An Unpaid Debt

[wideeyedone]

(a closed thread for me and cgcraven)

Lizbeth held the crisp fine paper between her fingers. She could not see the words any longer, her vision was clouded with her tears. But she had read the letter over and over in disblief and the words were burned onto her heart.

My Dearest Lizbeth,
I wish I could tell you this in person, but my father has forbidden it. It seems that I am not the master of my own fate, any more than you are. My father has dissolved our engagement, my love. I have pleaded with him to no avail. He says that your father’s financial ruin is not the cause, but the scandal of your father’s affair and ruination of the young dutchess. It is a scandal that can not be easily repaired. I am sorry my gentle little one. I know this is none of your doing and I would give anything to change this. My father assures me that he is arranging assistance for your father . Please forgive me.
Yours always,
Charles

Lizbeth let the tears fall. Workmen were packing away her mother’s fine furnishings and servingware. She listened to the tinkling of crystal and china, her piano sounding as it was hefted from the room. Her father’s weakness for games of chance and lovely young women had finally caught up with him. He had fathered a child with the daughter of one of London’s most powerfull men. Now, all of his debtors were calling in their markers. Her mother had taken to bed. She was a shell of her former self.

The house was becoming more empty by the moment. Her father had already taken her mother's jewels to pawn. Even her clothing had been crated up by one of the workman. She only had the simple day gown that she wore. She hadn't even worn her newest gown yet, it had been made for a ball thrown by Charles's father and now it was gone. Everything was gone.

Her father kept telling her he knew what to do. He kept telling her he had hidden assets. He wanted her to assure her mother that it was all going to be alright. How could anything be alright again?She folded the letter and slid it into her pocket. Lizbeth walked to the window. Down below carriages were being loaded with the fine things she had always known, their life had been crated up and would be sold to the highest bidder. Her father was standing below on the street. He was talking to another man. This fellow was a stranger to her. He was well dressed, but Lizbeth did not think he was a peer. The man looked up at her through the glass, she felt a shiver go up her spine. He looked at her as if she were a delicate dessert on a platter. She stepped away from the glass, but she still felt cold. She wanted to sit down but their wasn't a stick of furniture in sight. The doctor was upstairs with her mother. She decided to go downstairs and see what her father had gotten into now.

 

[cgraven]

Her father turned from the man with a stern but acquiescent nod. He made his way pass the dustmen and collection agents back into the Georgian Limestone of Copley Way.

Dearest Lizbeth come my dear girl our troubles will soon be over. There was a look of hope in his grey eyes and not for the first time he let them secretly take in the charms of the dark haired beauty that was his daughter. The reddish highlights of her chestnut hair, which spoke of a simmering passions behind the soft doe eyes. Her trim little waist that drew the eye to the flare of her hips, and the swell of her breast, so young and firm like firm succulent pears so ripe for the picking.
“ I have arranged for you to spend some time with the "Order of the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe". At Sir Francis Dashwood estate. You shall assit in the education of his young wards under the friars’ guidance, and when things have settled a bit, you shall come home.”

He pressed a kiss to her sweet ripe lips and then slowly let his lips slip from his daughters.

“And the present unpleasantness will be just a memory my dearest.”

A week Later Lizbeth with a small traveling bag that contained all her worldly possessions Was being driven north from London out into the country side in a small dogcart seated beside a very grim and silent coachman. The silence and the jarring road continued in stony silence for two hours till the little dogcart crested a hill and Lizbeth caught her first sight of Thélème Abbey. A low white washed collection of buildings that were as much a fortress as a country home. The gates yawed wide to take the young beauty into the confines of the inner court. As they passed through the gates there was a motto inscribed above the portal

Fais ce que tu voudras

Little did the young innocent know that it translated to Do what thou wilt or that she had entered the confines of the infamous Hell Fire Club. It was whispered in the highest of circles that this club was rumored to be the meeting places of "persons of quality" who wished to take part in immoral acts, and the members were often very involved in politics. Neither the activities nor membership of the club are easy to ascertain.


Upon her arrival the young beauty was conducted to the study of Sir Francis Dashwood. He let her stand there in bathed in the afternoon light before lifting his dark hazel eyes to hers.

"And You ARE?"

 

[wideeyedone]

Lizbeth was still chilled from her journey. Her backside was sore and she felt as if she had breathed nothing but dust. She dusted off her skirt.

"Sir, I am Lizbeth Dalton, my father is Henry Dalton. He said there was an arrangement. He was sparse on the details, but I am well versed in literature and music. However, he assured me that you were going to help him." Her voice was soft and honeyed as she spoke. She tucked an errant tendril of hair back behind her ears. "I am very tired from the journey, I was wondering if you might have a place for me to freshen up, Sir." The man sitting before her did not reply, he just kept looking her over. The silence made her even more nervous.

Her dark eyes surveyed the room. The room was very sumptuous, a thick oriental carpet covered the lovely stone floor. The furniture was leather and velvet over exotic dark woods. "I didn't see any children on the grounds. Are they at their lessons now? I very much look forward to meeting the pupils." Lizbeth curled one of her fingers into her hair. The nervous habit was one of her father's pet peeves.

Sir Dashwood looked ominous to her. She wished that she was back at home. She wished that her father had not gambled them into ruin. She wished she was still engaged to Charles. She wished for all of these things and yet she knew they would never come to pass. Her best hope was to be a good employee to this Sir Dashwood and do her best to educate her young charges.

 

[cgraven]

"Sir, I am Lizbeth Dalton, my father is Henry Dalton. He said there was an arrangement. He was sparse on the details, but I am well versed in literature and music. However, he assured me that you were going to help him."

Sir Dashwood sat with his fingers tented before him. His eyes seemingly staring the papers before him on his desk. Yet he took in every delightful detail of her supply young body. Her voice was as sweet as honey when she spoke and there was an earnest innocent look in her soft dark eyes as she so sweetly asked.

"I am very tired from the journey, I was wondering if you might have a place for me to freshen up, Sir?"


His continued silence seemed to unnerve the young beauty as she seemed to babble to fill the void in conversation.

"I didn't see any children on the grounds. Are they at their lessons now? I very much look forward to meeting the pupils."


Lizbeth curled one of her fingers into her hair and fidgeted like a young schoolgirl called to the head Mistress’s office. When the poor girl was just about at the point of tears Sir Francis Dashwood finally spoke.


“ Miss Dalton you shall meet my wards this evening at supper. The evening meal is served in the refectory hall at eight PM sharp.”


He paused for a moment and when he saw the young girl’s lips bow as if to speak he held up a single finger for her silence.


“ You will dress for dinner as befits one who is to educate. Do I make myself clear Miss Dalton.


Sir Francis picked up a silver bell and softly wrung it. Its voice so light and airy was in mark contrast to his dark deep voice that seemed to rumble from deep within him and was filled with a strength that was a bit frightening in its tone and dark texture. An old man dressed as a gray friar with a cowl pulled low over his face hiding his features entered in silence and bowed from the waist.

“ Show Miss Dalton to her chamber friar John.”


Lizbeth was led in silence to an opulent room with a massive bed and a bath that was a kind to a wading pool. She was left to rest and dress for dinner. At 7:45 sharp there was a knock at her door and Friar John was there to lead Lizbeth to the refectory for dinner. The room was as luxurious and opulent as Sir Dashwood’s office and her room. The table overflowed with delicacies almost to the point of gluttony. Dashwood eyes lifted to see what miss Dalton had chosen to wear. Friar John conducted the young miss to the left of Sir Francis’ place.

 

[wideeyedone]

Lizbeth was relieved to be dismissed from Lord Dashwood. His voice seemed to rumble through her everytime he spoke. The friar led her to a large room. The bed seemed to call her name. She removed her dusty dress, then her thin chemise. She washed up with the basin on the dresser and then slid back into her chemise.

The bed was so high off of the floor that she had to use a step stool to clamber into bed. She laid down and closed her eyes. She thought of Charles. The last time she had been with him, they had been at a ball thrown by his cousins in honor of Charles's birthday. She had worn a rose damask gown and her mother's amethyst choker. Charles had danced with her and held her so closely. She shook her head and tried to let go of thoughts of her past. She knew she needed to focus on the now.

She watched the sun set outside her window. She opened her traveling bag. She didn't have much. Her father had made sure she had a few dresses to take with her. She chose a slate gray dress with a lace trimmed boatneck. The dress fastened up the front with grey pearl like buttons. It showed a modest amount of decollatage. She had no jewels to wear, but she swept her hair off of her face and pinned it up. She slid her black slippers back on her feet. She perched on the bed waiting.

Then there was the sharp knock on the door. She had been summoned. The friar wordlessly escorted her to dinner. The table was heaped with food. It looked as if a troop of men were going to be fed. She sat primly in the profferred chair. She smoothed her noisy skirts and then tried to keep her fidgety hands still.

"Lord Dashwood, my room is so very lovely. Thank you." She looked at him and found herself chilled by the look on his face. He seemed to look right through her. She felt burned by his gaze. And still he did not answer.

 

[cgraven]

Dashwood’s eyes lifted at the Russell of Lizbeth’s slate gray dress. The color was perfect as it accentuated her pale ivory skin, the wisp of lace that drew the eye to her firm young breasts and the little grey pearl like buttons, a teasing temptation to see what lay beneath that prim and oh so proper exterior. He watched with a certain detachment that only a skilled predator could achieve. Watched as she sat primly in the proffered chair, primly smoothed her noisy skirts and then tried to keep her fidgety hands still. Sir Francis Dashwood was quite pleased as the girl hand a naive sensuality. He hardly heard her as she once again began to speak without being first addressed.

"Lord Dashwood, my room is so very lovely. Thank you."

Young Miss Dalton was apparently under the delusion that she was still a member of proper society. Could it be that Squire Dalton had not told her of her true position at Thélème Abbey?......ummm how delightful a sweet innocent without the slightest idea her beloved Papa and Mama had sold her to be a whore.

“Tell me Miss Dalton what are your views on discipline and punishment in education.”

Dashwood lifted his eyes to Lizbeth’s, a smile bowed his lips and his eyes held hers captive in their gaze as a snake holds a little bird captive before it strikes. He apparently listened to her response with marked interests as the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe filed in for their evening repass in silence. Eyes beneath hooded cowls lifted to sneak a glimpse of the adorable creature that sat next to Sir Francis. Other Brothers came and filled the large wine goblets, goblets that would never run dry.

The Friars where ravenous as they tore at the sumptuous feast laid before them. Their gluttony and waste beyond belief. When Dashwood saw the shock in Lizbeth’s soft innocent eyes he simply said,

“Fais ce que tu voudras”

When he saw that the young beauty did not understand the Latin he smiled .

“Of course you can translate the Latin Miss Dalton?”

 

[wideeyedone]

Lizbeth squirmed in her chair when Lord Dashwood asked her about discipline. "My father always had high expectations of me, the idea of him being disappointed in my was most often enough for me to do as I was bid. But I also wanted to please him, to be a daughter that he could be proud of. However, I think those that teach should be firm and direct in what they expect, a pupil should know what they need to do in order to please them." She paused in her reflections for a moment to watch as the friars filled their plates and guzzled the rich wines. The wines were excellent ones, the food was obviously prepared by very skilled hands and there was so much of it. It didn't seem at all like what she would expect for austure friars.

Lord Dashwood repeated the latin phrase from the gates. He asked her to translate it.

"My apoligies my lord, I have no tongue for languages. My father told me that I would be tutoring in literature and music. I play the piano." She heard a low chuckle from down the table. In surprise, she turned to look at the source. The man under his cowl was watching her bemused. He looked directly at her with fire in his eyes. She felt an icy shiver travel down her spine even as her cheeks colored with heat.

"My Lord, what does that mean?" She looked back at Lord Dashwood through her eyelashes. Her hands were shaking. She was so very afraid and she didn't know what she feared. But the expression on Lord Dashwood's face was anything but reassuring.

 

[cgraven]

I think those that teach should be firm and direct in what they expect, a pupil should know what they need to do in order to please them."

How sweetly naïve, Dashwood though, as the young Miss Dalton gave her views on Discipline yet he noticed that she had omitted any mention of punishment. He watched as the young beauty drank the wine that was especially prepared for her. A fine vintage that would free her body from the silly moral precepts that she had been raised with. He was quite sure her agile young mind would rebel but after all what the body wants it wants even if the mind is befuddled, confused and even rebellious. Such struggles where a wicked little delight of the order of the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe .

The Friars where ravenous as they tore at the sumptuous feast laid before them. Their gluttony and waste beyond belief. When Dashwood saw the shock in Lizbeth’s soft innocent eyes he simply said,

“Fais ce que tu voudras”


"My apologies my lord, I have no tongue for languages. My father told me that I would be tutoring in literature and music. I play the piano."


The look in those soft innocent eyes was so adorable when the young beauty heard the ard a low chuckle from down the table. The delightful surprise in those sweet soft eyes as she turned to look at the source. The man under his cowl was watching her bemused. He looked directly at her with fire in his eyes. She felt an icy shiver travel down her spine even as her cheeks colored with heat.

"My Lord, what does that mean?"

Ah yes Miss Dalton the meaning of our order’s motto,


“Fais ce que tu voudras”

It simply means my dear Miss Dalton,

“Do what thou wilt!”

“We simply do not deny ourselves the pleasure of the table, the vine, the barley, or the carnal delights of the flesh Miss Dalton.”

He studied the striking young beauty as he spoke watched as the impropriety of his words struck home.

“Now as to your duties at Thélème Abbey Miss Dalton. Your are to supply the carnal delights. We paid a handsome fee for your beauty, for your youth, and for your virginity. It is not often we have a sweet innocent virgin of quality for our amusement. Miss Dalton.”

 

[wideeyedone]

The words took a moment for Lizbeth to comprehend. She shook her head in disbelief as she pushed her chair back from the table.

"A governess, I am to be a governess." She whispered. "My father he said so. He wouldn't send me here for this. Not even to save himself, he wouldn't do this. Please..." She tried to get to her feet but she felt swimmy headed and weak. She sank back into her chair. She looked around the table. The friars were pushing back their cowls.

"There must be some sort of mistake." Her voice was a whimper. She reached for Lord Dashwood. "Please my lord. Please, take me back to London. This is all a big mistake." The men at the table were laughing at her. The way adults laugh at children when they are unwittingly clever. Lizbeth laid her hand on Dashwood's. "Please, my Lord." She implored him with her eyes. Her eyes were wide in horror. And yet still, she plead with him.

 

[cgraven]

"A governess, I am to be a governess."

Her voice was a sweet little pleading whisper so like a child pleading with a stern parent.

My father he said so. He wouldn't send me here for this. Not even to save himself, he wouldn't do this. Please....... There must be some sort of mistake……….Please my lord. Please, take me back to London……..This is all a big mistake………Please, my Lord."


Lizbeth’s voice now a soulful little whimper, her soft stunning eyes pleading so eloquently for Sir Francis to have mercy on her to the delight of the assembled Friars. They savored her desperation her pleadings knowing well that this tasty little morsel would be the evening’s entertainment.


“Really Miss Dalton? And what is the difference between giving your hand in marriage to a prominent family for the sake of wealth and position and selling your virtue so he may maintain the illusion of prosperity and position for the family. Besides my sweet Miss Dalton your father is a notorious rake and bounder. A despoiler of young women, why should you be any different?”

With a snap of his fingers friar John laid Lizbeth’s bill of sale before her. It was properly notarized and stated that she was indentured for life to Thélème Abbey for the sum of £800.00 pounds sterling and an annual payment of £300.00 sterling for the next three years.

“Brethren escort Miss Dalton to the Chapter room so she may begin her duties.”

Grasping clutching hands hoisted the struggling young beauty above their heads as Lizbeth was borne from the refractory. The carved heads of imps and demons gazed down on her from the coroners and ceilings of Thélème Abbey. Their sightless eyes of stone following the possession. When at last Lizbeth was set down in what Dashwood had called the chapter room she found herself in a dungeon straight out of a maiden’s darkest nightmare. Before her stood the stark “X” shape of the Cross of St Andrew it’s armed stretched wide waiting to embrace her. Rough hands with skin as soft as silk stretched her arms above her head and bound her wrist in iron. Lizbeth delicate ankles drawn lewdly apart and captured in the cold, unforgiving, grip of iron. Her supple young body spread-eagled and mounted for display.

 

[wideeyedone]

Lizbeth could not believe her eyes when a bill of sale was laid before her. Her father had sold her. He had offered his own daughter to save himself. She tried to cover her face but there were hands on her. Hands hefting her in the air. She cried out and tried to scramble away, to no avail. Their grips were like iron on her delicate skin.

She was carried into this chapter room. She looked around in horror, the ceiling was covered with leering demons. It was a dungeon of some sort. And then they were tying her to the cross.

"I am not some doxie. I was to marry Charles Baston, his family would redeem me, I know it. Please...." She strained against the restraints that bound her wrists in ankles to the cold cross. "Lord Dashwood, please..... the Bastons. Please, don't allow this."

One of the friars ran his hands over her young breasts through her dress. His hands lingered, squeasing, almost tugging. A kitten like whimper escaped her lips. She closed her eyes and turned her face away, but she could not escape his warm breath on her decollatage as his strong hands pawed her. Tears slid down her cheeks, she tried to keep reason, to talk her way out of this. But it was just too much, a sob tore through her.

 

[cgraven]

"Lord Dashwood, please..... the Bastons. Please, don't allow this."


One of the friars ran his hands over her young breasts through her dress. His hands lingered, squeezing, almost tugging. A kitten like whimper escaped her lips. She closed her eyes and turned her face away, but she could not escape his warm breath on her décolletage as his strong hands pawed her. Tears slid down her cheeks, she tried to keep reason, to talk her way out of this. But it was just too much, a sob tore through her.


Oh I think not Lizbeth………..

The voice of the cowled Friar so very familiar and then as he continued the horror of his identity was crystal clear.

”…………. You would have been wasted on the boy. Your body was made for men to enjoy my sweet girl!

Lord Baston smiled from beneath his cowl as he wickedly pinched Lizbeth’s nipple giving it an evil twisted till tears shimmered a fresh in her stunning eyes.

Sir Francis Dashwood loved the little interplay as the girl’s hopes for salvation where dashed. Then with an Evil grin bowing his lips he held his hands up for silence.


“Shall we see brothers what Miss Dalton is hiding beneath her frock?”

There was an uproarious howl of delight at Dashwood’s suggestion he held the softly pleading eyes as he drew a knife from behind his back the bright glint of torch light danced along the keen edge of the knife. Sir Francis gathered the helm of Lizbeth’s dress in his fingers baring her ankle and calve to their view. The soft rasping whisper of fabric parting was the only sound beside the girl’s pitiful little sobs. Petticoats and skirt gave way the cold caress of steel against her inner thigh and the dress was rent to the waist. Slowly Dashwood drew back Lizbeth’s skirt reveling to all what she had worn beneath them.

 

[wideeyedone]

When Lizbeth realized that it was Lord Baston's hands on her, she felt paralyzed. Charles had written that his father was garnering assistance for her family. Was this what his father had meant?

Then Lord Dashwood had a knife, he rent her dress, ruining her modesty a few inches at a time. He held the skirts open. Her chemise barely covered her sex. But the diaphonous fabric kept few secrets. The vee of dark hair at the apex of her legs showed through. She desperately tried to close her legs. She hung her head.

Then she felt the blade against her thigh. The cold steel made her realize just how much danger she could be in. This was about more than her modesty or her virtue. THese men had bought the daughter of a peer, surely they could hurt her. She gasped when she felt Lord Dashwood press the cool blade against her more tightly.

She looked at the faces of the men before her. She recognized a few of the faces. She thought of that bill of sale. She was indentured for life. FOR LIFE. Lord Baston continued his assault on her breasts. He was known to enjoy tormenting and binding a woman's breasts. His focus was no secret to his bretheren.

"Dashwood, I want to see these. I think she has must have a lovely pair. They feel like perfection, but I want to... see them."

 

[cgraven]

Dashwood held the skirts open. Lizbeth chemise barely covered her sex. But the diaphanous fabric kept few secrets. The sensual shadow of that downy “V” of dark hair at the apex of her legs showed drew the gather brethren’s eyes. Each fantasized about claiming her purity, each in a more sinful manner than his compatriot. Lewd smiles bowed their lips as the girl desperately tried to close her legs until at last, mounted and displayed to perfection Miss Lizbeth Dalton hung her head in defeat and shame.


Just when the prim and proper Miss Dalton felt that no ore indignities could be heaped upon her she heard the voice of the man that was to be her father-in –law call out.

"Dashwood, I want to see these. I think she has must have a lovely pair. They feel like perfection, but I want to... see them."

Lord Baston was as excited as a schoolboy with a new toy, even as he continued his assault on her breasts.

“Then rejoin your Brethren Friar John.”

Reluctantly and yet with a look of expectation and lust dancing in his eyes Lord Baston meekly did as he was commanded. Dashwood once again let Lizbeth feel the blade on her silken inner thigh and with a quick delft little flick of his wrist the chill of the steel was a searing red hot goad as the finniest of lines barely oozed a drop of her ruby red blood.

“Learn to enjoy pain Miss Dalton as well as the pleasure your body will be schooled to.

His voice was a whisper just for her ears. Then he raised his voice,

“ Shall we see if Friar John is still an excellent judge of flesh?”

A howl of delight rose from the crown as they chanted
‘

Strip her [, Strip her, Strip her
,
The knife cut the first button from Lizbeth’s bodice and they screamed ONE They each button that was cut from the girls dress as the continued to chant,

Strip her [, Strip her, Strip her

The tattered remains of Miss Lizbeth Dalton dress fluttered to the floor. Left only her sheer diaphanous chemise for modesty the room suddenly grew deathly still with a dark lustful expectation. Then in one sudden swift movement Dashwood tore the last shred of Lizbeth’s clothing from her to hang naked before these ruthless fiends.

 

[wideeyedone]

It was obvious to Lizbeth that it was Dashwood that was in charge. He cut the buttons from her dress and tore the fine fabric from her skin. Then he cut away her delicate chemise.

There were no secrets anymore. All of the eyes in the room were on her lithe body. Her trim waist and the flare of her hips were on display for all to see. Her breasts were just as John Baston had hoped, full and high and firm. Her nipples were a deep pink, a delicate contrast to her porcelain skin. A drip of blood slid down her thigh from the nick caused by Lord Dashwood.

Her eyes were locked on his. She started to plead again, but she held her silence. She was a smart enough girl to know that pleading with him was useless. He seemed to delight in her discomfort. Her nipples tightened in the cool air. This physiological response made her feel even more ashamed and exposed.

John stood with the others. His eyes on her were the worst. He had seen her in her real life. He had known how much she loved his son. He had known her since she was a girl. She had thought of him almost as a father, but there was nothing paternal about his gaze on her now.

The blade was cold against her skin, the flat of the cold blade against her warm skin.

"Lord Dashwood, please... the knife. I am frightened." She looked at him again. He was mere inches from her as he tormented her. Her pleas changed his face not at all.

 

[cgraven]

Her cheeks where crimson with shame. Her soft eyes turned to Sir Francis yet those sweet ripe lips remained stilled. Dashwood could not help but admire this young beauty’s sense given her situation as it was apparent that Miss Lizbeth Dalton knew it would do no good. The deep crimson blush spread from the tip of her little button nose to the tip of her toes, as Lizbeth felt Baston’ eyes devouring her naked supple young body.

"Lord Dashwood, please... the knife. I am frightened."

She looked at him again. He was mere inches from her as he tormented her.

“Ah yes the knife Miss Dalton, it makes you nervous, do you fear my hand might twitch again and perhaps the cut might be deeper this time.”


Lizbeth felt the press of cold steel to her delicate skin yet this time there was no searing heat as the edge did not violate her but merely the blunt spine of the knife. Dashwood tossed the knife aside and with a clap of his hands three youthful harlots dressed as nuns with their naked breast bared came in . One carried a basin of steaming water and other a sliver tray with soap and brush and the last a small ebony box. Again the brotherhood began to chant .


Strip her , Strip her, Strip her


Dashwood found Lizbeth’s look of confusion adorable as the Friars chanted for her to be stripped. After all how a bound and naked girl could be stripped. With a nod to the scandalous nuns Lizbeth soon had her answer. Their knowing hands bathed her virginal Mons with warm water. Then the brush was lathered in the sweetly scented soap. They worked the rich thick lather into Lizbeth’s Dark “V” of fleece down. The last harlot nun stepped forward and Dashwood took a straight razor from the ebony box. He twisted the blade this way and that. Let the light dance and play along its keen edge. Then with a evil grin he spread Lizbeth’s skin taunt. The rasp of the razor whispered to the bound beauty. Each pass left only bare silken skin in its wake. Each pass brought the danger that this fiend might cut her for the amusement of his followers. Soon Miss Lizbeth Dalton hung naked as the day she was born without even a single wisp of hair to hide her naked perfection from their leering lustful eyes. The harlots then anointed Lizbeth’s freshly shaven pussy with a warm oil that smelled of jasmine and sandalwood. Their hands worked the powerful aphrodisiac into her pussy, up over the flat plane of her abdomen and then onto her firm proud young breasts.

“Friar John you may feast upon Miss Dalton’s breasts and torment them as you please.”

Lord Baston , friar John stepped forward his face a mask of pure evil.

 

[wideeyedone]

Lizbeth was horrified as these common harlots touched her. And then Lord Dashwood continued to play on her fear of the blade. She held her breath as she felt the sharp breath scrape her most private hair away. She closed her eyes tightly. She didn't want to stir and cause him to cut her again.

Then the hands of the women were back. She found her hips wriggling as they rubbed the fragrant oils into her delicate skin. Much to her shame she found a soft moan in her throat. Just when she thought her humiation could get no deeper, Lord Dashwood offered her breasts to Friar John.

Friar John took her face in his hands roughly. "Do not look away. Do not close your eyes. I want you to see everything that I am going to do to you. Do not rob me of that or I will make sure that you pay more even more dearly."

One of the wanton nuns handed him a leather pouch. He smiled with delight as he opened the pouch and got out his tools. He pulled out thick silver cord. He took one breast in his hand and wrapped and tied it tightly. Then he bound the other. The jostling and binding took her breath away. But she did not close her eyes. Even though she desperately wanted to look away. She felt her breasts become more tender. She looked down and watched them grow darker in color. They were becoming so sensitive. Each breath made her wince. Friar John slapped both of her breasts with no warning. She screamed in shock and in pain. She looked to Lord Dashwood, pleading with her eyes. But he made no move to stop Lord Baston. Lord Baston reached back into his bag and pulled out a pair of pewter clamps and snapped them onto her nipples. She couldn't hold back. More tears came. She closed her eyes for a moment as she took in a deep breath, trying to supress a sob.

Friar John slapped her with the back of his hand. "You must learn little miss, that when you are given instructions by a Friar you are to obey. I told you to keep your eyes open." He grabbed her face again. He licked one of her tears away and then licked his way down to her breast. He licked and sucked around the clamps. She heard him groan as he nudged his face against her breasts. Then he bit into her delicate flesh. She cried out again and then looked down to see the teeth marks on her skin.

 

[cgraven]

Not in her wildest nightmare could Miss Lizbeth Dalton have imagined the horrors her once to be father in law would visit upon her innocent body. For a sweet innocent that had not been touched by a lover, never mind a lustful tormentor, Lizbeth was ill prepared to have her firm young breasts so curly bound. The gathered friars howled with delight as their Friar John drew out his silver cord. They dark in each of the young innocents little gasps of pain, her shuttering sobs that came with each labored breath and the pure clarion scream of pain as Lizbeth screamed when her nipples where clamped.

It was in this moment of pain and degradation that Lizbeth forgot Lord Baston’s hiss warning and her soft doe eyes flutter closed as she tried desperately to ward off the pain. Friar John slapped her with the back of his hand her head snapped to the side with the force of his blow and his hand print was a crimson blaze on the girl’s pale alabaster cheek.


"You must learn little miss, that when you are given instructions by a Friar you are to obey. I told you to keep your eyes open."

The gathered breathern howled with delight as Lord Baston grabbed her face again. He lewdly licked one of her tears away and then obscenely licked his way down to her breast. He licked and sucked around the clamps. She heard him groan as he nudged his face against her breasts. Then he bit into her delicate flesh. She cried out again and then looked down to see the teeth marks on her skin.

“That will be enough of that Friar John you shall not mark Miss Dalton…….”

Dashwood’s voice a stern warning that made even the powerful Lord Baston cringe and back off from his assault.


“………….seeing you have not paid for that privilege. Your reward for bring this taste little morsel to our table was being allowed the first taste of her. Now take your place among your breathern.”

Dashwood then turned to the bare breasted nuns.

“Remove the cord quickly but leave Miss Dalton’s nipples clamped.”

The harlots did as they where commanded and as the blood rushed back into
Lizbeth’s tortured breasts it rode a tidal wave of unbelievable pain.

“Continue our little whore’s anointing sisters I want her virginal body humming with sinful desire.”


“Yes Me Lord.”


They came to Lizbeth again they pour the hot sweetly scented oil over her breasts and then they began to intimately caress and rub the aphrodisiac into the little virgin’s silken skin. They seemed to delight in taking the most indecent liberties with Lizbeth’s body as they prepared her body to hum with sinful desire.

 

[wideeyedone]

Lizbeth looked at Lord Dashwood with gratitude when he made Friar John stop. Dashwood ordered Friar John to step back. But then the women were back. She was shocked at how good their slender fingers felt on her skin. One of the women gently caressed her breasts rubbing the oil into them. The womans breasts brushed against her as she rubbed. The other two women knelt before her and rubbed the emoillent up from her ankles to her hips slowly. Their fingers worked deep into her trembling muscles. She found herself so very warm. Not only did her skin feel warm, she felt warm inside. She felt a head inside of her that she had never known before.

The woman at her breast was extra gentle where Lord Baston had bitten her. She murmured to Lizbeth the way someone would a crying babe. "That's a very good girl," she whispered,"shhhh, shhh, shhh." Her hands rubbed up to Lizbeth's neck, and her face. Her fingers slid into Lizbeth's hair. Lizbeth found herself giving over to this woman's touch. She was breathing deeply, her body relaxing. It was if for a moment she forgot she was bound to an iron cross.

She felt fingers cup her bare sex. A delicate hand closing around the puffy lips of her virgin sex. Lord Dashwood had said something. She wasn't sure what it had been. Her mind was clouded. Lizbeth tried to keep herself quiet but horrible, wanton sounds kept tumbling from her lips.

What was it that Lord Dashwood had said? He had said that Lord Baston had brought her to the table. The bastard. He had promised Charles to save her and this is what he did instead.

She looked over at "Friar John". He was staring at her. They all were. He had betrayed Charles and her. This man, as much as her father, had taken her life from her.

 

[cgraven]

"That's a very good girl,” she whispered, the way someone would a crying babe.


"shhhh, shhh, shhh."


Her hands rubbed up to Lizbeth's neck, and her face. Her fingers slid into Lizbeth's hair. Lizbeth found herself giving over to this woman's touch. She was breathing deeply, her body relaxing. It was if for a moment she forgot she was bound to an iron cross.


The Friar’s watched with wicked delight the seduction of the very prim and proper Miss Lizbeth Dalton. They grinned in pure evil delight at the sensual little gasp that escaped her sweetly “O” ed lips when Lizbeth felt fingers cup her bare sex. A delicate hand closing around the puffy lips of her virgin sex. They delighted in Lizbeth desperate little struggle as helplessly tried to keep herself quiet and yet to her horror, wanton sounds kept tumbling from her sweetly “O”ed lips.

It was in this moment of weakness as this new strange heat pooled in her belly and slowly spread to every fiber of her supple young body setting it alight with an unholy fire of sinful wantonness that the woman let her fingers entwine in Lizbeth’s silken mane. Her lips teasingly brushed the young virgin’s moist “O” lips in a fleeting school girl kiss a kiss that left fire on the young girl’s lips.

“Kiss Me love!”

The little Harlot drew Lizbeth sweet mouth to hers, the tip of her tongue traced the sensual bow of the bound’s girl lower lip, slid across the even with ridge of her teeth.


“Kiss Me love!”


The little harlot whispered again before she claimed Lizbeth’s mouth in a lover’s kiss. As that kiss lingered, deepened and tempted the young beauty, the hands of the other little harlots where teaching Miss Dalton the fine art of seduction, and the powerful; aphrodisiac set her young body aflame with sinful desire.

 

[wideeyedone]

She didn't know if it was the hands on her sex, the lovely girl's mouth on hers, the wine from supper or the oil on her skin. But it she felt a heat rise in her. Lizbeth kissed the woman back. The other woman sucked her tongue. Lizbeth felt her hips rock forward pushing her sex into the hands of the other women.

The women did not enter her, however they played with the lips of her sex and her little pearl of pleasure. Lizbeth moaned into the other woman's mouth. She could not stop herself.

Lizbeth felt her heart pound. Her breath getting faster and faster. And the heat, washing over her. She couldn't keep her hips still. Then she felt the heat, the thrum inside of her, growing to fever pitch. She cried out into the other woman's mouth. Pleasure, searing hot pleasure, washed over her. She shuddered and then all of the tension left her body.

She heard the other women giggle. She had no idea what had happened to her. It was a release, and yet it only made her hungry for more. The woman kissing her had slowed her kisses, so Lizbeth, starving for more, kissed her. She parroted the kisses of her seducer. She sucked in her lower lip, teasing her with the tip of her tongue. She could hear the men watching. But she couldn't resist. She had to have more.

 

[cgraven]

Sir Francis Dashwood smiled with pleasure as the bound little innocent took her first faltering steps into the world of carnal pleasure. Her soft little moans heralded Lizbeth Dalton’s fall from Grace. Oh how sweetly she struggled against the rising tide of passion yet in the end Lizbeth kissed the woman back. It was a shy little kiss at first the harlot softly leading the sweet young Miss down the path that would lead to her ruin. Her bare breasts pressed against the firm perfection of Lizbeth’s. The little harlot sucked her tongue. Lizbeth felt her hips rock forward pushing her sex into the hands of the other women as her gorgeous young body began to betray her.

Brother John, Lord Baston took particular pleasure as he watched his once future daughter in strain against the bounds that held her and hungrily grind her hips to the seductive touch of the kneeling harlot. Lizbeth cried out into the other woman's mouth her sinful ecstasy. Pleasure, searing hot pleasure, washed over her. She shuddered and then all of the tension left her body.

It was then hungering for she knew not what, that Lizbeth Dalton took her next step towards damnation and ruin. Lizbeth, starving for more, kissed her. Lizbeth parroted the kisses of her seducer, she sucked in her lower lip, teasing her with the tip of her tongue. The hapless beauty could hear the howls of delight at the spectacle she presented to the watching men, but she couldn't resist. She had to have more.



Her little seducer giggled,


“My but you a passionate one my Love.”

With a nod from Dashwood the harlot kneeling before Lizbeth spread her sweet pink virginal folds. The tip of her little pink tongue flicked across the throbbing pearl of the young girl’s passion. The little beauty knew her job well and as she lashed the bound beauty’s sweet little pussy with mouth, tongue, teeth and lips until Lizbeth tittered on the brink of the abyss once more. She could all most grasp that white hot pleasure once more could almost feel the molten pleasure coursing through her veins again and yet it remained just out of her reach. Her seducer broke their kiss and she stepped to the side. Her teeth raked her little toys’ earlobe as she whispered.

“Just beg for what you want my Love just beg to cum for their Lordships.”

The harlot nibbled Lizbeth’s earlobe as she whispered what she must do for the white hot sinful pleasure.

 

[wideeyedone]

Lizbeth was comforted by the sweet voice in her ear. That voice, it only made the hunger more profound. "Just beg for what you want...." The voice offered.

"Beg, Lizbeth... beg for what you need." Lizbeth trembled. She didn't want to ask, she didn't want to concede. But the wet stroking against her sex made it impossible to refuse.

"Please.... please..... let me....please" Her voice was full of need. Her honey soft innocence coated with wanton desire. "Please...." She cried out. Her body arching off of the cross. Pressing her breasts against the harlot.

Lizbeth's whole body shook with desire. She looked to Dashwood. She plead with him to her eyes. "My lord, please." Her eyes blurred with tears again, but it was different. She was desperate.

The harlot on her knees, nibbled on her clit. Lizbeth found herself straining against her bonds, wanting more.

 

[cgraven]

"Beg, Lizbeth... beg for what you need."


The soft subtitle temptation of the seducer cooed so sweetly in innocence’s ear.


"Please.... please..... Let me....please"

Her voice was full of need. Her honey soft innocence coated with wanton desire.

"Please...."


Lizbeth was stunning as her supple young body arched wantonly from the “X”, straining to press her sex to that seductive tempting mouth that promised her such searing sinful pleasure and yet denied her still. In desperation the sweet little lamb turned her soft tear shimmering eyes to Lord Dashwood.

"My lord, please."

Young Miss Dalton’s only answer was from the harlot on her knees, as she nibbled on her clit. Lizbeth found herself straining against her bonds, wanting more.

Again that silken voice of the temptress and seducer was at innocence’s ear cooing so sweetly.


“You must beg to Cum my sweet, beg to be their little whore.”


The harlots fingers entwined cruelly into Lizbeth’s hair as the harlot snapped her head around her mouth crushing to the bound young beauty’s in a lover’s kiss.

“Now beg to your Master Lord Dashwood to Cum beg him to be his whore.”

This time there was the subtitle edge of command in the harlot’s voice leaving no doubt in young Lizbeth Dalton’s mind what she must do now for that sinfully sweet ecstasy of pleasure.

 

[wideeyedone]

Lizbeth could not believe her ears. They wanted her to beg to be Lord Dashwood's whore. How could she ever? Lizbeth at first shook her head no. She mumured No a few times, but the tongue against her clit did not relent. Neither did the sweet voice in her ear.

"You know it is what you want, love." Whispered the harlot. "You want the release, you need it, you darling dirty girl." She reached down and tugged on her nipple.

Lizbeth tried to fight it. But the heat was too much, the desire was too deep. "Please, my Lord Dashwood, please let me be your whore." She whispered. She looked past the harlot at her ear until she saw Lord Dashwood's face. She saw the tiniest hint of a smile. The lovely mouth at her sex sucked her clit between her teeth.

Lizbeth cried out as another climax washed over her body. Her breasts jiggling and her hips bucking. When her tremors subsided, Lizbeth again looked to Dashwood.