Free Damsels in Distress by Amanita Virosa Page A

know, but after the sting it will feel better.’
    To Jane’s fevered mind the brine Polly was splashing over her whipped back and buttocks felt as if it was stripping away her flesh, but she was still chained and there was nothing she could do to avoid the torment. ‘Oh please, that’s enough, for pity’s sake enough,’ she gasped.
    ‘Sorry, your ladyship,’ Polly answered in a strained voice, ‘but the master told me to brine you thoroughly.’
    ‘And do you always do as that beast tells you, even when he is not present?’ Jane knew the answer. Three months in that cruel dungeon had been quite sufficient for Makepiece to break the dark-haired girl completely to his cruel will.
    He had climaxed just after Jane’s shuddering orgasm, and she watched, astonished and transfixed as his creamy emission splattered audibly onto the stone flags of the dungeon floor. With a grunt he then ordered the kneeling Polly to lick him clean and then lap up the cold spunk from the flagstones, Jane shocked to watch the girl obey his outrageous order without a moment’s hesitation.
    How many whippings had it taken, Jane wondered as she winced against the stinging salt water splashing over her bottom, to bring the girl to such a state of submission? She seemed to have become his possession absolutely; there was little hope of help from that particular quarter.
    Polly splashed the brine over Jane’s whipped thighs and the bound girl closed her eyes and opened her mouth to moan again.
    ‘Easy, my girl, easy!’ Lord Makepiece murmured as Jane fell into his arms. On his orders Polly had released the mechanism that held the chains taut, and with muscles numbed by two hours in one position, and weakened by her flogging, Jane collapsed as the chains slackened. But Makepiece knew his business and was ready to catch her, and held her in his arms as Polly hurried to unlock the manacles about her ankles.
    ‘There, there, my dear,’ he said, lifting and carrying her across the dungeon. He stopped at a chair, which he sat upon, letting Jane settle on his lap. He began to massage her arms and shoulders, which was painful and yet welcome, and little by little her aches eased.
    ‘Polly, the food,’ he ordered.
    Her chains clanking as she moved, the naked prisoner hurried across the dungeon and disappeared up the stone steps, returning a few moments later carrying a tray laden with good food; fresh white bread, cold beef and chicken, fresh fruit, and wine to drink. There were also two wooden bowls filled with stale bread crusts.
    Lord Makepiece kept Jane on his lap as he fed himself, ordering Polly to hand him a chicken leg and a goblet of red wine, offering nothing to either of the naked prisoners, and despite her fear and shame Jane realised how very hungry she was.
    At last the tormentor had eaten enough, though he retained the wine goblet. ‘All right, Polly, you may now prepare the prisoner’s food,’ he said, and Jane watched as the naked girl took the two bowls of crusts and placed them on the floor, then took the pitcher and poured water into them.
    ‘The crusts are old and dry,’ Sheringham said conversationally to Jane, ‘but I am generous and allow them to be moistened. Now, watch Polly, for from now on this is how you will feed.’
    Jane watched aghast as Polly knelt before the bowls, placing her palms flat on the floor beside one. Then the girl lowered her head and began eating, direct from the bowl, like an animal.
    ‘Now, your ladyship,’ Makepiece said to Jane, ‘you may claim your supper, too. You will eat in the same manner.’
    So hungry was Jane that she had little choice but to slide from his lap and fall to her knees. She looked at the bowl, and at Polly, scoffing her crusts like a pig. She looked up at Makepiece and met his condescending sneer. His dark, malicious eyes bored into hers, and in the end she had to look away. She shivered, conscious of her nakedness and her vulnerability in that terrible place. A sigh