconds. When it came on again, the usher threw Claudette a questioning, disapproving look that was seen by everyone. Claudette realized what the man intended her to do. She held her breath and pushed a little harder. The light went off again, but, through the clear plastic, the spectators could see the young woman's slightly distorted nipples. On Claudette's face, the effect of the needles was plainly visible. After a few moments the bulb glowed again. The mechanics of the devilish contraption were being regulated so that it became harder, and then harder still, to keep the switch open and prevent the current from flowing through the light-bulb. Moreover, it was becoming increasingly difficult for the usher to encourage Claudette into further impaling her breasts. But he was only illustrating how the device worked. He had another, more cunning and entertaining means of carrying out the torture: it was the effort of moments to reset the device; to disconnect the leads from the light-bulb - and reconnect them to the wire filaments concealed beneath Claudette's wrap. It was not likely that Claudette could have told which pain was worse: the agony of the pins pressed hard into her flattened breasts; or the torment created by the current flowing between the wires and holding her upon the very brink of orgasm, but not permitting her the final release she needed so desperately. When the pain in her breasts reached the limit of what she could endure, and still she could not relieve the torturing arousal the electricity created, Claudette succumbed to the final humiliation. In utter despair, and with a voice hoarse and deepened by the sexual moment, she growled an entreaty to be physically stimulated by the usher. He complied, but not until Claudette was upon the very edge of losing consciousness.

Path: gtr.hkt.net!news.hkt.net!news2.cais.net!news.cais.net!in1.nntp.cais.net!news.abs.net!ddsw1!news.mcs.net!www.nntp.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.enteract.com!ix.netcom.com!news From: Fanakapan <doneese@ix.netcom.com> Newsgroups: alt.torture,alt.sex.stories.bondage Subject: Claudette's Story 5/6 Date: Mon, 11 Nov 1996 12:27:38 -0800 Organization: None Lines: 212 Message-ID: <32878C3A.2E7E@ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: whx-ca10-10.ix.netcom.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-NETCOM-Date: Mon Nov 11 2:27:07 PM CST 1996 X-Mailer: Mozilla 2.01 (Win16; U) Content-Disposition: inline; filename="CLAUDETT.005" Xref: gtr.hkt.net alt.torture:3345 alt.sex.stories.bondage:246

This document describes fictional events of explicit, sexual abuse, and is intended for mature readers only. If you are offended by such material, or prohibited from reading such material by local laws, delete this document before proceeding further.
This document is intended for personal entertainment and may not be used for commercial gain.

Claudette's Story

v

Her introduction to the Salon became worse than she had anticipated. When sheentered, the long, quiet room was bathed in golden sunshine and lit by flames from logsburning in the grate. Light streamed in through the tall, lead-paned windows and struck thefloor at an oblique angle, making the dark mahogany parquet appear on fire. At the far endof the Salon, a man was beckoning her. She made her way towards him, beneath the stainedglass windows, her heels clicking on the wooden floor and betraying her presence. Turningher head slightly, almost unnoticeably, Claudette saw out over the grounds of the estate. Itwas autumn. Beyond a cultivated park, where deciduous trees were losing their leaves, pineforest stretched to the horizon. There was no clue to her whereabouts. Within the confinesof the room, though, over the fireplace, where a Bosch triglyph depicted in one of its framesthe excesses of the Underworld, Claudette might have recognized her Chateau D-.
It was early evening and the Salon was occupied by only three groups of guests: oneby the fireside, illuminated only by the burning logs; another near one of the gothic windowswhere the light of day still reigned; and the third, in dim shadow, where Claudette washeaded.
A girl - she was only a girl and several years younger than Claudette - stood with herback to the fire, her arms outstretched and fastened to the stone mantlepiece. She worenothing other than cotton shorts (the material was pink and Claudette thought the colorseemed oddly more virginal than the pristine white of her own wrap), and these had beenopened - or left open - at the front to expose her navel and reveal the convex, girlish curveof her belly. Her figure had not yet matured. Slim hips, scarcely wider than the petite bodythey gave support to, barely narrowed into long, white and delicate legs whose only sensuousvirtue was promise. An elderly man, standing, facing the girl, held a hand raised to one ofher breasts. Claudette could not see what the man was doing, but the girl sobbed audiblyand fitfully. Close by, a younger man sat in an armchair with his fiancee upon his lap. Both were absorbed in the young girl's trial.
Claudette had to pass close to the second group. Here, three old women with creasedfaces, and dressed seemingly in mourning clothes, stood in a hunch-backed huddle - like theweird sisters of Shakespeare's Tragedy of Macbeth. Beneath their gazes, a naked woman ofClaudette's age lay on her back upon a chaise-longue, her legs straddled, holding herselfopen with trembling fingers. Where her pristine skin had been touched by sunlight, the toneinveighed the need for hose, or indeed a garment of any kind: her golden thighs beckoned,the slim touches of white skin, where the Sun had not kissed her, drew focus. One of thewomen prodded her with what appeared to be a bodkin. The other two crones watched andcackled each time the pin elicited a cry of anguish. Slanting sunshine spilled onto the youngwoman, causing the sun-kissed skin to glow gold, setting it off from the black widow's-weeds and creating a macabre scene.
The man who had beckoned Claudette was not a guest, but an usher. He directed theyoung woman to a sofa where a middle-aged man and his wife were sitting. Then he meltedinto the evening's gathering shadows. Claudette was invited to sit between the couple. Thesofa was plushly cushioned and she sank into it. The back was low and the womansuggested that Claudette rest against it and place her arms upon its top. The middle-agedman slipped his hands between Claudette's knees and, smiling, drew them apart.
Claudette wore a pleated wrap, fastened at the side of her waist and barely concealingthe tops of her stockings. A buttonless bolero, open at the front, offered effortless access toher breasts. The woman pulled one half of the bolero aside and fondled Claudette while herhusband investigated the region of bare thigh left uncovered by Claudette's hose.
Claudette wore no underwear, a fact the man soon discovered. He drew a gasp fromClaudette by indelicately pushing his fingers into her vagina. Then he ordered the youngwoman to begin copulating with his fingers, and Claudette acquiesced to his demand bymoving her hips quickly back and forth.
"Close your eyes. Rest your head back." It was the woman who spoke. Claudetteobeyed. A few moments later she felt lips close around her left nipple. At the same time,the man's finger came into contact with her clitoris. After a short time she began to pant asthe excitement rose within her. Without warning, the man withdrew his fingers, and thesuckling at her breast stopped. Claudette had been close to her orgasm and winced at thediscomfort she experienced at being left hanging. Then she felt the front of her wrap beingparted and she heard a strange sound. Suddenly something warm and smooth pressed againsther vagina. Instinctively she tried to close her legs.
Her thighs pressed against the dog's head. The creature took no notice and delveddeep into her vagina with his tongue.
"Keep your head on the sofa," the woman said sternly when Claudette moved, thenadded: "and open your legs - as they were before." Claudette groaned and complied. In abrief moment she had seen the usher standing before her, holding a leash in his hands. Shehad not gained a good view of the creature that was assaulting her, but realized that it mustbe a big animal. The woman ordered her to reach a climax. Claudette felt sickened.
Several minutes passed before she was able to will herself to become aroused by theanimal. She pressed her clitoris against the dog's snout, trying to keep her attention fromthe tongue, thick and disgusting, moving inside her. When the climax came, she thrust herpelvis in a brief frenzy and moaned unhappily. Perspiration glistened on her forehead. Shewent limp, but the dog continued to keep its head buried in her groin.
The animal was clearly excited by her female odor and by the fluid she excreted. Hestrained at the leash, and the usher had to use two hands to hold the beast back. The brutecaused the young woman to gasp as his tongue extended into the very depths of her vagina. His appetite became ravenous, and a long time passed before it was finally satiated.
Later, Claudette was taken to the fireplace. The long, stone mantle could accommodate two young women: one at either side of the cavernous hearth where thehardwood logs roared. The young girl in the pink shorts was still there, standing on the leftof the fire, still fastened by her outstretched wrists. Claudette, after being disowned of herbolero, was secured in a likewise manner at the vacant side of the hearth. The girl's quietsobbing continued and Claudette turned her head to discover the cause. She saw the cone-shaped coils of wire that had been wound onto the girl's breasts. The girl was only a fewyears into her puberty and still suffered the natural discomfort of her changing shape: thewire devices were intended to aggravate that condition as well as painfully extrude hernipples. The highly sensitive tips had turned an angry shade.
The strangely nostalgic redolence of burning wood mingled with the odor of otheremotions pervading the Salon. Beneath the tobacco and perfume more subliminal exhalationsexisted: anticipation - both for excitement and fear - hung pregnant in the air; the flavor ofarousal - welcome and unwelcome - grew and faded throughout the room; and there was, ofcourse, the ever-present essence of perspiration emanating from glistening, pain-weariedbodies.
The Salon was full. Three dozen guests were present. Some occupied the lavishchairs and sofas, watching the entertainment; others stood in small groups, talking, seemingly overtaken by a brief season of ennui; the rest participated in the concupiscence. There were women present as well as men; young and elderly as well as those in theirmiddle years. If any common thing united them, it was the shared nonchalance of what wasgoing on around them, that nonchalance that only the extremely wealthy manage to learnwell. And they were all so perfectly dressed in their rich evening-gowns and expensivesmoking-jackets.
If any one thing united the young women, it was their lack of dress. (Some mightargue though, demanding it to be their exquisite beauty.) None wore as much clothing ashad earlier covered Claudette: most were clad only in shoes, stockings and the ubiquitousvelvet choker that was their mark of rank at Chateau D-. For every three guests, one youngwoman was there to serve and entertain. They appeared incongruous among the lavish attireand the formal settings of the Salon. Each young woman not engaged in some entertainmentwore, between the delicately rouged tips of her breasts, a chain of fine gold bearing hersobriquet. The chain tacitly announced that its bearer was available. Once removed by aguest, however, it remained a symbolic link between the young woman and its acquirer. Then she was beholden only to the one who held her cognomen.
By mid-evening the majority of the guests had exhausted their own imaginations andwere impatient for the more ingenious, staged attractions arranged for them by their hosts. They eagerly awaited the introduction of Claudette. Apart from two adolescents, the guestsbegan to migrate to the vicinity of the fireplace. The two who remained - a boy barely in hispubescence and a girl, a couple of years older but not yet matured (her dress lay flat acrossher chest) - appeared to be engaged in some kind of sibling affair. They knelt on oppositesides of a low coffee-table. Between them, a young woman, who might have been as old astheir ages combined, lay on her back, her knees raised, her thighs parted. She held herbreasts in her hands, as if offering the luscious points. The boy fumbled with the woman'sgenitals, his eyes staring at what they and his fingers were encountering - possibly, for thefirst time. The young woman gasped as his fingers disappeared. The boy's sister, moreexperienced yet equally unsubtle, used her varnished fingernails and small, white, childliketeeth on the woman's nipples. They were absorbed in their ministrations and unaware ofwhat was happening at the fireside.
The firelight played upon Claudette's semi-naked body; shifting shadows followed thecurves of her side and back; her stockings shimmered. Her pelvis ached; a result of thenumerous orgasms she had been obliged to produce during the enforced encounter with thedog. Her nipples tingled, each one tipped with a shiny, metal cap whose tiny barbed pin waslodged inside the sensitive tissue. Unseen beneath the buttoned wrap, several filaments offine wire passed through her clitoris, and the tiny organ complained, making Claudettecontinually shift her stance in an effort to alleviate the annoying discomfort. The audience,who had gathered around to watch this supremely attractive young woman being prepared fora painful ordeal, were offered an appetizing view of her hips moving constantly in a seductive and tantalizing fashion.
A strip of thick, clear plastic stretched across the front of her breasts, barely touchingthe capped nipples. The plastic was supported by a sturdy contraption resting on the hearthbehind the spot where Claudette stood. An usher, who had arranged the mechanism,demonstrated how it operated.
Both for the edification of Claudette and the audience's enlightenment, he showedhow the plastic strip opened and closed a switch. He held a small light-bulb in his hand, andattached to it two leads emanating from the device on the hearth. The bulb glowed dimly. Then he ordered Claudette to press her breasts against the plastic strip. Claudette obeyed,but with some trepidation. By conforming to the usher's demand, she knew that the short,viciously-tipped needles already embedded within her nipples would be pushed even furtherinto the sensitive tissue. Carefully, she complied. To her relief, it took only the slightestpressure to move the plastic. The light went off. But it remained off for no more than afew seconds. When it came on again, the usher threw Claudette a questioning, disapprovinglook that was seen by everyone. Claudette realized what the man intended her to do. Sheheld her breath and pushed a little harder. The light went off again, but, through the clearplastic, the spectators could see the young woman's slightly distorted nipples. On Claudette's face, the effect of the needles was plainly visible. After a few moments the bulbglowed again.
The mechanics of the devilish contraption were being regulated so that it becameharder, and then harder still, to keep the switch open and prevent the current from flowingthrough the light-bulb. Moreover, it was becoming increasingly difficult for the usher toencourage Claudette into further impaling her breasts. But he was only illustrating how thedevice worked. He had another, more cunning and entertaining means of carrying out thetorture: it was the effort of moments to reset the device; to disconnect the leads from thelight-bulb - and reconnect them to the wire filaments concealed beneath Claudette's wrap.
It was not likely that Claudette could have told which pain was worse: the agony ofthe pins pressed hard into her flattened breasts; or the torment created by the current flowingbetween the wires and holding her upon the very brink of orgasm, but not permitting her thefinal release she needed so desperately. When the pain in her breasts reached the limit ofwhat she could endure, and still she could not relieve the torturing arousal the electricitycreated, Claudette succumbed to the final humiliation. In utter despair, and with a voicehoarse and deepened by the sexual moment, she growled an entreaty to be physicallystimulated by the usher. He complied, but not until Claudette was upon the very edge oflosing consciousness.This is the end of part five of Claudette's Story.

Last modified (12/24/96 14:15:23) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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