Eva's Further Education

Monique stood, and addressed us, in her 'formal' mode.

'As you know, the girls at the fictitious Roissy wore rather strange dresses as uniforms. Their breasts were uncovered, and their skirts could be rolled up to allow access to their intimate parts.' She paused, smiling.

'Fashions, and materials, have moved on a little, I think, since then. So we have decided

That this should be the standard uniform.' With a flourish, she slid down the zipper of her kimono and cast it aside, leaving herself quite erotically magnificent in the Abbeye's 'uniform.' It was, in fact, a dark green completely transparent sheath, with long sleeves and a high neck, trimmed with fur at cuffs, collar and hem, which fell to calf-length, where it was very tight around her legs, not permitting very much movement. Her unfettered breasts were completely visible, as was the tiny triangle of hair left unshaven on her mound. Around her waist, under the dress, she wore a heavy silver chain. She wore matching green shoes with immensely high metallic needle heels.

'There, what do you think, ladies?' she asked, twirling around. I saw that a strip of fur extended up the back to the waist, and she demonstrated that it covered a velcro-closed opening, by ripping it apart, after unclipping a hook which held the hem together firmly. It was ingenious, and exposed her whole lower body in an instant.

'Tremendously sexy!' was my verdict.

'Right then,' said Monique, 'this will be your uniform, and you can start wearing it tomorrow, to get used to it before our first client arrives the next day. Additionally, everyone will wear leather cuffs and anklets, with a metal ring set into them.'

What will be our duties then?' Petra asked.

'I'm afraid you will have to do everything at first, until we take in more clients, and then I shall be able to employ a couple of specialists – perhaps a hairdresser and a make-up artist, at least. Until then, you'll have to prepare our clients to my instructions – it shouldn't be too difficult.'

She went on to describe what would happen to the girls on arrival at the Abbeye, and I found myself getting excited at the prospect of 'preparing' them for their 'training.'

But no sooner had I listened to Monique's description of our duties, than she stood and said, 'Now, girls, I'd like you to follow me, please!'

Obediently, we stood, and followed her out of the room, and along a well-lit stone-lined corridor, which sloped downwards, and the air became distinctly colder. It wasn't easy to negotiate the uneven stone floor in my high-heeled mules, and I pulled the thin silk negligee around me as the chill intensified, but Monique, who wore only the Abbeye's 'uniform' appeared not to notice, and walked slowly, her steps restricted by the tightness of her fur hem. We came to a heavy door, which opened easily enough to Monique's touch, and stepped through into a big chamber, for all the world like a medieval dungeon. The sound of our heels on the stone floor set up a resounding echo.

Monique sat on an upholstered couch, but left us standing. She had still not said a word since we left the lounge.

As if to a summons, the door opened again, and in walked a tall, rather handsome man of perhaps fifty, wearing riding breeches and some sort of tunic. Monique spoke to him in rapid French, and he simply nodded in response, then came right up to me, looked me traight in the eye, and unfastened the tie of my negligee, then pushed it off my shoulders, so that it fell, in a whisper of soft silk, to the floor. He turned his attention to Petra, and repeated the process. She began to speak, and he slapped her hard across the cheek with the flat of his hand. The crack of the slap echoed around all four walls of the dungeon.

From the pocket of his tunic he produced a set of handcuffs, which he expertly clicked onto Petra's slim wrists, before coming over to me and favouring me with the same treatment. He next reached up and pulled down a chain I hadn't seen, that hung from the ceiling, and was controlled by some kind of pulley arrangement. A snap-link was at its extremity, and that he clipped onto the chain connecting my handcuffs. Petra got the same attention, then he hauled down on the pulleys, and we both found ourselves stretched uncomfortably upwards, arms at full-stretch above our heads, our feet only just able to touch the ground by dint of our high heels.

At last, Monique spoke.

'I want you both to taste the whip our clients will get to feel. I think in that way you will both be better equipped to serve them, and, in any case, it is part of our philosophy here at the Abbeye. We must all be marked from time to time.' Then, to the man, she said, 'Dix pour chaque fille, s'il vous plait, Marcel!'

Marcel had availed himself of a terrible-looking bull-whip, and now stood some three metres away behind me. I could scarcely believe that he would reach me from there, but any doubts were dispelled in a moment, as first I heard the whistle of the fine leather lash through the air, then felt the sudden, dreadful, ferocious, stinging pain, as the thong bit into the tender flesh of my lower back, and I saw the little knot which formed its end rest for a split second just under my right breast. I screamed with the shock and pain, and Monique told me to be quiet.

'If you can't take the pain in silence, I'll gag you, and you'll get five more!? She said sternly, 'and you'd better thank Marcel after each stroke, too!'

Before I had time even to think, the fearful hiss of the lash was upon me, and I braced myself in anticipation. But no pain came! It was Petra who bore this stroke, and I saw her writhing under her bonds out of the corner of my eye, and heard her stifled gasp, as the whip struck her just below her shoulder blades, raising an instant red stripe across her white back.

It was my turn now, and the next swishing sound preceded a sharp, keening sting as Marcel's lash found its target, higher than the last time.

'Oooh!' I moaned, then 'Thank you!' as he turned his attention to Petra, and I watched as he whipped her back unerringly, raising a pretty ladder-pattern of welts on her tender skin. As he alternately lashed me, I imagined mine becoming similar, and the thought, combined with the constant pain, and its close relationship to ecstasy, were, I knew, bringing me inexorably closer to a thundering orgasm. I lost count of the times I said 'thank you' to Marcel, and only felt the upwelling, the inevitable swelling gush of my tremendous climax, which coincided with what felt like his fiercest stroke of the whip, at the top of my buttocks. I hadn't the strength to thank him, this time, and hung limply until Monique let me down, and cradled me in her arms.

Marcel meanwhile had taken Petra down, and had her over the arm of the couch, penetrating her from behind, his long, thick cock pounding in and out of her ready arsehole.

I was exhausted, more from the sheer force of my orgasm than from the whipping I had endured, and stayed in Monique's arms for as long as she would hold me. When at last she kissed me on the forehead and said, 'Come on, darling, time for dinner.' Petra and Marcel had already gone, as had Jean-Paul.

We dined dressed in nothing but our negligees, and went to bed early, after Monique had helped soothe our wounded backs with cooling ointment. As she did so, she said, 'I don't always advocate this sort of thing, you know.'

When I looked around questioningly at her she said, 'I have been known to rub salt in – it gives a very special kind of agony!'

When I looked into her face, it was impossible to tell if she was joking or not.

As I dropped off to sleep, I had an image of 'O' – sleeping chained up on furs, and being raised in the middle of the night to be brutally whipped by Pierre, the valet with whom she fell in love.

I got up next morning, taking a little while to get used to the strange surroundings, then I spent several minutes admiring my back in the big mirror in my dressing-room. The red welts were only superficial, but were quite sore when the jets of water from the shower hit them, making me wince slightly, but serving to remind me of Marcel's snaking whip, which again put erotic thoughts in my mind, and caused my hand to stray to my pussy. But there I found the beginnings of new growth of hair, and took my time shaving carefully, not forgetting to remove every vestige of stubble from around my anus. Satisfied, I perfumed myself, brushed out my long blonde hair to a rich sheen, clipped my chain around my waist, and slipped into the green sheath 'uniform' I had to get used to, closing the velcro opening down from waist to hem, and clipping the hem tightly around my calves. Another twirl in the mirror sufficed to show that my stripes could clearly be seen through the transparent material, and my prominent nipples thrust at the bodice enticingly. I stepped into the 'regulation' shoes and found that I should have difficulty in walking very quickly – but the image that looked back at me from my mirror was one of pure eroticism.

And it was even more sexy spending the day thus attired, breakfasting, walking about the Abbeye, being shown around by Monique, taking lunch in the great hall. I was in a state of arousal all day, ever aware of my welted back, and that of my dear friend Petra, who stayed close to me, holding my hand, toying from time to time, as if fascinated, with my little nail-decoration.

Monique showed us the Reception Suite, where we should soon be receiving our first clients, and gave us our instructions regarding our role in the preparation of clients, then gave us permission to sleep together that night, as a special treat, telling us that once we had clients at the Abbeye it would not be allowed, as we should have to be 'available' to guests at all times, as would the clients.

'I'm so excited about tomorrow, aren't you?' asked Petra, as we sat beside each other at my dressing table, removing make-up before going to bed.

'Let's enjoy tonight first, shall we?' I suggested, slipping my hand between her thighs and feeling her wetness.

'Oh yes – yes, please!' she murmured, and took my hand, thrusting it hard into her sopping crack.

'Wait, darling!' I told her, 'let's get to bed first, shall we?'

I led her over to my big bed, turned down the satin sheets, and slid, naked, between them, pulling her brusquely on top of me.

She kissed me fervently, her tongue probing deep into my mouth, the coral stud shee wore clicking against my own silver one, and we kneaded each others' breasts, teasing our nipples to hard, sharp points, but quickly I wanted more, and Petra knew exactly what it was that I needed. She slid lithely around, and we fell easily into our accustomed '69' position. I opened her labia the way I knew she loved and probed deeply with my tongue, holding her inner lips apart as I rammed my studded tongue as deep as it would go into the dark sweet depths of her wet, eager cunt. She cried out as I did this, alternately plunging deep, then coming suddenly out to bite her burgeoning clit. Meaanwhile she more than repaid me by doing what she knew drove me wild, thrusting her forefinger, without preamble deep into my anus, and fucking me with it, then joining it with her slim, long-nailed middle finger to increase the volume, filling my arsehole until I thought I should burst with pleasure. I screamed as she brought me quickly to my climax, and realised to my shame that I hdn't known if Petra had cum or not. She assured me that she had, but we employed my double-ended flexible dildo to bring ourselves off again, much more gently, this time watching each others' faces as our orgasms overtook us. Then we slept, sated, entwined together, and never happier.

Next morning we helped each other dress for our big day, then breakfasted nervously, awaiting the call that would announce the arrival of Mlle Lemoine, our first client.

After breakfast, Monique had us parade in front of her, effectively an inspection, and pronounced herself satisfied with our appearance, then told us to expect Mlle Lemoine at ten.

At precisely that hour, the same limo with the blacked-out rear widows that had conveyed us to the Abbeye drew up outside, an the young man we knew as Henri opened the door to a haughty-looking young dark-haired woman, dressed in a very expensive looking Hermes trouser-suit, and carrying a small Vuitton suitcase.

Marcel stood and opened the door for her, then took her case.

'I do not wish to be separated from my case,' she said, in an authoratative voice.

'Your case will be quite safe with me,' said Marcel, and turned on his heel, leaving her starting to protest, as he quickly left the entrance hall, and Petra and I took Mlle Lemoine's wrists, as we had been instructed, leading her firmly through to the Reception Suite. I followed protocol, and immediately asked her her name.

'It isn't the business of servants,' was her arrogant reply. It was going to be fun breaking in this one, I thought. But before I had time to react, a side door opened, and Monique entered, dressed just like us, but carrying a riding crop – an unmistakeable 'badge of office.'

'I know your name is Christine, Mlle Lemoine, she said, brusquely, 'and by that name you will be known while you are at the Abbeye. Your fiancé has sent you here to learn discipline. You are free to leave at any time, but while you elect to remain, you will submit to anything and everything that my staff and I require of you.'

Monique now approached the brunette and their faces were inches apart. 'Is that clearly understood?' she rapped. There was no reply.

Monique slapped her resoundingly across the cheek, reddening it instantly and causing her to gasp loudly. 'Is that understood?'

'Er, yes,' replied the girl.

'Yes, mistress.'

'Yes, mistress.'

'So we understand each other. Now you can prepare her, ladies, please. Marcel will join you shortly.' With that, Monique turned and walked out, but I felt sure she was watching us from behind one of the huge mirrors that lined the walls.

Christine stood, head proudly inclined slightly upwards, as I unbuttoned her silk jersey jacket and slid it from her shoulders, revealing a white chiffon blouse with ruffed sleeves. This too I unbuttoned while Petra unclipped the waistband of her trousers, and pulled down the side zipper. Soon we had her standing in matching peach panties, garter-belt and bra, and saw that she had a nice slim body, but scarcely large enough breasts to warrant a bra at all. I unhooked it in the back, and she covered herself instinctively. I pulled her arms down, revealing almost pre-pubescent tits, virtually flat, but whose nipples were quite prominent. I ran my hands over them, and she shrank away with an expression of distaste. Petra meantime was hooking her fingers over the aistband of her silk panties, and pulled them over nice hips, down over an expanse of bare thigh, past dark-toned stockings, over her classy heels, and off. Her mound, thus revealed, had been trimmed to accommodate, I imagined, a bikini, but she was left with a triangle of short dark hair, and a fuzz around her labia.

'We'll have to take that off!' said Petra, as she started to roll down Christine's stockings. Then, while she finished removing the garter belt, I started to run the big walk-in bath-tub, then we walked her over to it and gently led her into the water. We sat on the edge and soaped her thoroughly, cleansing her whole body with scented soap – she scarcely seemed to mind.

When we had finished, and dried her off with a huge fluffy towel, we led her to a chair we had waiting, and she protested for the first time as we quiet firmly made her sit in it. It resembled a dentist's chair, but before she could make much of a fuss we had clipped her arms to the arms of the chair and her legs were firmly secured in the stirrups provided, so that her legs were nicely apart. She calmed down and stopped her initial squirming around when it looked as if all we were doing was drying her fine, naturally curly black hair. Petra proved to be something of an expert at this, while I trimmed her eyebrows, and made up her lashes and lips. But she started to get agitated when I fetched a bowl of hot water and lathered her mound.

'Shut up!' I said sharply, and started to shave her clean. I concentrated on taking off every vestige of hair from her belly, then worked my way around her labia, pulling her nice tight pussy around with my fingers so that I made sure that not a single hair remained. I shoved a little cushion up under her arse and got down on my knees to shave all around her anus – the chair was designed with a cut-out so that this was not too difficult. All the time she complained that she had never been treated like this, and the only thing that shut her up was the sight of Marcel, who came in, stripped to the waist, in riding breeches, and showing impressive musculature, carrying a long case, which he put down silently beside the chair.

While he was unfastening it, he spoke quietly to me. 'Have you finished?' he asked.

'We just have to dress her,' I told him.

'Just put her chain and cuffs on,' he said, 'while I see to her tongue, then I'll see if I can get her training under way.' He gave me a knowing look.

I turned away and fetched the leather cuffs for her wrists and ankles, just like the ones Petra and I were already wearing, while Petra brought over the heavy silver chain for Christine's midriff. When we got back to the chair, she was gibbering with fear as Marcel was sat on the stool beside her with a piercing tool and a can of antiseptic spray. She had apparently refused to offer up her tongue for the operation, which Marcel had told her was obligatory, and he was in the process of fishing it out of her mouth by force, and fitting a tool like a huge clothes pin to it to keep it there. In no time at all, the job was done, and Christine, furious, was the reluctant possessor of a nice silver tongue-stud. Meantime, we had fixed her cuffs and anklets, and her silver chain, and she could now be released from the chair.

Suddenly, her timing confirming my impression that she had been watching all the time, Monique appeared, and it was now a very different Christine that stood before her. Naked save for the thick leather cuffs at her wrists and ankles, and the heavy silver chain which hung loosely around her slender waist, she looked downcast, and briefly put an elegantly-manicured hand to her mouth as if she could scarcely believe her tongue had just been pierced.

'You will be marked in many other ways before you leave the Abbeye,' said Monique, quietly, 'but first, I will ask you, just once: do you wish to stay, and submit to whatever we wish to do to you, or would you like to go now?'

Christine looked up at Monique, a new look, of pride, coming over her face.

'I will stay!'

'You will stay, what?' demanded Monique.

'I will stay, mistress!'

'That's better. But you must be punished for that omission. Marcel!' She stepped back, and Marcel siezed Christine's wrists in one huge hand and led her over to a curtain, which I had thought to cover a window. When he drew it back,it revealed a stout wooden post, set against the wall, with thick iron ring fixed high above head-height, through which was threaded a snap-link, of the kind climbers use. He clipped Christine's wrists to this, so that she was suspended at full stretch, her back to us, already whimpering, although nothing had been done to her.

'Just the crop, for now, Marcel,' said Monique, and Marcel obeyed, fetching the long leather riding crop from his case. Christine looked around and saw what was in store for her.

'Oh no!' she moaned, 'I can't, I can't take it, you can't beat me, no!'