NV

Selina

Selina is relaxed.

Seated, legs crossed, and fist resting on her hip, she taps the end of her long crop lightly against her leg. The waiting room is familiar territory for her, the deep carpet, the red latex drapes – a place she has sat before. The other wives were brought to her here after their  “ modifications “ and Selina herself was first in this room many, many years before awaiting her own surgery.

She is aware as she remembers of an entirely illusory but still strong feeling of emptiness in her abdomen, the place where her womb had been removed.

 

She shuffles in her seat. THAT memory of this place is still uncomfortable. The tip of the crop accelerates as her mood changes to loss, suppressed anger.

Selina had been fifteen when she was brought here. Her life up to that point had been little short of completely happy.

 

Born to a wealthy family, privileged. The pretty youngest daughter, adored by her Mother, smiled upon by her Father. She had two elder sisters, demure and feminine who petted her, indulged her and played with her all her life. Her brother, older by at least ten years, seemed the perfect male image for her. Handsome, strong, confident and demanding.

When Pater was away on business it was He who had punished the domestic servants, formally before evening prayers. The women bent forwards over the whipping block. Their skirts raised, buttocks bared.

“ Remember to thank Me and State for your punishment when I have finished. Selina would you make sure the number is correct? Count them for Me “ Looking towards his youngest sister seated on the sofa with the other girls and their Mother watching, hands in the laps of their satin, silk or taffeta dresses. Smiling at her.

“ Oh yes Brother dear !” Selina had thrilled at His attention.

When the whip fell, she would count loudly.

“ ONE “ the woman squirming at the first blow, a little yelp of pain.

Peter grinning, measuring the next blow, turning a little to the side. Leather jacket glistening in the candlelight, jackboots so highly polished, the tight black leather jodhpurs over his thighs.

As she remembers Selina feels that slow throb again between her legs, the deep promise of moisture. She recrosses her legs.

She had watched when He punished her sisters, had even allowed her to stand by their heads counting the strokes whilst pretending to comfort them and looking at the way their faces contorted at every blow.

She was never allowed to see Him or her Father punish mother but she had crept silently up to the door and listened. Looking savagely at the  waiting servants to silence them and pressing her fingers to her groin through the frilled material of her skirt as she listened to the mews of pain, the sobbing…………………….

 

It was her maidservant who she began torturing at around the age of eleven. She had started by repeating the scenes she had scene in her own bedroom. Having the girl bend over an armchair, using a stick she had found in the garden to beat her. It was the maid herself, increasingly terrified of her little Mistress, who told her the marks might be seen at her own punishment by Peter and that “ Missy must stop……..”

For that Selina had plunged a hatpin into the woman’s breast in anger, incensed because she knew the girl was right and scarlet with frustration. The moan of pure agony this had elicited excited her, she had twisted it, pushing her little fist against the black polished cotton of the poor woman’s breast. Her other hand snaking to her naked genitals and it had been there she had her first orgasm, watching the tears rolling down the cheeks of her victim as cuntwetness covered her own inner thighs and her fingers ran over her slit..

 

Of course it had grown. She kept her secret but soon it was others on the staff, the other maids began to fear her and her orders to “ Go to my room, I have something for you to do. “

The needles were perfect, leaving hardly a mark but causing agonising pain. She had begun to study the effects, deciding on which places were most effective. She found the genitals to be most enjoyable, that and the underarm flash, the inner thigh, the lips……………………

Selina began to read widely on the subject of torture, noting down ideas, she stole a corkscrew from the kitchen – rather got her maid to do so – and was gratified when it caused such terrible pain when used on the buttocks of her victim that the girl fainted.

She adored the public executions and punishments Father and Peter took them to and would always orgasm, hands hidden beneath her cloak, as the whip fell or the birch landed or the noose tightened. Her sisters would look away, bow their heads, faces now hidden by their bonnets and veils and sob at the cries.

Selina, eyes glazed, mouth full would study every detail of the cruelty.

 

At the age of fourteen Selina had become a consummate sadist, every one of the servants feared her, she masturbated five or six times a day and now ensured her maid used her mouth on her at every opportunity. One day she sneaked into her Brother’s rooms whilst she knew He was away on business and got her maid to dress her in His leather boots, jodhpurs and jacket. The aroma of maleness was heady, orgasmic, the leather itself fascinating, the creak and slow movement of the material, comically loose on her as it was, her finest moment in her short life. A point of true knowledge. Selina knew this was her true destiny.

 

She strode to her maid, the jackboots slapping at her little legs as she moved, and began to kick her, punch her. Sneering, spitting and cumming at every touch of her hand to her clitoris.

She heard ribs crack, watched the girl’s face redden, go blue, cuts opening, blood flowing.

Then she saw her sisters and mother at the door. Open mouthed and squealing………………………………

 

Selina shakes her head as she remembers.

 

Father had questioned her when He returned from work. She was locked in her room, sobbing, the leather torn from her and her own feminine garments thrown at her.

He had listened to her as she sobbed out lies, denials, and justifications. Left her with a face like thunder.

 

The police were called.

 

She was questioned again. A tall, thin man in a green leather uniform. Eyes bright, face impassive. The offence of course was not of assault on the maid, whose condition was critical, it was far more serious. The questioner was from the vice squad. Selina - with all the advantages of a perfect neo Victorian family, wealth, love. proper discipline - Selina had become that most despicable of creatures a dominant female.

He was patient and finally He got the whole thing from her, from the other servants. From her sisters.

 

There was no trial of course, the sentence was passed by her interrogator.

Hysterectomy. Denial of the right to procreate. On consideration of the family’s position and after hearing pleas from Father, mother and Brother Selina was not denied citizenship but was given as bondmaid to her Brother, Peter.

So fifteen years ago Selina had lain on the operating table in this very hospital legs held wide whilst the male surgeon performed the operation which would effectively end her life as a whole woman.

And it was public.

 

Or meant to be, if anyone other than the family had known that she was there.

As it was it was only her mother’s face she had seen above her in the viewing gallery, behind the glass she looked down on her daughter, face contorted with shamed crying.

Watched as the surgeon opened Selina under local anaesthetic, the girl must SEE her shame, making a brutal vaginal entry and excision. Finally holding up the small, blood covered organ ripped from her belly, the pear that had held her future.

He showed it to her mother.

She waved for it’s disposal and with a wet slap it was thrown into a kidney bowl by Selina’s head and she was desexed.

 

Selina was still effectively a virgin despite the surgeons enforced defloration and so it was her own Brother who would use her vaginally for the first time. She was to learn that a woman’s proper place is beneath a male, suffering and offering her pain and her body for His greater enjoyment. Her use was to be frequent - it was to be expected that after a year or two her case might be reconsidered and she might be encouraged to serve another Man ( or Men ) as she had always been intended to.

 

She never did. Her Brother became her life.

 

Oh yes she had appeared contrite. She had corseted, worn the ballet boots, smothered herself in silk, satin, taffeta. Hidden her face, been demure, feminine, submissive, obedient. Dumb with lipstick, blind with mascara.

 

During the day.

 

From the first moment she had entered His bed she had worked hard. She ensured that His pleasure was paramount. She had sucked, groaned, opened herself, demeaned herself, knelt and kissed. She read everything she could on the arts of love, she had exercised her body, her vagina.

She could grip Him, milk Him, bring him close to orgasm and keep Him at that peak………….and in some strange way He became hers.

She lay next to Him every night, teasing, totally sexual. She slept during the day and spent hours preparing for His arrival. She began to suggest things which would increase His pleasure beyond the bed.

Why not have His maids corseted more brutally……………..should she have her breast enlarged?

She did and breast fucking became a regular part of their sexual life. Her mouth gaping above His penis, it’s shaft gripped between her oiled dugs.

Perhaps He could use a cattle prod more often on the servants, a faster, more immediate inducement to good work. Could she have her own little prod??? One with pretty pink ribbons on??

Her sisters married and left the home, mercifully showing no signs of selina’s sickness. Father died and Brother became Master.

After ten years Selina became effective, if not titular , Mistress of the house.

Her mother suffered.

 

The day of her Father’s funeral Selina ensured that after the burial she had time alone with her Master. She had knelt in her hobble skirted, black silk dress and used her mouth on Him. Her hands moving over his thighs and tickling his scrotum as she knew he adored.

 

 

When he came his grief had turned to violence and he slapped Selina as she sucked at his semen.

He kneed her chest and looked down at her as she sprawled gasping on the floor.

 

He was still rigid. Selina hurriedly lifted her skirts and opened wide before he fell forward and impaled her.

 

“ Master must have a wife now………” Selina yelped as he thrust into her.

“ Carry on the line.”

“ YES bitch sister. “ He slapped her face, back and forth. This was a new Master, harder, urgent, very very angry.

“ Not you cunt, real meat that will bear Me children “

He came again but continued thrusting.

Through her split lip Selina whispered.

“ I will find her Master, I will get a doll for you……………please let me My Master……..I have to serve you………….let me find a cunt you can torture……..”

He peaked again soon after.

Withdrew. Sneered down at her.

“ Yes you perverted little bitch, you can get her for Me. Take the household too, run it as you wish…all your sick little ideas. “

Selina smiled.

“ Mother too? “

He turned away from her, pulled his leather crotch flap up and buckled it tight again.

“ All of them. “

“ Get Me a breeding bitch, until she arrives you are in charge here. In this house you can be as sick as you like. “

“ Oh Master only the things you will enjoy, all I do is to amuse you. To show My love.”

He turned, face set and impassive.

“ After the guests have gone you can begin…………tonight.”

He left, slamming the door behind Him.

Selina grinned.

 

Now she waits for the third wife………………………………………..

 

 

mitsi

They always seem to come at night.

When the ward is quiet, when the lights have been turned off.

mitsi is falling asleep and suddenly she is aware that they are back. she hears the ward doors open, the squeak of boot heels on the tiled floor, the swish and slap of skirts.

 

She opens her eyes to the dimness. They are going to the bed next to her. She hears the curtains pulled, the clicking of the rings, the soft hiss of the latex as the bed is hidden and the nurses surround the bed. She waits.

“ Please.”

The voice of the new girl, the girl next to her. It is tiny, fearful, weak, plaintive.

“ Please do you have to? “ mitsi breathes slowly, still and silent on her back.

“ Don’t be silly girl. Of course you must do what Master wants. Woman is born to pain and suffering you know“ It is the ward Matron, mitsi knows her, a hard woman.

“ Gag her.” The order is sneeringly dismissive.

“ Mnnggg”

mitsi knows what they are doing, she can see it as it was done to her. The nurses bending over the bed, their strong hands on her head, the gag placed over her mouth, the slim fingers in the black rubber gloves pumping the sac within her mouth up, until her cheeks bulge, her throat fills.

She hears the trolley now, the squeak of the tires as it approaches.

She imagines the white rubber sheets being lifted, the sedated body beneath, the hands lifting the limp girl…………….

She tries to turn her head and see what is happening. The curtains are still closed.

“ Off to surgery now little one!” The voice is gay, teasing.

“ Then we can make you better. Far better, not ugly like this but pretty for your Master eh? “

mitsi imagines the horrible woman stroking the girl’s cheeks whilst the tears roll down them.

“ And we can get rid of that STUPID voice too eh? What little doll needs a voice? “

“ Goodbye little one………….”

There is a flurry of movement. mitsi hears the curtains drawn, sees the trolley pulled out with it’s tiny load -  a brief sight of the girl’s bulging, terrified eyes. The nurses either side walking it out.

“ Matron? “ she whispers.

She hears the woman turn, looks up to see her, a huge shape in dark blue rubber uniform, her breasts conical and thrusting towards her face. Terrifying.

“ Yes doll? “ the voice is hard.

“ Is she going to be made better too? Like me? “ mitsi mews.

The woman leans forward and strokes her bald scalp.

“ Not like you little one, she can never be as pretty as you……………….we are only removing her arms and getting rid of her vocal chords.”

She lifts the sheets and looks at mitsi’s body, the huge breasts , the arms severed at the elbow, the legs at the knees. Small, helpless.

The doll like face with improbable pouting mouth, huge eyes and vestigial button nose.

She presses a finger to mitsi’s cleft and rolls it over the clitoris.

“ You will ALWAYS be prettier than that scum My little one.”

“ You never complain do you? “

mitsi shakes her head.

“ you are a GOOD girl”

mitsi closes her eyes in pleasure.

She IS a good girl.

 

 

 

She sleeps. In the morning she wakes and is not surprised to find the girl has been returned next to her. The screens have been removed.

She is still beneath the white latex sheets, an IV drip running to her throat, a mask over her face. She is bandaged around the neck and mitsi can see the white slightly stained at her shoulders where the limbs have been severed. A nurse sits next to her bed glancing up from a novel now and then to check her vital signs.

mitsi whispers.

“ Nurse could you help me up please?”

The girl has been sitting open legged pressing the fingers of one hand to her blue rubber skirts, obviously this is an erotic novel. She stands with some bad temper. She swishes to Mitsi’s bedside, abruptly pulls a lever to elevate the top of the bed , yanks her body higher and then smooths the sheets again when mitsi is inclined.

“ Thank you very much nurse. “ mitsi is ALWAYS polite.

The woman returns to her seat.

Mitsi can see the book now…………….a lurid picture on the cover shows a Master whipping His slave with a barbed wire flail. Blood covers the surface…………

 

Mitsi has to wait until the nurse has cum before she is tube fed and cleaned.

 

After breakfast mitsi is taken for her physiotherapy. The three weeks since surgery have seen the stumps of her arms and legs heal almost completely and she has been practising crawling in a pleasing way. The floor she is exercised upon is now wood parquet, not foam and the nurses say they are very pleased with her.

She lays down on her back whilst two of them kneel and lace the single heeled black patent bootees on her arms and what remains of her legs. The deep thick, rubber training collar is the next and the leash. mitsi is comforted by the tightness and the faint whiff of leather, they turn her over and she “ stands “. The newly distended nipples of her enlarged breasts nearly brush the floor. They are rigid and nearly an inch wide, the breasts themselves are full and heavy, mitsi has to wait until AFTER exercise before she is milked. She looks up, in this position she has to hold her head back, stretching her throat against the collar. Her eyes are ever arched as she looks about her.

 

“ Come mitsi! “ the nurse whistles and tugs on the leash and mitsi begins her exercise. Round and round the room, onto platforms representing beds, even onto chairs. The heels of her boots clacking, sweat covering her body with the exertion, the occasional slap of the leash end on her buttocks as the nurse shows displeasure with her effort………….but they are rare. mitsi is a good girl.

 

 

She has become used to the smell of the floor and the sounds of herself and other girl’s efforts, One has stumps even shorter than herself and drags herself about with her breasts rubbing the surface beneath her chafed and reddened. mitsi can see as she moves behind her that she has been infibulated, her cunt now has nothing but a tiny silver valve set in it……………….she also has no voice like the girl in the next bed.

mitsi thinks she is an older wife and now no longer used, this reduction to animal like status can be the only explanation. Another has lost her arms but retains the knee joint of her legs and she is being taught how to walk on black rubber prosthetics…………..she has a strange rolling gait which is accentuated by her rigid corseting.

 They never talk of course, it is bad enough to be seen naked in another’s presence, deeply shaming. Sometimes the nurses deliberately bring them face to face and amuse themselves by watching the discomfort on their faces.

The nurses themselves, like all good citizens, wear white latex yashmaks over the lower halves of their faces, their bodies of course covered in the A line skirted, full length, powder blue rubber uniforms with leg of mutton sleeves.

 

mitsi becomes aware of a silence in the room. The nurse leading her has stopped and is now executing a deep curtsey, mitsi lets her head drop and pants. She hears the squeak of wellington boots approaching. She looks up. It is the Surgeon.

 

 

The woman is shockingly dressed. Her hair is uncovered as is her neck, she wears a simple green latex smock with loose sleeves over green surgical gloves. Her face is made up and she wears glasses. mitsi hears her approaching, looks up at her.

The woman kneels, mitsi can smell her perfume mingled with the rubber, she feels the woman’s breasts against her rib cage as she leans over and runs her hands over Mitsi’s bosom and nipples. mitsi is ashamed to find that she is weeping milk, the woman rubs her fingers in front of mitsi’s nose.

“ BAD GIRL!!” She has a German accent.

“ Bad bitchgirl! Milking is not until later, bad girl is wasting milk! She then moves her hand to mitsi’s cleft. It is sweaty but dry. Unaroused. Surgeon presses her fingers into the cleft.

“ Hmm Hymen still intact eh? Good. When your Master takes you for the first time bitch I have guaranteed the blood will flow. SUCH a good lubricant eh?

She stands.

“ Get her back to the ward nurse, she is able to be released, the sister in Law will collect her later today.

mitsi shivers.

Soon to be back at Master’s house. Ready now.

Ready for the wedding, to crawl at his feet , to be married.

She is ecstatic.

She looks up at the woman.

“ Yes? You wish to speak little dog? You may.

 mitsi’s mouth is dry.

“ Thank you Milady! Thank you very much”

The woman smiles. “ Ach, good girl. It is a pleasure “