Renee tugged the heavy apparatus into position so that the men could have easy access to further their plans. It lurched across the hardwood floor and simply wouldn’t budge further when it reached the thick carpet. Without suggesting to them the other available options for the device’s use, she knelt on the padded bar at the front of the bench, raised her skirt with her hands and tucked it under her waist. She wore a pair of simple black panties that she left about her bottom to be dispensed with later. Over time, she’d learned she would assume too much to take them off at this point in an encounter.
“Pretty damned submissive, if you ask me,” the Captain turned happily to the Inspector.
“She knows it would do her no good to balk now,” Lyon replied. “Don’t let her lead you either. Have her as you like and punish her well. You’ll have a juicier snatch to screw if you lay it on hard.”
Renee trembled more, urgency and desire rolling through her body as she laid her tummy forward over the bar. A cool draft in the room ruffled the hair at her nether regions, which the position completely exposed. Moving forward, Captain Labeque grabbed the top of her panties and yanked upwards so that the thin film of black cloth disappeared into her anal crack and left both ass cheeks white and bare. Their dimpled surface shown luminescent by candlelight—looking almost radiant and begging for punishment.
“Does it help or hurt you to know I’ve never beaten a woman’s ass?” the Captain wondered aloud.
“I’ve plucked many a virgin,” she retorted saucily.
“You call me a virgin?!” He looked amused and aghast.
“In my realm you are, sir.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps so, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on this hide of yours.” He ran his hand along the skin, then slapped it. Not hard, but firmly. The sensation radiated outward from the print of his hand reaching her throbbing clit where the buzz made her internal sensation more acute. Her insides clutched excitedly, though Madame never gave away her arousal until she was bound toward climax. She breathed now evenly, contentedly, settling, as she’d become accustomed to doing these last two years of her service to the gendarmes of the city and the hierarchy of the local government.
She recalled the first days, when she stood her ground, protecting her property from attack. Inspector Lyon headed the committee to roust her and dozens of women like her from their homes—on orders from the general collective. Renee Duvalier defied them while the others buckled under the threat of dismemberment, rape or death. She refused to be incarcerated, or driven into the country in the dead of winter where, with little prospect of gathering food, she would surely die. Madame prevailed… but not before she was taken to her bedroom, stripped of her clothes and raped by the entire lot—save the Inspector. She could easily give up her body, but never her home! The crafty Inspector Lyon didn’t take her that first day as the others did, but came back the next with a peace offering—the accommodation, as he liked to call it.
The imaginative man had pulled the polished wooden containment device now housed in Renee Duvalier’s bedroom, from a basement on the Left Bank where a bizarre faction of Sadomasochists practiced the ancient rites of body purification. The group had quietly exited the city, driven out when the prevailing political rhetoric turned reactionary. They knew their way of life would soon be threatened by guns, imprisonment and strong-armed tactics, which made their relocation across the borders imperative. They left their collection of oddities with little thought that they’d even be used again as they were intended.
© Michael Berkowitz, www.michaelberkowitz.com