The Trials Of Pauline Ch 11

To Polly's surprise, she was told to attend for interview at a building in London's Park Lane. She dressed with care. Simplicity was her aim; innocence and purity. White frilly panties, flimsy halter bra to accentuate the perfection of her breasts, peach-coloured silk stockings and suspenders. Then she slipped into a long white dress with full skirt, a simple wrap-over tied at the waist. It was sufficiently sheer for her darkened nipples, carefully emphasised with pigment, to show through.

Her ash-blonde hair was perfectly plaited and swept up into a bun at the top of her head. The slightest touch of make-up to bring out the shape and colour of her lips, her eyebrows lightly pencilled, her face touched with powder to obscure any sign of perspiration. A spray of lavender anti-perspirant. She looked sophisticated, haughty and self-assured. But she couldn't prevent soiling her knickers with her juices, running with anticipation.

A taxi took her to an exclusive mansion in Park Lane with an impressive entrance. A door-man in standard uniform met her, checking her name against a card he took from his inside pocket before ushering her into the lobby. The spacious hall she entered had a marble floor. Its centre, covered with a circular silk Chinese rug, was overhung by a large, cascading crystal chandelier.

Dominating the hall was a large sweeping staircase, thickly carpeted and bordered by a wonderfully carved and turned, polished mahogany balustrade. The walls were superbly decorated with panels depicting rustic Gainsborough-like scene. Luxury spilled over everywhere. Soft music was piped into the hall. She recognised Mozart but not the piece of music.

'It's now or never to show your cool, girl!' she told herself.

The doorman spoke softly into a phone before escorting her to the back of the hall where a lift-shaft ran up behind the staircase well. The lift itself resembled an old-fashioned Pullman car; polished mahogany, metal folding doors mirrors and watercolours, with an Axminster carpet on the floor. Once inside, the doorman pressed a button on the outside controlling the destination of the lift. It sighed swiftly to the penthouse floor. The doors slid open and Polly was faced by a butler waiting for her. A well-built man, tall and imposing in a blue livery.

'Follow, please.' He had a slight foreign accent. Polly followed him down the corridor, thickly carpeted, through double mahogany doors into an airy, sunny room.

'Wait, please,' the voice instructed. He went out through the double doors at the opposite end of the room. Polly looked round at the comfortable furniture, the oil-paintings on the walls - she recognised a Gainsborough (wasn't that the one which was stolen from a gallery a couple of years ago?) - heavy brocade curtains, festooned with thick tasselled cords, perfectly swagged. The off-white deep-pile carpet, the tall windows opening out onto a balcony overlooking the gardens, all gave the impression of extreme wealth. Standing in this expanse of luxury, Polly felt very vulnerable and meek. The doors re-opened. The butler stood to one side of the entrance.

'Go in, please.'

Polly entered into a magnificent large room. It was impressive. Similar tall windows filled the wall to her right. The floor was polished rose-wood parquet. A tiger skin rug in front of the large open fireplace of Italian marble, a finely carved rose-wood surround topped with a huge mirror in an ormolu frame. The fire-grate was over-flowing with plants and flowers, adding a splash of colour contrasting with the cold marble. To the side of the fireplace Polly noticed a strange object. A large wooden wheel, painted in gaudy, gypsy-like colours, it stood over six feet high. It was tipped slightly backwards, at its centre, a large central hub. A spot-light was trained on it. On a dais at the far end of the room stood a superb French table, heavily carved and gilded.

Sitting behind the table was a well-built man with a shaved head. He had a dark beard and moustache encircling his mouth. Round his neck was a gold chain and locket, his body swathed in white robes. He was gazing silently at Polly, weighing her up. At the end of the table Polly saw another man. This one was a dwarf. Polly's eyes opened wide at the sight of his a misshapen body and humped back. He had a large head topped with slicked-back hair, a flat face split in two by a black moustache. A permanent grin gave him an altogether satanic appearance. He was perched on a padded stool. He, too wore a white wrap-over robe. Polly noticed a polo neck beneath it.

She walked slowly to the centre of the room, taking in the surroundings before facing the table with head held high, her clear eyes fixed on the man in the centre. Her gaze held a suggestion of insolence. She noticed that he had a pierced ear, with a ruby gem hanging from it. When he finally stood, her heart stopped. She gasped with surprise and admiration. He was well over six feet tall. He came round the table to the front of the dais. Legs apart, he crossed his arms, looking her up and down with undisguised lechery.

Polly swallowed hard. Her legs felt like jelly. This man was a dominating dictator. She felt his power overwhelming her. Pulling herself together, she spoke. 'What is your name?' she asked in a loud voice full of authority. His eyes opened in surprise at the unexpected verbal thrust.

She went on. 'You stare at me as though I was a new slave to pleasure your body. If so, you make a big mistake.'

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the dwarf's smile widen. His teeth were discoloured and uneven; chisel shaped and slightly protruding. Almost like an animal's. Still, the man said nothing. His eyes narrowed. Their piercing stare un-nerved Polly. Her heart was thumping against her ribs. She continued, a little unsure that she might have overdone the impertinence.

'What is it you want to ask of me?'

The man's head raised fractionally as he viewed the beautiful poised figure in pure white. He was going to enjoy correcting this lady's arrogance. She would groan with mercy before he finished with her.

'You must be Polly. My name is Ulysses,' he barked in a perfect English accent. 'The God of hate. Master of the concubines.'

His head nodded slightly in the direction of the windows. Polly recoiled in surprise. There, on each wall between the four tall, bright windows, was a woman. Five altogether. They were manacled at the wrist and ankles. Round their throats was a gold collar attached to a chain which was pad-locked to the ornate wall-light fittings.

'I don't ask you anything. I tell you! Show me your breasts!'

Polly stepped backwards. Her body stiffened.

'Certainly not!' She must show some resistance, though her whole being was screaming out to throw herself at his feet, begging for punishment at his hands. But that moment was nearer than she thought. Polly was grasped from behind by a pair of strong arms. Her wrists were roughly twisted behind her back. Glancing over her shoulder in surprise at the suddenness of the assault, Polly realised that she had forgotten all about the butler. He had followed her into the room in complete silence, to take her by surprise.

With one rough gesture, the butler grasped her gown at the shoulders, dragging it over her body until it crumpled in a heap at her feet. Polly couldn't move. Her arms remained pinned painfully behind her. The flimsy bra was torn from her, hurled to the carpet in tatters. She stood in only her panties before the might of Ulysses. His eyes opened with appreciation at the sight of her young breasts, perfectly proportioned with proud nipples pointing at his face.

Ulysses slowly shrugged away the white robe, sweeping it away from his body with a wide gesture of his arms. He stood before her, his powerful body naked except for a pouch, almost transparent, enveloping his genitals. It was well-filled, the swarthy contents straining at the fine silk. There was no sign of hair on his body except for the dark growth encircling his mouth. The skin was a pale-olive, with a lustre as though burnished. There was real strength in those shoulders and thighs. His stomach was taught, knotted with thick muscles.

Polly examined the tall, strong figure, admiring the muscular thighs, the tight cheeks of his buttocks, powerful arms and wrists. Their eyes held each other for a brief moment. She was completely hypnotised by the power behind that steel piercing look, whilst trying to put on her own insolent stare. She knew he was her new master. But not yet!

At a nod from the master, Polly was forced to her knees in front of the all-powerful figure. Her face almost touched his groin, bulging with manhood. At the table, the dwarf dropped from his stool with a nimble vault, darting to Ulysses' side. Leering at Polly, watching her reaction, he unfastened the string of his master's pouch, snatching it away to reveal the magnificence beneath. Her face froze.

His penis was certainly not puny! It was, in fact, a handsome weapon, enhanced without the usual forest of hair to conceal its base. The circumcised knob was as a large ripe plum, a mottled pale mauve and scarlet, topping the thickening shaft, rippling with veins and blood-vessels. Down the upper skin of the shaft, Polly noticed a prominent scar forming a diagonal ridge. The result, no doubt, of some sadistic activity gone too far. Polly was mesmerised by the sight. She must have that magnificent phallus. Ulysses saw the greed in her eyes.

'It is not for you, I fear. It is reserved for princesses. You are only fit for servants. That one, for example.' Polly followed his nod. The dwarf had flapped opened his gown to display an erect cock. It reached beyond his chin, almost touching the end of his nose. Other parts of his anatomy may have been stunted, but not that! The dwarf howled with laughter, then kissed away the pearl from the end of his own penis.

Polly was awe-struck by Quilp's gruesome cock. She couldn't resist taking the shaft tentatively in the grasp of her hand. It throbbed with expectation and lust, as though it had a life of its own.

'That shall be yours, Polly. After you have lost that haughty insolence. We call my servant here, Quilp, the sadistic dwarf. His body may be stunted, but not his appetite, nor his strength.'

Quilp bellowed with laughter again. Then, giggling, he moved to her. Leaning forward to take her left nipple, in his wide mouth. He sucked on it hard, filling his mouth with soft breast, the nipple inflating fully. Polly took a deep breath as the nipple tingled with delight. Then he bit hard. Polly screamed with the sudden pain, her body lurching!

The dwarf bellowed with laughter as he ran round the back of his master to Polly's right. There he took her other nipple between his lips to suck the breast deeply into his mouth before biting hard again. This time she was prepared, but even so the pain ripped through her, jolting her groin. Tears filled her eyes.

At a snap of his fingers Quilp trotted to the table and returned with a triple-thonged whip. Each thong was about a metre long, with three tight knots in it. The handle was of ivory, inlaid with a fine gold pattern. Polly's eyes stared at this impressive weapon. This would certainly hurt. Her loins rippled and juddered with excited anticipation. Ulysses too was becoming excited, his penis responding with arousal. Polly watched its dignified progress, slowly filling, jerking and lifting. The knob turned a deeper purple, the shaft thickened until, at last, it stood proud and rigid. Remembering Fagin's instructions, she started to struggle and scream. The butler had a hard time containing her.

'No, please! Not the whip! You dare not!'

Polly wasn't ready for the excruciating pain as the whip lashed across her breasts, wildly tossing in the struggle. It took away her breath and stopped her struggle. She gasped, looking down at her breasts to watch the three weals come up in burning ridges of crimson fire. Looking up at Ulysses in disbelief that he would besmirch her beauty, his eyes gleamed with a dreadful insanity. Polly's eyes began to fill with the pain. Then he cracked the whip in the air. The butler hauled Polly to her feet and dragged her to the wooden wheel. Polly screamed and shouted for help, quite aware of the fact that none would arrive.

In spite of Polly's struggles, the butler pushed her face against the spokes, attaching her wrists to leather fastenings on the rim. Her feet were pushed into leather loops and manacled to the lower spokes so that Polly was spread-eagled, legs apart. The large central hub pushed into her belly, thrusting her buttocks out in an obscene manner.

'Ha!' Polly snorted. 'The great Ulysses had to resort to the assistance of a strong bully to overcome a defenceless woman!'

She heard the hiss of the whip a split second before it cut deep into her waist. The terrified shriek was not for effect. The pain scorched into her skin, searing into her groin. Polly had not expected this degree of punishment. She marvelled at the thrill glowing in her loins but wondered how much her body could take. It screamed out for more. Her white nylon panties stretched over the round cheeks of her superb bottom. Noticing the darkening patch in the cotton gusset, the butler pulled the gusset away from her cleft, pushing his fingers along it, feeling her softness. The passage was well moistened.

'She is ready, master. The juices flow copiously.'

Turning her tear stained face , Polly watched as Ulysses returned from the table with a long double willow in one hand - two switches attached at the handle - and the triple-thonged whip in the other.

Without warning, he swiped the willow canes across buttocks. 'Bitch!' he shouted as it struck.

Not being ready for the onslaught, Polly hadn't tensed her body against the stinging pain. She winced; her loins jolted.

'I have selected a fine twin willow for your excellent backside, Miss Polly. Your so-smooth cheeks will shortly be a relief-map of ridges and hollows. Ten strokes, I think, Miss Polly? Each! Then we shall see if you still have any resistance left in you.'

Ulysses stood flexing the twin willow cane. He laughed cheerfully as he swished the canes through the air with cavalier swings. He chose the willow cane, handing the whip to his butler.

Then there came a brief stillness. Polly held her breath in anticipation, waiting for the sting to bite into her. The men held their arms aloft, twisting their shoulders back. Then their arms fell! At the same time, the willow canes stung into Polly's soft flesh whilst the knotted thongs wrapped across the lower meat of her cheeks with a loud slap. The result was horrific. Polly's loins jerked against the hub of the wheel. Pain tore remorselessly through her body.

Before she had time to recover her breath, the second lash struck home. Polly cried out involuntarily, her buttocks jerking. Twin weals of swollen flesh pushed against the fine fabric of her panties. The blush of pain on her cheeks was easily seen under the fine white nylon. The victim squeezed her eyes together in anguish, forcing out tears of agony tensing her body awaiting the next blow. It followed quickly. Polly was now sobbing quietly with suffering, stinging heat branding her soft flesh, loins ablaze with pain.

A pause allowed her to relax. Ulysses waited for the effect of the lashes to spread through the women's loins before continuing the punishment. With a slight nod at his butler, Ulysses raised his arm behind his shoulder, and swung the canes viscously across Polly's upper thighs making her yelp with pain. The butler thwacked the whip against the buttocks at the same time. They repeated the strikes quickly, sending the tortured body jerking and twisting, tugging against the shackles in vain.

'Five!' Ulysses called. Polly was aflame with her pain already. It spread throughout her middle, sending sparks of arousal deep into her groin. The stain in her gusset had spread. Another five swipes would be unendurable! Then she felt a strange snuffling at her genitals. Turning her head she saw the dwarf pushing his flat nose into the cleft of her buttocks. He was inhaling deeply at the entrance to her shrine. The aroma of her secretions aroused his passion.

He laughed with triumph as the butler began to rotate the wheel. Through her tears, Polly watched the room revolve until she was hanging upside down on the wheel. Her tender buttocks were now at shoulder height, facing the two torturers.

Polly felt something fumbling at her waist. Then her panties were removed. She realised that they had been slit with scissors. Her wildly parted legs now revealed the full glory of her smooth, throbbing vulva, the soft folds wet and eager. Her most sensitive part was defenceless, open to the onslaught of the master and his servant. Surely they would spare her that! Then, smack! The canes bit into her burning cheeks sending splinters of pain coursing through her nerves. The next blow struck across her lower buttocks, digging into the wet genitals, stinging her soft vulva.

She screamed with fear and pain. As her mouth opened in a gasp of anguish, her head was pulled between the spokes, her mouth filled with a hard rubbery object. Slimy, like an enormous warm slug. She retched with revulsion. Opening her eyes in horror she saw Quilp's scrotum, dark and wrinkled swinging at her. His stiff penis was crushed into her mouth, tearing at her throat. Polly choked on the thick muscle. Her nostrils were restricted by the slapping testicles. The stench was abominable; a strong, stale fishy stench.

The eighth slash ripped through the flesh of her buttocks. A numbness was spreading through her swollen cheeks, burning fiercely. She hardly noticed the pain for the blind panic rushing through her head. Struggle as she might, she was unable to get a breath. The phallus was thudding in and out of her mouth. Grunts kept time with the stabs. Her muscles ached with tension, flinching against the assault. On the ninth slash her loins recoiled with convulsive jerks sending another explosion of dull pain through her body. Her head was swimming as the phallus pounded into her throat relentlessly.

She was losing consciousness. She knew she was going to suffocate! The grunts became more urgent. Her mind was oblivious to pain any more, with a roaring sound obliterating all else. The large slug suddenly discharged its slime. Spurts of hot spunk splashed into her throat, sticky and bitter. She swallowed hard to clear her windpipe. There was a lengthy pause whilst her body, gasping noisily for air, waited for the inevitable lash. When it came, it stung deep into the flesh, splitting the skin to allow beads of rubies to form where the weals crossed.

The once creamy skin was now red-blotched and swollen with ridges of angry crimson weals standing proud from the flesh. Cool air soothed its burning. Polly was drifting in a sea of blissful pain washing over her loins. She was vaguely aware of probing finger tips snaking over the skin of the inner groin. It reached the womanly secret between them. The vulva was boiling over with lust.

Ulysses gazed on the exquisite vulva with wonder. It was superb. The spotlight lit up its beauty. His delicate fingers explored her soft folds, pulling them apart to examine the glistening pink flesh of the mysterious orifice. The secret of the universe lay buried deep in that perfect opening. It beckoned him. He was tempted to break his rule. With open mouth, his lips fastened onto the sweet petals of flesh, drawing in the entire cluster of creases. Lapping tongue forced its way into the warm opening. It scooped away the syrup, relishing the exquisite juices. Then, recoiling from the temptation, he pushed the wheel to rotate it until Polly was upright again.