II

She woke in the late midmorning, recalling a night of restless tossing and turning in the pillows. Then, in the first hours of the dawn, she remembered yawningly, sleep had come to claim her nonetheless. Stepping onto the cool marble floor, taking the first steps in search for a mirror, she felt the muscles of her upper body aching, as after a day of extended exercise. "Now, I’m dumb", she scolded herself. "There are no mirrors in this room..."

She opened the white double door and tiptoed onto the corridor, and despite her drowsiness she was fully aware of her nakedness. Well, this was the private wing, after all, where apart from herself only the Master and her personal servant took quarters. By this hour, the older woman would certainly be in the kitchen with the others. She knew by experience that her Master would have very likely arranged that the woman came off duty after a prolonged night spent with his favorite. Now she took her position in front of the high antique mirror, surprised that there were hardly any traces from last night. She turned around, almost satisfied to see her welt-adorned bottom. Apart from some light stripes on her chest, her body was wholly unharmed and smooth like marble. It seemed that he had only used her buttocks good and proper. Where she had felt the pain most bitterly, however, he could only have struck modestly. So far, so good... She only wondered why she could only think with pleasure about it now, in the aftermath, when instead she should be full of revulsion and loathing for her master’s doings... and for the queer chamber full of torture devices.

All she could or wanted to remember now was his touch, his covetous fingers on her naked skin, invading her private sanctum... Erotic sensations which thrilled her to her very bones. To Mirabella these feelings weren’t completely alien, she had known his touch many times before when he had visited her sleeping chamber. Secret fondling, clandestine kisses, all a bit hasty and awkward, even, since she had always felt that there was something he sought to hide... She wasn’t his bride, after all. And certainly not his wife. 

She walked back to her chamber, almost in a hurry, and dressed herself hastily. She yearned to feel the sun again, to walk in brightest daylight amid flora and fresh air, to taste again a bit of this freedom she had had to renounce so long ago... Out into the Renaissance garden, at least!

Down she ran along the rose garden, opening her nostrils to the sweet scent of the diverse roses. Every now and then she would cup a flower’s head in her hands, to smell it and smile with the pleasure of recognition. Her beloved rosarium... She walked to the fountain in the very centre of the garden, sat down on the stone in her white tunic-like dress, the slender cypresses behind her back. Closing her eyes in the brilliant sunlight for a moment, there was something like a dream memory hitting her... The dark chamber, the torture room... A black thing in the corner, what was that? Had she truly seen it the night before...? Just opposite the guillotine, and even more gruesome... Unlit, in the farthest corner not touched by any torch, it had stood. A black bulky coffin... Dream-vision and memory diffused, she wasn’t sure about her powers of recollection. Now she remembered she had had quite a series of disturbed dreams this morning, featuring her Master and the infamous chamber... Well, no wonder she had suffered something very close to nightmares. She tried to shake it off, concentrate on the early day’s fragrant beauty and the enchanting perfume of the roses. But as much as she tried, there was always the dark image of the coffin brooding in her mind. She had to find out. First of all, what kinds of instruments were hidden in there? And, even more pressingly perhaps, what was the purpose of it all?

The day flew by most uneventfully. She had her midday meal and dinner served in the atrium. When she had just finished her evening meal and sat there lost in abstruse thoughts again, her personal servant rushed into her direction, rousing her. She blinked and looked into the face of the dark-haired woman. Her expression unreadable, as always. "What is it, Francesca?"

She had come here to offer an evening walk. Now, of all times? Indignantly she shook her head. "Another time, please... I’m really not in the mood. Tomorrow in the late morning perhaps." The older woman bent her head towards her, half-whispering. Mirabella sighed. "The Master says so? Well, excuse me, I must turn down his kindly offer tonight..." Ignoring the troubled face of her servant, she stood up and went quickly inside.

Later that evening, she was sneaking about the staircase, close to the entrance to the ominous cellar.  She knew perfectly well the chamber would be closed, but some innermost feeling urged her down the steps, toward a seldomly used storeroom. Her heart sank when she realized she had been right – there were voices pouring out from that room, hushed but still audible... She had to draw closer. The room wasn’t even closed! First of all, she forced herself to calm down. Then she moved closer to the wall next to the door, anxious not to make the slightest sound. She imagined to soften even her heartbeat. Then she listened.

...I would never do that to her.

Yet you once had a great coven. You did turn others, Romaeus.

I did. And who knows if I wouldn’t do it again, when the time presses. But you know there are certain requirements...

Is it for that that you came to Italy, Romaeus?

Shh...

She thought she had heard the name of a woman, but she didn’t get it right. Angela? The first voice she had heard belonged to a man. Unknown to her. The second voice, the one that had answered the first, clearly belonged to her Master. Who were these people? How many were there, and women among them?

There was silence now.

Her unease grew. But so did her curiosity. Could she risk it... One short glimpse into the room? What if Lorenzo found out? Would he punish her again...?

After one final dialogue with herself, she decided she could risk a quick look. After all, she was burning with curiosity. What did they mean by coven? And who was this man called Romaeus? She waited until the conversation had started again, then, in a split second, she moved her right eye beyond the doorframe. Now she rested against the wall again.

There were four persons inside the room. Two women, one with black and the other with fair hair. Her Master, unmistakably, sitting opposite them at the right end of the table. And opposite the door, a bronze-skinned, dark-haired man whose face she had seen for a fleeting moment. What were they... Some people her Master was engaged with in business?  They resembled him, in a way, but she couldn’t have explained why. And she knew she had never set eyes on them before.

The group had started their conversation again, but she was too excited now to listen. Should she risk another look...just as brief as before? Gathering her courage for a second time, she glanced into the room once more. This time, she looked straight into the face of the darker man. She didn’t flinch yet. One second...another one. The man’s eyes were moving, surely he knew - back! Had she retreated just in time? She dearly hoped she had.

She could continue her musings in her bedchamber... Back the way she came, soundless as before... She reached the landing, and within minutes she was safely back at her chamber door. Then, suddenly, she couldn’t move anymore. Someone behind her... Iron grip.

“Going somewhere?”

She turned around violently, looking straight into the blue eyes of her Master. She set out to protest, justify herself, but found herself unable to speak. He held her too strongly. He pulled her with him, along the corridor and downstairs again. She knew where he would lead her.

The chamber.

Before she even glimpsed the room, she found herself bent across a leather bench, her dress shoved upwards and her behind exposed in chill air. She managed to let out a few rapidly uttered moans, then every reaction gave way to the buring swats her backside received in insanely quick succession. She turned her head and saw him standing close behind, his right hand thrashing her incessantly, while his left held her firmly in place. How could a single man’s hand hurt so much...? She felt her naked bottom being ravaged far harsher than the whip had accomplished last time. Impossible. But she found out soon enough that none of her wailing, nor discontent of course, could make him stop this. And it only added to her humiliation when in another frantic turn of her head she saw that they had visitors – two of his guests were standing in the doorframe, the slightly tanned man and the black-haired woman by name of Angela or the like. Mirabella hardened herself, as she had begun to practise during her first punishment. They would never be able to break her… Whatever they were, or weren’t. She was strong, and she belonged here, and she would endure this situation and make her mind afterwards.

Her Master delivered a few more fiery swats to her cheeks and the more sensitive area below, then stopped. His hand still pinned her body down like an iron weight. The next moments saw her position being changed, and she was laid on another punishment bench closer to the centre of the room. Again, she was on her stomach, but this time only in underwear and with her hands and feet tied down. After he had torn apart the rest of her clothes as well, she now was painfully aware of the fact that she was facing the wall opposite the entrance, and that both her bare backside and body were presented to the visitors. "They are gone", he only grumbled between his teeth and ran his hand over her cheeks for a while. "They are well red now", he let her know. She bit her lips, swallowing down the remark she had on the tip of her tongue. When the whip came down on her back, she stiffened again and waited for it to stop. Yet again, she had the feeling it was coming down with much more force than last time... It didn’t even occur to her to apologise. Apologise for what, exactly? She understood well that this was no mere punishment per se. Was he truly so mad at her, was he testing his torture equipment or even providing special entertainment for his guests? It maddened her not to know the cause, this infuriated her more than the cruel thongs biting with inexorable severity into her vulnerable flesh. One day I’ll pay you back, she thought grimly. I don’t care how long it takes...but one day...

Her back was released from the lashing, but not from all the pain – to her it felt like one single burning sore, and she imagined the welts to be crimson and enormous and it was possible that there was some blood, too. Damn you... She tried to lift herself up and tore at her bonds, but she knew her effort to be fruitless even before it was defeated by a single scorching snap against her hip. She closed her eyes in frustration. For about five more minutes, he handled her backside and upper legs without one single break in-between. The pain wasn’t exactly relieved, but she was glad he at least left her battered back alone now, which she believed must look like a disgrace now and which was still throbbing like crazy. But nothing hurt her more at present than this sudden change in her Master’s bearings... He was so cold now, unyielding and aloof, and in turn this made her furious. When would he understand that she was not merely his pet to be tossed and turned around at will? In time she had begun to perceive herself as his consort, the woman he chose and something like an equal. Had she been so wrong...?

The chastisement stopped as abruptly as it had started. Her hands and ankles were released, and after a quick examination of her back her dress was pulled over her head again. The visitors had indeed left. Well, they had had their share of amusement... Too bad that she hadn’t been able to discern the expression on their faces. Quite contrary to her usual demeanor, Mirabella decided to shut up now. If he chose to deal with her in this manner, she would treat him with no less contempt.

And what happened next? To her bewilderment, he simply left her where she was. Door closed shut behind him. Standing in the middle of the poorly lit chamber, she looked down at her bare feet on the cold stone floor. She gathered up her shoes again and while slipping into them, considered what to do next. Her back was still aching, and despite her hardly less maltreated rear she chose to sit down for a while. Not on the punishment bench, that was for sure... But there was nothing decent in that room... After another cautious look around, she had reassured herself that the black coffin wasn’t there anymore. Had it been there, ever, or was it just part of a nightmarish dreamscape of hers? Nevermind... But the gruesome guillotine, this one was really there and she avoided any closer inspection. Finally she leant against the stretching bank, and after another uneventful ten minutes she climbed it and sprawled out there, resting on her side. She yawned and would have fallen asleep, perhaps, if the stone door hadn’t been opened with careless noise.

She flickered her eyes, and saw a young woman standing over her. She would have sprung up immediately, hadn’t the black-haired one hushed her and pointed her to stay where she was. For a moment it appeared to her as if she were still tied with hands and feet. Frustration threatened to strike again, but she wouldn’t show her distress to a stranger. But what was that...? Something in that woman’s eyes held her in thrall, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. She sat up suddenly and still couldn’t help staring at the intruder. Slender and not particularly tall she was, and there was something glorious about the pale, nobly cut face and the way the smooth black hair fell down around her velvet-clad form. But was this woman likeable? Not at all... A cynical, perhaps sly hint lay in her smile, and also in her relatively enormous eyes which screened her darkly. They appeared childlike at one moment and shrewd with old experience at another. Angela, she supposed. Or whatever her name was. Angelina, came the sharp reply in a husky voice. "You might as well remember my name, little one..." Now, this woman certainly had an accent. She had an Asian touch, that was true, but at the same time this was also very faint... She could as well have been Spanish. But nothing of that really mattered, now. This woman, girl or whatever, was strange as well, and from now on she would trust none of them anymore.

"Oh, but you aren’t even scared, are you? Maybe you are used to that treatment from your Master, are you...?" The words were softly spoken, but Mirabella couldn’t ignore the cold luster in the female’s eyes. "Now, let’s see..." During the next seconds she felt chilly fingers probing her neck, uncovering her whole chest and finally she heard a sigh, almost a satisfied one. "Now, my little silent, fearless one... Are you fearless?" The woman gave her another scrutinizing look, at which Mirabella felt her heart beating faster. She forced herself to calm, but it wasn’t so easy this time... "Can’t you just leave me alone? I’m tired of your games", she finally stated a little harshly. The woman’s eyes grew wider indeed. "Oh, but you see…isn’t that why you are here", she finally whispered, moving closer and closer so that the other was literally forced to reassume her horizontal position. Something began to swim before her eyes... A headache, was it...so tired!

Games... game...

What did they want with her? What was this all about?

Ouch! Her own cry awoke her from her half-stupor. Something cold and hard was invading her private parts, she felt her pussy lips forcibly spread apart and the poignant pressure of something like a claw scratching there. "Virgin, are we", a female voice whispered close to her ear, and all at once she recalled where she was and with whom. Yet she felt strangely composed at the same time, knowing her Master would come at any moment and rid her of this pervert who had her fingers inside of her still. "Then we must be quick", the whisper came, and Mirabelle couldn’t help but feel a cool shudder running down her spine. She sat up with a dart, at which the woman grinned gleefully – looking not older than sixteen years now -, reached below the bench and with malicious pleasure produced a single longish object. It looked like a thick baton, covered in dark brown leather. She glowered at the black-haired girl and quickly pulled her skirt over her legs again. Another beating, was that what she had in mind? Did that brazen bitch truly think she would submit herself to humiliation after humiliation?

Owwww...!!!!

Keeping her eyes glued to hers, the black-haired perv had pulled back her skirt and now thrust the baton inside her vulva, shove after shove, yet hard and demanding. The young woman was painfully reminded of her virginal state now, biting her lips and praying to whatever God that this agony wouldn’t last any longer. "Stop it, please", she gasped. She ignored the fact that there were tears in her eyes. She wouldn’t show her weakness to this woman... Where was her Master?

The object went wild inside her, moved very rapidly now, then awfully slowly again. Tearing, stabbing, wounding... She drew in her breath. It was too hard, too solid, far too big for her womanhood to take in... Not natural! She saw the black-haired one moving to the rhythm of her suffering, her tight clothed body swaying back and forth, now and then an aroused sigh escaping her sensuous lips. A beautiful tormentress, Mirabella thought for a short moment when all the pain gave way to a more stimulating, pleasurable feeling. But then the baton stirred again, she looked down and saw that the thing was stuck in her all the way to the hilt. What she felt now was nothing compared to the earlier pain, but it still seemed to her as if her womb would be torn apart any minute. With a grin, her torturer drew the defloration instrument out and not minding her plaything’s shocked expression, bent down over the ravaged vulva and plunged inside with her tongue. What Mirabella had to endure now was the feel of this tongue lapping up her virginal blood, even running over her clit causing unbearable tickling, and now and then she also felt sharp teeth scratching against her sensitive skin. How long it was taking... Was this woman waiting for every drop of blood her pussy would bring forth in time...? What new deviancy was this... Almost she was tempted to give in, as she believed every person would do sooner or later after a prolonged period of humiliation, but she still fought it. And when it was finally over, finally, she didn’t care about anything anymore. Not the state of her dress nor her half-stumbling in the semidarkness, not the sardonic gleam in the eerie woman’s eyes nor the all of a sudden flushed rose mouth she beheld, not even the two figures standing outside the door – the bronze-skinned stranger and her Master, as if it mattered now. Her only thought was to flee, fly upstairs and into the imaginery safety of her bedchamber. Shame, shame, shame...

By the time she reached the double door of her chamber, a hand gripped the handle first. Pale and longish, who could it be but her Master... All she could perceive was that he wouldn’t let her in, and despite the trauma she had just endured, this purely and simply made her mad... "You vicious bastard...", she croaked and at the same time thought, I’m gonna scratch your eyes out... She slapped him in the face, once, twice... He didn’t even move but kept on looking into her eyes as if she had read him some endearing poem. Her next move was to jump at him with her full weight, but if she hadn’t been so feverish she could have foretold that it was fruitless. Now his arms were flung around her body, and for some time the two of them were actually wrestling each other, and she could tell that he was only teasing her and there would be another cruelty in store for her... "I have an idea what you are... You dirty bastards."

He kept her in deadlock, at last.

"Just come to me the next evening... I’ll be in the cellar."