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Chapter 8 The Basement
“Tell me about her,” said Maurice looking at the computer screen. He was seated at the desk in his home office. He’d just switched the video input from their satellite provider to the cameras mounted in his basement. The screen divided in rectangles each representing one of the four cameras mounted in the basement dungeon. He selected one and refocused it to provide a close up of the nude female’s face. She was obviously in pain. But who wouldn’t be. She was hanging by her wrists, her toes barely brushing the floor.
“She’s nobody really. A flight attendant I met flying to Boston. She’s a new member of the Paris club. The horny slut tried to pick me up,” said Genevieve who had just entered the study and taken a seat on the edge of the desk. Genevieve was dressed for the role of a dominatrix. No one would mistake her for the pretty ingénue often seen driving around Paris in an expensive sports car. Her blonde hair was swept back in a ponytail, styled close to her skull. Dark ruby colored lipstick matched her nails. A careful application of makeup had changed her appearance from innocence to sinister. A flogger hung from her belt. Her leather mini-dress open to her jeweled navel was slit to the waist on both sides revealing her brief leather thong panty. A pair of thigh high boots polished to a gleam completed her attire. “I noticed she was wearing one of our bracelets so I tested her.”
“How?”
“I had her eat me in the lavatory. Afterwards I made her suck a man off and drink his urine.”
“Who was he?”
“Don’t have the slightest idea, just a fellow passenger waiting to take a piss.”
“So how did she do?”
“Orally, I’d say she was competent. She got both of us off,” said Genevieve.
“You watched her with the man?”
“No, but I instructed her not to swallow before she proved her success. She showed up at my seat with a mouth full of cum and breathe stinking of stale piss that I graciously allowed her to consume.”
“She’s pretty enough, a nice lean figure,” said Maurice moving the camera up and down the woman’s body. “How old?”
“Your mother said you were a stickler for details so I came prepared,” said Genevieve taking a piece a paper out of her pocket and reading. “Michelle Agnes Dumont is thirty-two years old. She was born in Rouen. At age twelve, she, along with her two brothers and three sisters, relocated to Paris when father Eduard took a position as a minor official in the Ministry of Transportation. Papa’s a transportation engineer. Mother Marie is a dietician. Michelle was married for five years to Jean-David Dumont who was killed in a train accident of all things. What an absolutely hysterical coincidence. Air France has employed her for ten years where she has received several promotions and excellent reviews by her superiors. According to Mistress Simone LeCarre, her membership sponsor, she is a high pain threshold submissive who should give us outstanding pleasure.”
“Mistress Simone, I know her. She’s very experienced,” said Maurice. “If Michelle was trained by Simone, we should be in for an interesting afternoon.”
“According to Simone, since her husband’s death, Michelle is changing into a lesbian with an aversion to sex with males. At their last session, Simone arranged for Rudi and a dozen of his North African friends to whip and gang rape her. They made a video of it. I can get a copy if you like.”
“A video could be entertaining. With what result?”
“Close to a nervous breakdown and a case of gonorrhea, since cured,” said Genevieve. “We should get started. Aren’t you worried your wife might come back and spoil things?”
“Christine isn’t due back for hours. And it wouldn’t matter if she came back,” said Maurice.
“She wouldn’t object if she found us enjoying ourselves with Michelle,” said Genevieve?
“Christine would understand,” said Maurice. “And maybe even be allowed to participate.”
“Your mother doesn’t like her, you know. She calls her the American whore my son married.”
“Christine is an American and definitely a whore but also a woman of accomplishment,” said Maurice becoming defensive. “My choice of a wife is my business.”
“My friend Nicole says her sexual accomplishments at the university have never been matched. Your wife slept with more students and faculty than anyone before or since. Completely indiscriminate, men, women, fat, thin, young, old, handsome or ugly, she never said no. She was something of a legend around the college.”
“And how would Nicole know?”
“You forget she was at the same college where Christine was teaching.”
“Did Nicole sleep with Christine?”
“As a matter of fact she did several times. They did it a parties and once on the Metro. They even engaged in a night of bed hopping at a youth hostel. Nicole said they fucked a least one person from each of the EU countries. According to Nicole, it was Christine’s idea. Something she’d done several times before. So why did you marry such a slut? You must have known.”
“Of course I knew. Her omnivorous sexual appetite was part of her appeal. I knew it could be trained and directed to my needs. There were other reasons. She has an exceptional mind. She received her doctorate in her mid twenties and has two published books on global economic theory to her credit. Potentially, she is a future Nobel Prize winner in Economics. She has also given me one healthy, beautiful son with dual citizenship and there are prospects for more. Christine had three brothers, her mother four and her father four. Plus I was and am still intrigued by her.”
“So her voracious appetite for sex was part of her appeal along with her potential for breeding male Cherniers and her academic achievements. I suppose there are worse reasons to choose a wife.”
“How are the two of you getting along?”
“Remarkably well, given that she suspects I’m having sex with her husband. I’m not sure what she thinks of me. I suppose the two of us will eventually wind up in bed together,” said Genevieve.
“You find her attractive, too.”
“Definitely, I am looking forward to getting her head between my legs. Christine is very beautiful, especially the eyes. She’s losing weight and toning up. Her body is becoming more defined. Her biceps and triceps are visible. She’s serious about regaining her figure.”
“Yes, to please me,” said Maurice.
“I wonder who she is screwing since you refuse her. She strikes me as the type of whore who needs her hole filled frequently. Probably some stud at the Health Club is taking care of your precious Christine.”
“Just because we are in the land of the Puritans is no reason to act like one. Why should I care who my wife is screwing as long as I don’t read about it in the media?”
“Does she know you’re fucking me?”
“Of course, she saw me kissing you in the kitchen the other day and as I recall my hand was down your blouse like this,” said Maurice reaching into Genevieve’s décolletage to grasp her breast. His long slender hand wrapped itself around the soft mound of tissue capturing the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Squeezing hard as he turned his wrist causing pain simultaneously in the base and areola, he calmly asked, “Whom are you fucking beside me?”
Genevieve slowly exhaled allowing the pain in her breast to transform into sexual pleasure that warmed the area between her legs. She took a second slow breath to maximize the warmth before she replied.
“So I’m not the only nouveau Puritan, the lady on your screen for one. I spent an evening in her hotel room riding her face. I think we’ve kept her waiting long enough. She’ll not be any fun if we’ve dislocated her shoulders,” said Genevieve removing Maurice’s hand.
“I’ll change,” said Maurice standing up.
***
“Michelle, this is Master Maurice Chernier,” said Genevieve entering the room. “He is my cousin and a member of the Lyon Club. In fact his grandfather founded Club Justine.
“Master Chernier, it is a great honor,” said Michelle lowering her eyes at the sight of Maurice clad in the leather doublet of one of the club’s seneschals. Michelle’s arms ached horribly from being suspended.
“Lower her, Genevieve. I’ll begin with the whip. Put her on the bench,” said Maurice.
Michelle’s eyes followed Maurice as he stepped to a wall cabinet, opened it and selected from the dozen or so whips.
Genevieve pressed the hoist’s control button. There was a barely audible whirring sound as the electric motor lowered her slowly to the floor.
“Thank you, Mistress,” said Michelle as soon as her feet touched and the horrible strain in her arms and shoulders was relieved.
In a blur, Genevieve grabbed the short flogger off her belt and struck Michelle hard across her body. “Cunt, who gave you permission to speak,” demanded Genevieve screaming at the top of her voice?
Michelle’s body contorted as her hands grasped the places the nine strands landed. Seconds later a second blow on the opposite side of her torso ripped a scream from her throat. “I’m sorry, Mistress. Forgive me,” cried a sobbing Michelle clutching her breast where one of the flogger’s strands had done particular damage.
“Assume the first position,” said Genevieve. “The punishment for speaking out of turn is five and you will count aloud each one.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Michelle quickly kneeling down and sitting back on her ankles then bending over to place her forehead against the floor in the classic kowtow position.
“Mistress Simone taught her well,” said Maurice observing the scene.
Michelle managed a reasonably controlled shout of ‘One’ when Genevieve’s first blow landed on her back. That was in spite of the fact the strands of tanned kangaroo leather created a firestorm every place they touched. The cry of ‘Two’ was tinged with only a slightly greater degree of desperation. But someone in agony unquestionably put voice to the ‘Three’. Only a well-trained slave who had experienced the penalty for not counting satisfactorily could have sounded the ‘Four’ and the ‘Five’ that Michelle screamed as the final two blows reddened her back. She rolled on her side sobbing in pain after Genevieve finished.
“Excellent,” said Maurice.
Both Maurice and Genevieve were keenly aware of the difficulty of maintaining the count when your brain was completely focused on the white-hot pain caused by the whip. Like all new members, they had begun their club apprenticeship with slave training. Maurice recalled the day not very long ago when his Uncle Etienne and Aunt Chloe had stood over him delivering blow after blow until he learned that the only way to stop the pain was to mentally form the count into a scream and then release it the instant the whip landed.
“Back or front,” asked Genevieve lifting a sobbing Michelle off the floor by her hair?
“Front,” said Maurice enjoying the panicked look in Michelle’s face at the prospect of his whip landing on her sensitive breasts and sex.
Maurice had purchased the whipping bench from the venerable London firm of Whittier & Coopers, Ltd. Implements of torture were one area where Maurice’s preference for all things Gallic was overcome by the realization English made dungeon products were superior in every aspect from design to construction to quality of materials.
It was the first actual use of the bench since its installation by the company’s representatives. The tubular frame was made of a lightweight titanium alloy. The padded areas were covered with the best leathers chemically treated to resist stains from body fluids. It was the latest model with a host of new features and it was necessary to carefully study the instructional DVD. Maurice noted with satisfaction the professionalism with which Genevieve went about buckling the many straps around Michelle’s arms and legs. His mother’s opinion, “Genevieve is a born sadist,” was proving to be true.
“Good and tight,” said Genevieve delivering a forceful open palmed slap to Michelle’s abdomen that was now pointing directly toward the basement ceiling. Her legs were spread apart and angled downward as were her arms.
“Bind her hair,” said Maurice after inspecting the result. “I don’t want her head bobbing about.”
Genevieve opened the built in accessory drawer and removed one of the items. She carefully gathered Michelle’s hair in one hand, encircled it with the spring-loaded clip then triggered the release. An audible click was followed by a loud, “ouch,” as Michelle’s hair was captured and pulled tight. Genevieve’s arm muscle showed the strain as she inserted the S-hook at the end of the elastic cable in the hair clip’s O-ring then released it. The visible tautness of the tendons in Michelle’s neck demonstrated the force that was now holding her head immobile.
“You’ve very privileged, Michelle, to be the first slave in my new whipping bench,” said Maurice walking between Michelle’s outstretched legs to rest his hand on her sex.
“I thank you for affording me the honor, Master,” said Michelle.
“I would say a worthless slave like you does not deserve such an honor. Is it true that you attempted to seduce Mistress Genevieve on the flight?”
“Yes, Master.”
“The behavior of a slut, a stupid horny cunt, who is a disgrace to both her employer and her native country, do you agree,” asked Maurice allowing his fingers to explore Michelle’s sex? The fact her vagina had self-lubricated to the extent his fingers slid easily inside her opening was not lost on Maurice or how her sex pressed around his finger once it was within her body.
“I agree with Master,” said Michelle suppressing a desire to moan and fighting to stay in control.
“Is your mother also a whore,” asked Maurice exchanging his fingers for the whip handle? It was thick with an uneven knobbed surface, especially at the base. Designed to cause discomfort, Maurice forced it in a squirming Michelle.
“She had a lover at the factory where she worked, Master. Yes, my mother is a whore,” said Michelle following the club’s strict rule about honesty. Lying to a Master was considered one of the worst offenses a slave could commit.
“And how do you know this,” asked Maurice twisting the handle as he pushed it deeper to where it rested against her cervix?
“I saw her once at the park. I was on my way home from school and had taken a shortcut. They were in his car talking when all of a sudden she disappeared. It was obvious what she was doing.”
“And what did you do,” asked Maurice capturing Michelle’s clit between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed hard pressing his thumbnail into the base as he pulled the nodule of flesh away from its mounting.
“Mercy, Master,” cried Michelle sounding a sharp cry of distress. Maurice pulled harder and the appendage slipped out of his fingers.
“Answer my question, Michelle,” said Maurice re-establishing his hold on the base of her clit.
“I told my father, Master,” said Michelle breathing hard to control the pain.
“What exactly did you tell him,” asked Maurice? “Genevieve, a surgical clamp please.”
“I told him I saw Mother sucking Mr. Benoit’s cock, Master.”
“Here, Master,” said Genevieve handing Maurice a Kelly hemostat with a curved tip.
“How did he react?”
“He slapped my face and told me I was never to spy on her again.”
“Spoken like a true Frenchman,” said Maurice taking the hemostat from Genevieve. He placed the metal prongs on each side of Michelle’s outstretched clit then closed the clamp locking the handle. Once again, Michelle sounded a sharp little scream. Her breathing became more rapid and drops of perspiration appeared on her brow.
“Were you an adulteress before your husband Jean-David was killed,” asked Maurice beginning a regular motion of thrusting the whip handle into her vagina as he pulled and twisted the hemostat?
“Yes, Master,” said Michelle. “I continued to sleep with an ex boyfriend.”
“And after his death,” asked Maurice.
“I had many lovers, Master.”
“Men or women?”
“Both, Master, mainly men at the start then mostly women.”
“And when you saw Genevieve on the plane, you wanted her,” asked Maurice sensing that Michelle was becoming aroused to the point of orgasm.
“Yes, Master. Mistress Genevieve is very beautiful.”
“Would you like to lick her sex while I whip your pussy?”
“Yes, Master,” said Michelle.
“Genevieve, spread her sex,” said Maurice abruptly pulling the whip handle from Michelle vagina as he released the hemostat then stepped away. The sudden release of the clamp allowed the blood to rush back into the crushed capillaries sending the nearby nerve endings into a paroxysm of pain. Michelle writhed back and forth to the limited extent her restrains allowed.
Genevieve retrieved what she needed from the accessory drawer and in less than a minute Michelle’s sex was opened like a flower in bloom. Small saw tooth clamps applied to her labia major tethered to elastic cables spread her sex in a way that was heartbreakingly beautiful and terribly vulnerable.
Maurice smiled, pleased with his purchase from Whittier & Coopers, Ltd. He felt his cock stir as he looked upon Michelle’s open vulva. He considered whether Michelle or he would receive the greatest pleasure from what was about to happen. As he uncurled the whip, he knew the answer was Michelle and hated her for it.
***
Why not me thought Christine staring at the screen? She’d arrived home minutes ago to find Maurice and Genevieve’s cars in the garage but no one obviously home. After she checked on Michael who was sound asleep in his crib she followed her ears to the home office.
Ignoring the possibility she’d find Maurice and Genevieve making love; she entered the office to discover the noises were coming from Maurice’s computer. Thinking it was another of Jean-Paul’s Russian mafia DVDs, Christine sat down at the desk to watch.
It took only seconds for her to understand what she was watching. Genevieve was kneeling in front of Maurice sucking his cock as he whipped a naked female restrained face up across the whipping bench. Christine knew from experience the excellence of Maurice’s skills with a whip. The front of the restrained female’s body from her neck to her thighs was covered with red stripes. Her labia were stretched open with alligator clamps and there were several red marks on her sex.
Who the fuck is she wondered Christine as she gently touched the controls to change the camera angle and tighten the focus on the woman’s face. I’ve never seen her before but she is very pretty. Christine further tightened the focus. Each time the whip landed the woman’s mouth opened and an ungodly scream of pain escaped. Christine’s jealousy grew as she looked in the woman’s pain-filled eyes.
She’s a submissive and she’s where I should be. Where there’s the pain and only pain and nothing else exists. It’s a good thing Lex tortured me with electricity at his place or I would be downstairs on my knees begging Maurice to let me join her.
Christine realized her hand was unconsciously stroking the crotch of her workout shorts. Needing more contact, she slumped back in the chair and raised her hips in order to slide them off. Half naked she dangled her legs over the chair arms. Christine delivered a powerful open palmed slap to her vulva then followed it with an even harder blow. Her other hand reached under her bra to grasp and twist her nipple. She slipped two fingers in her vagina, coated them generously with her fluids then placed them on her tongue. The smell of Lex’s cock and the taste of his semen filled her senses and reminded her of the wonderful things he had done to her mere hours ago. She began to stroke her sex as she watched the scene in her basement.
The scene below had changed. The woman’s immobilized head was jerking slightly as Maurice brutally thrust his cock in her mouth. It was the kind of savage skull fucking he loved. The woman was choking each time he drove his cockhead into her throat. She’s a submissive like me realized Christine or she wouldn’t be there.
Christine gimbaled one of the four cameras to focus on Genevieve. Genevieve’s youthful face expressed her delight and erotic feelings as she repeatedly caned the woman’s butt. Christine recalled the time in the chateau’s dungeon when Maurice and Jean Paul had caned her to the verge of madness while making her choke on their cocks.
Curious, Christine muted the sound to listen if she could hear the screams coming through the floor. There was only silence. Excellent thought Christine recalling the day the soundproofing was installed and her conversation with the builder.
“What you going to be doing down here, Mrs. Chernier,” asked the grinning subcontractor Maurice had hired to build out the basement? He was a well-built Italian and if circumstances had been different, she might have been interested in more than his construction skills. Thick sheets of the same soundproof material used in the bank’s coin counting rooms were being cut and fitted between the ceiling joists and wall studs.
Christine could tell from the look on his face, this was not the first time he’d soundproofed a home dungeon where there was a concern loud screams would bring the neighbors or even the police.
“My husband’s hobby is woodworking. He doesn’t want the noises to disturb anyone especially our infant son,” answered Christine.
“Well, this stuff will definitely absorb and suppress the sound. You could scream your head off or operate a lathe and nobody will hear a thing,” said the man smiling at Christine.
Whipping the fluids in her vagina to froth, Christine imagined herself rushing downstairs to throw herself at Maurice’s feet. She begged to take the woman’s place or be whipped alongside her. Maurice and Genevieve could strap them together their faces buried in each other’s sex then lash the two of them at the same time. Christine, her face covered with the submissive’s fluids would find herself screaming her pain into an open dripping vagina. Maurice would encourage Genevieve and even the other submissive to hurt and humiliate her.
Christine’s fingers established the right rhythm as she played with herself. One set of fingers worked her clit while the others rubbed her G-spot. On screen, Genevieve’s hand was forcing its way inside the woman’s vagina. Christine was no stranger to the fisting ritual practiced by the femmes of Paris. She’d both witnessed and experienced it in the bars and sex clubs catering to the city’s female homosexuals. In the places patronized by the wealthy fashionable lesbians, exotic oils created by the city’s perfumers were used to lubricate the vagina. But in the clubs catering to the diesel dykes and leather girls, the girl was only permitted to spit on the invading hand.
“You’re still a virgin until a woman has put her fist in your womb,” was the challenge issued by the beautiful lesbian professor who offered to help Christine explore the dark under world of Paris’ most depraved homosexual clubs.
At Club Garbo, the fisting ritual was performed to Ravel’s Bolero. The supplicant was restrained in an antique wooden structure especially designed for the event. The sponsor stood between the outstretched legs. Two others stood to each side with a breast flogger. Silk chords bound the base of the breasts tightening and making them more vulnerable to the thin strands of the whips. Christine recalled her ritual deflowering by the tall mannish professor as hell on earth.
It began with a single finger inserted in the vagina while the female’s breasts were whipped with small floggers. After ten slow sensuous strokes of whip and finger, a second finger was added. The twenty-first required three fingers and the thirty-first all but the thumb. The fingers went deeper each time keeping with the rhythm of the music and synchronized to the floggers. Usually by the time, the count reached thirty; the femme’s breasts had turned red and began to swell.
If the girl were a novice, she would be offered a chance to stop at that point and try again later. But if she agreed to go on then any subsequent loss of nerve or the ability to withstand the pain was treated harshly. Christine had witnessed the failure of a beautiful Italian student who was in one of her classes. At forty-two she had called a halt unable to endure the twin agonies of her whipped breasts and the large female hand forcing its way into such a narrow passage. The audience cursed and spat upon her. She was brutally beaten by the onlookers. Covered in her own blood she was thrown out into the street naked. But for Christine and others like her, the forty-first stroke saw the insertion of four fingers and the thumb into the vagina. The pressure was increased as the palm slowly disappeared until exactly on the fiftieth stroke the woman’s opening was stretched tightly around her lover’s wrist. At that point, the breast flogging stopped.
Next came the coup de main as the elongated hand was formed into a fist and pushed to the walls of the cervix. Success resulted in champagne for everyone or beer in the case of a diesel dyke.
Obviously, Michelle was no stranger to the ritual. Genevieve’s hand had disappeared inside her. The flexing of the tendons in Genevieve’s arm signaled the formation of a fist. Michelle’s face reflected the agony of its journey deep into her womb. But Genevieve’s fist was not Michelle’s only torment. Surgical clamps were attached to her nipples. A Whitehead gag forced her mouth open. Maurice slowly rotated and pulled on the nipple clamps as he thrust his cock into her wide-open mouth.
Christine’s imagination took over her being and put her in the strange woman’s place. Her breasts felt the pressure of the cruel clamps as her flesh was painfully stretched and twisted. Her vagina was filled with Genevieve cruel fist and her mouth with Maurice’s hard cock. She slipped off the chair as she orgasmed. Rolling over and over it was several minutes before it ended.
***
“You’ve done well. You may bring yourself to orgasm,” said Maurice. Michelle’s loud moans reflected her effort to slowly raise then lower herself over the gigantic studded dildo mounted on a rounded padded bench she straddled. Moments before she begged not to be impaled on such a phallus, but they had ignored her entreaties. Holding her legs spread they had positioned it in her opening. Once the pointed cockhead was barely inside the narrow opening, Genevieve pushed down on her shoulders as she begged for mercy. But once impaled, she accepted her fate and found pleasure in having her vagina expanded to its maximum width.
“Thank you, Master,” said Michelle her voice unable to hid her desperate need for relief. One of Michelle hands moved immediately to her sex while the other reached back to her empty hole. She forced two fingers past her sphincter as she stroked her clitoris.
“Smile and stick out your tongue as you cum,” said Genevieve clicking still images onto the memory stick of her digital camera. “I promised Mistress Simone something interesting for her photo album.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Michelle attempting to smile while she endured the pain of having her vagina stretched to an obscene girth. Michelle was glad Genevieve would be driving her back to the airport hotel. She didn’t think she was capable of driving herself. Once there, she would take a handful of painkillers and sleep until she had to get ready for a midnight departure. She straightened her back lifting her badly bruised breasts as she posed for Genevieve.
Maurice’s keen senses and peripheral vision had noted the slight swivel of the video camera and the refocusing of the lens. He half expected Christine to burst into the basement begging to share in Michelle’s punishment. Perhaps it would have been amusing thought Maurice looking at the untried St. Andrew’s Cross in the corner. Genevieve could have played with her while I punished Michelle. But no it was better she cowered upstairs. She needs to be taught a lesson. Self-discipline is important in the wife of a Chernier. Christine had gained thirty pounds with Michael. She had used the excuse he was frequently away on business to stuff herself with sweets. Fortunately, she was shedding the extra weight quickly.
Hopefully, it won’t be long before she will take Michelle’s place on the whipping bench. And after that if she practices the proper dietary restraint, I will impregnate her again.
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