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Pain  (Vashti la Soeur)

Pain  by Vashti la Soeur

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Eighteen year old Victoria runs away from her savage uncle and his sadistic beatings, ending up working in the music hall as a magicianís assistant. There she meets the dominatrix Ophelia, the teacher Oscar, the rich men who wish to own her, the men who wish to dominate her and those who wish her to dominate them!

From music halls to castles to rich menís homes, Victoriaís adventures involve pain, suffering, many sessions with the whip until she learns to take it and to use it and then again there is more sex in her life - in this great sexy romp of a novel!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 5 / 2018

No. words: 48300

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Fem Dom - F/M

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter 1

Victoria turned her head sideways as she lay face down on the mattress and could see her uncle's huge erection straining at the cloth of his trousers. There was a dark patch spreading on the material.
"This'll be yer birthday present, me gal," Rogers leered.
"Yer eighteenth birthday present, gal." Her mother's breast heaved. "Reck'n she's askin' fer it, Charlie."
Rogers' eyes gleamed as he saw the girl's naked bottom quiver.
"'ow many yer gonna give 'er?" the mother laughed excitedly to Rogers, the man who lodged with them.
"Reck'n one fer every year - sorta celebration, like. Eighteen. That oughta do it ... fer now!"
"Please, uncle ..."
"Aye, you can uncle me all right - an' it's please too, is it? Well, mebbe this'll please yer."
He raised the heavy leather belt. The girl closed her eyes as it whistled through the air and cut into her exposed globes. Her screech drew a laugh from the older woman.
"That'll teach yer," she said, "won't it? When poor blind Jem wants ta feel ya next time, ye'll 'ave somethin' ta remember, won't ya?"
She stared at the red tinge spreading across her daughter's bum and licked her lips.
"Nice one that, Charlie," she giggled.
"Well, you should know, darlin'" Rogers said. "You've 'ad it across yourn often enough."
The woman gave a nervous snicker. "Reck'n there's no need ta give it me any more, is there, Charlie? I mean, it's better wiv a young 'un, innit? Makes yer ... Well, she deserves it, don't she? I mean, she'd've got a bob or two from Blind Jem just fer a feel. But no - not Lady Muck 'ere ... Stands to sense she deserves it, don't it?"
The belt swung down on the girl's bared bum again, bringing another wild screech and a moan.
"Dunno about that, Nelly. I got two of yer ta think about ... 'er an' you."
He tightened his grip on the belt before slashing it down for the third time.
The woman looked frightened.
"Yer don' mean ...? I don' give yer no trouble, do I? You've only got to say ..."
"Stop yer chafferin'. Pull 'em orf an' git over that bed beside 'er." The snarl showed Rogers would soon lose control of himself. "Quick now, else it'll go 'ard wiv the two of yer."
The older woman shuddered and hurriedly pulled down her drawers, excited but whimpering as she flung herself face down on the bed. "Yer good ta me, Charlie. Honest."
She pulled her ragged dress up high above her waist, exposing her thin bum-cheeks scored with old whippings.
"But I thought as now you've got 'er to see to, you wouldn' need me any more. I mean, I always gives yer what I earns, don' I? Besides, I'll always suck yer. You know that, doncha?"
Rogers sneered as he looked down at her.
"An' o' course, " she hurried on, "o' course, whenever you want a f.."
"Shut yer gob!"
The belt cut into her backside, making her squeal.
"Aow! Gawd, Charlie! ..."
"I don' want no talk like that, unnerstan'? Yer mine - both of yer. Mine."
The belt slashed into the woman's buttocks again.
"Yes. Yes, Charlie. " she sobbed. "Sorry, Charlie."
"Sorry? I'll make yer both sorry. From now on you'll speak when yer spoken to, that's all. An' if anyone asks yer fer a bit, ye'll 'ave to ask me permission first, get it? Don't want no carryings-on be'ind me back!"
As he spoke, the belt cut into mother and daughter alternately.
Charlie laughed. "What say we 'ave a little bit o' fun, eh? Liven things up, like, eh? Put yer arms round each other and wrestle to get the other one on top. Bum-up gets the strap."
Mother and daughter struggled to pull the other on top to avoid the leather. Their screams mingled with Charlie's raucous laughter.

In the bedroom of the house next door the two elderly spinsters clung silently to each other. Their eyes were wide open, their fear mixing with desperate longing as they counted the strokes they could hear coming through the thin wall.
"Seven! Dorothy," whispered the younger. "Dorothy, what's it like getting the strap? Does it hurt much?"
Her companion sighed softly as she rubbed her hand gently between the younger one's thighs.
"When our Dad gave it to me first, I hated it," she said. "But I miss it now he's gone."
The younger one gasped.
"That's eight! Dorothy ... did our Dad ... I don't mean our real Dad ... I mean after him... the one we called `Our Dad' ... did he ... well, you know ... put it to you?"
"Sometimes he'd ..."
The younger one was breathing noisily now.
"Nine! What did he do, Dorothy?"
Dorothy's breast heaved as she remembered the passions she had felt.
"His ... his thing ..."
The two stared hard into each other's eyes, their breath coming audibly.
"His thing would go hard. I was only nineteen when it first happened so I didn't really understand."
"What did Mum say then?"
"She was dead before then. She'd died a few months earlier. Our Dad kept her happy after our real Dad died."
"What about his thing?"
"After it went hard ... sometimes ... it came Ö "
"Yes. Creamy stuff - and I ... "
"Yes, and ..." Dorothy stopped speaking as the memory returned. Her body arched into the other girl's. "... and ... No! You wouldn't understand."
The younger one moaned. "I've never had the strap, Dorothy. Do all men give you the strap? Will I get it one day? If only ... Tell me. What did you do when the creamy stuff came?"
"I had to ..."
The screams from next door changed to long drawn-out sobs.
"He's finished with them now," the elder girl whispered. "She'll tell me tomorrow what happened. She's proud of getting it - says there's no-one can give it like her Charlie."
Her fingers were now working quickly inside the other's quim. Dorothy was panting as she spoke.
"She says it makes her ... well, you know!"
"Makes her? What does it make her?"
Dorothy nodded and lowered her voice until it could hardly be heard.
"Her C-U-N-T. That's what she calls it. Her CUNT!"
A shiver ran through the other girl.
"CUNT!" she repeated it softly. "Does it make your CUNT ... cunt ..." It seemed as though she couldn't stop using the word. "Does it make your cunt do it? Does it go all wet ... like when you do to me?"
Dorothy gave a lengthy, drawn-out moan.
"Yes. Oh, God, yes. "
Her fingers slid backwards and forwards inside the slippery opening, making the younger woman groan.
"Ahh, Dorothy! Aaah! You're so good to me, Dorothy."
"Lick me, Susan. Down there! Like I used to do to our Dad. Lick me down there."
The two girls rolled on the floor backwards and forwards in each other's arms, their legs wrapping around each other's body as they made little animal cries of delight.

Chapter 2

The young girl cowered behind the thick pillar in the doorway of the noisy East End pub. Her long tattered dress hardly cleared the puddle-strewn ground, betraying the fact that her feet were bare. She seemed unaware that the black shawl pulled around her narrow shoulders did not completely cover the plump white breast beneath her rags, which were exposing a pale pink nipple.
An incongruously curled feather pinned to the small brimless hat she wore well back off her high forehead was a pitiable effort to give her an air of gaiety. But hunger added its message to the pallor of her thin oval-shaped face as the dark-brown eyes darted like frightened swallows into the brutal faces of the men passing into and coming out of the bar.
From the other side of the pillar a rhythmical series of grunts, mixed with moans and little gasps, made it clear that a passionate encounter was taking place.
"Ah ... Ah ... Ooh, Knocker!"
It was a woman's voice. A muffled voice. Yearning. Straining, followed by a lengthy, drawn-out, trembling sigh of completed satisfaction.
The sigh was broken off.
"Knocker! Knocker!"
There was no answer.
The woman's voice sounded hard now. "Whassup?"
This time the speaker sounded deeper and weary and a little irritable.
"Knocker! There's someone there."
"Eh? Where?"
"There ... There, I tell you. Someone's 'iding be'ind the pillar."
"Keep still, you silly bitch. There ain't no-one there."
"There is, I tell ya. The other side of the pillar."
For a moment or two there was no sound. Then the shrinking girl heard the man speak again.
"Can't 'ear nuthin'. I slipped out now, you silly bitch! Keep still, can't ya?"
"Knocker, I 'eard sumfin'. There's someone there, I tell ya."
"Keep quiet a moment!"
The girl on the other side of the pillar pressed as far back against the wall as she could, holding her breath to avoid being discovered.
Knocker spoke again.
"Nah. Imagination, that's what it is. You're 'earin' fings, that's all."
"ain't you gonna find out if it is someone, then?"
"I'll tell you what I'm goin' ta find out." The man sounded excited now. "I'm gonna find out how many times you can do it straight orf."
A woman's giggle cut through the air.
"Ooh, Knocker. You're ever so naughty. Ever so! 'ere! Watch it! You'll tear me bleedin' ... Knocker! Knocker ... Cripes! Aaah!"
The girl on the other side of the pillar could not stifle her sneeze.
"By crikey. You're right! There is someone there! 'ere you - sod off! Come on, Polly," the man continued, "let's find somewhere else. I gotta finish."
"Wait a mo', Knocker. Gotta tidy meself up first."
As two black shapes came out from the gloom thrown by the pillar and tottered arm in arm along the street, the girl on the other side closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, the blood in her veins pounding away like a blacksmith's hammer. She felt ill and frightened.
A drunken sailor lurched out of the bar, bumping into her with a curse. As she shrank away, he caught sight of her pale skin and thrust a hand towards her.
"Come 'ere," he growled. "What's yer name?"
Too frightened to disobey, she stood still as he pawed her breast.
"Victoria," she gasped.
She could smell the ale on his breath as he drew nearer. His thumb ran over her nipple, forcing it to stand to attention. The sailor sniggered as she tried to draw away but he was much too strong for her.
"Victoria, eh? Ever 'ad the cock inside yer, Vicky, gal? That's what yer gonna get now."
Terrified, she struggled as his hand pulled up her shabby dress and fumbled with her drawers.
"Keep still, you silly tit! Gonna 'ave some pussy," he laughed. "Gonna git some soft, curly pussy."
His fingers curled up into her, seeking the warmth between her thighs. As they found their mark, he hissed,
"Gi' us a kiss, then, whore!"
Her struggles were useless. The man pulled out his stiff cock and dragged her hand on to it.
"Feel it," he ordered. "Yer gonna get it now."
He pushed her back until she was propped up by the wall. Then with one swift movement, he ripped what remained of her knickers off and thrust his member at her.
The girl shut her eyes and her mouth fell open. In spite of her fear she felt her pulses race. The tip of his organ burned as it touched her slit. Instinctively she parted her legs slightly. This was the first time a man had brought his weapon so close. A sob came from her as she sensed what was about to happen. The touch on her slit was like a searing flame. Her mind was a blank. He was going to force his way into her; tear her apart; rip the velvet from ... from ... She drew a breath, ready to scream at the onset of the pain which she knew was coming ...
A 'thump' followed by a shuddering sigh jarred her. Before the sailor managed to push his way into her, she felt his body relax. Not comprehending what was happening, she felt him slide slowly to the ground, leaving both her breasts exposed and her rags no longer hiding her modesty.
Dazed, she stared down at the man who had been on the point of entering her. He was now an untidy bundle at her feet, and out of that bundle protruded a knife, its steel reflecting the light coming from the pub.

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