ARABELLA AND THE ROD 49, girls tied stories

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"Yes. That is a fair statement of her condition and you have my word that the woman you send shall suffer nothing worse, although i promise you that that will be as much as she will care to bear. A minor but significant point. The girl, being inexperienced and terrified, had only pain and distress from her experience. A woman used to the play of a penis in her belly might actually be able to mitigate her suffering by taking some pleasure from it, even in some cases from the application of a cane to her buttocks."
Donna Isabella permitted herself a wry smile.
"Nature has endowed us with so close an entanglement of our centres of pain and pleasure in our loins that the two can sometimes prove impossible to separate. This woman must not be allowed to escape her full measure of suffering, whether at the hands of the women or the men, and she will have her sexual lightnings discharged repeatedly at the women`s hands before they proceed to inflict her beatings, so that she feels every stroke as pain, and every thrust of the men as violation.
As to numbers, there are five again, two elder sisters, the mother, an Aunt and a female cousin."
"I have every confidence in your word, Donna Isabella, and am happy to rely on that to see the woman is not damaged. She will submit to the five family members before she is given to the men. Are those all your conditions?"
"Not quite. The victim was virgin but we will not know if she has conceived for at least one month, and maybe more. You can imagine the horror of this waiting for the girl. It is necessary that the Petraverdi woman is made to suffer the same anxieties. There must be no tricks with oil and sponges, or silver wires in the entrance to the womb. She must come clean and empty, and take her chance of having her belly filled by the men`s seed."
Arabella looked appalled.
"I don`t think that I can agree to that," she got out finally, "the woman is married, and there would be others involved."
"It must be done," Donna Isabella responded firmly, "It is an inescapable price that must be paid. I might well be able to persuade the men to accept only the other conditions, they will get all the satisfaction they require from ravaging her, but the women see these things differently, and they will insist that the substitute puts her womb at risk, equally with their own sister. No risk and there is no exchange, and `vendetta` will follow as sure as night follows day."
Arabella was silent for so long it became uncomfortable in the room, but Donna Isabella made no attempt to hurry her decision. At last she spoke.
"Very well, if it must be done, it must be done. The woman will come clean and empty. Now I have a condition of my own. So far the news of the girl`s rape has been kept from being public knowledge and, if between us we can avoid `vendetta`, there is no reason why the girl`s identity should ever be known outside her immediate family circle. It seems fair therefore that the woman`s identity should also be protected. She must be allowed to wear a mask over her head throughout."
"I see a problem there," Donna Isabella replied, "the girl is of the highest blood in the land, and the woman sent to pay the price of her rape must be equally high born. If the woman is masked, how are we to know that she is not some hired harlot, willing to suffer for an hour or two in exchange for being set up for life?"
For answer, Arabella stood and threw off her cloak. Under it she wore only the light `robe de chambre` that she had been wearing when the dire news was brought to her. She stripped off the sheer silk and wound it across her face, turning towards her hostess.
"Do you think you would recognise `my` body beneath the mask?" she asked.
Donna Isabella nodded slowly.
"You are a very brave woman, Contessa," she said gravely, " I salute you."
Just under twenty-four hours later, a closed carriage stopped outside the entrance to the Malcardi mansion. It was expected and the doors opened immediately to admit a tall figure enveloped in a voluminous cloak and hood that served to prevent any casual observer identifying the woman beneath. On bare feet she was led by a family member to an upper floor, from which all servants had been banned, and thrust into a brightly lit room where five more women waited. Her cloak was taken from her to reveal her exquisite figure, naked save for a species of black mask, or hood with eye-slits, that totally enclosed her head and hair, making her unrecognisable to anyone but a lover or ladysmaid.
"Is this the woman?" the girl`s aunt asked abruptly.

Donna Isabella nodded assent.
"Are you sure? They could have substituted a whore to take her knocks for gold."
"I am sure," Donna Isabella said, somewhat stiffly, as if affronted that her judgement should be questioned in anything, "Besides, use your eyes. Does that look like the body of a whore?"
It did not, and the Aunt accepted with a bad grace that she had been wrong to query the validity of the sacrificial offering.
The room had been almost emptied of furniture, its principal remaining item being a small, but very heavily constructed table, a little higher than average, its top thick black oak with the patina of age, the legs carved from massive pieces of timber,and slightly splayed out to form a very firm base. To this the masked woman was led, and made to bend over it, her breasts flattened against the cold hard surface, her arms crossed behind her back and secured wrist to elbow, her ankles and knees parted widely and fastened to the front legs, leaving her secured firmly below, with her legs parted, opening up her slot behind to reveal the split fig of her pudenda. Now a wide leather belt was fastened tightly round her waist, with cords passed through rings sewn into the leather and taken over the near edge of the table to fasten underneath. With the cords pulled tight, taking the belt to the table edge, and her legs fixed at knee and ankle, her body could only accommodate by canting up her pelvis and thrusting back her buttocks, making her self fully open behind, her vulva totally accessible to hand on strap.
With ungentle fingers, the Aunt probed the cringing vagina, the woman soon gasping as three bony digits thrust deep into her slit, reaching for the neck of the womb, squeezing, digging, twisting, drawing quick grunts of pain from the luckless owner of these dry cavities that the unlubricated fingers were mauling so savagely.
"She is clean and empty," the vinegary Aunt announced, almost reluctantly.
"Then you may proceed," Donna Isabella decreed.
The five younger women grouped themselves round the body pinned to the table. Hands slid under the breasts to find nipples erect with tension and start to gently `milk` them. Other fingers stroked the neck and shoulders. Still others drew gently along the insides of the white thighs, and more stroked the rounded swell of the tensed buttocks. The fingers that sought out the delicate stem of the clitoris where it nestled in the folds of the inner lips, were those of the girl`s cousin, privately acknowledged among the Malcardi females, and those of some other houses as well, as skilled and knowing above most in such arts. To her was given the duty of coaxing the little bud into active life, despite the victim`s distracting situation and her dislike of being forced to yield to another`s uninvited caresses in this way. But resistance was in vain against the combination of the cousin`s artful manipulation and the crying needs of her stressed body. In minutes she had yielded, her head lifting, giving the workers at her front even easier access to her breasts, her flanks heaving, her breath coming in short gasps until, at last, she surrendered with a series of shuddering spasms, accompanied by short honking noises from behind the mask.
She dropped back onto the table but this was not an end, only a beginning. The fingers went to work again, stimulating her tender parts, stroking the erogenous zones made of easy access by her nudity and bondage. It took longer this time, but her resolve seemed to have weaken somewhat and, slowly but surely, they screwed her up to sufficient tension that she had to let it go in further spasms, more sounds of female passion.
Still they would not let her rest. The fingers went to work yet again, teasing the engorged teats, stroking on soft thigh flesh, gently squeezing buttocks due to receive a much fiercer caress shortly, gentling a throat destined to let forth shrieks of anguish before long. It was testing labour, for the woman was becoming sore now, and her reserves had been drawn, but she could not avoid some arousal, a nagging need that would not rise to its crest. Eventually she could stand the delay no longer and set herself to co-operate and have it done with, fixing her mind on the erotic pressure building in her groin, helping it to blossom until it spilt over in a pallid version of the eruptions she had experienced on the two previous crises. She slumped back onto the table, her energies drained from her, the magic spark that, in some mystic way, allows a woman`s body to ride pain like pleasure and pleasure like pain, dissipated, her body merely meat.


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