The letter arrived in the night, addressed to Sir Derrick Montcalm, Baron of Kent.  It came from the Reverend Mother Maria Constance, Prioress of the Aylesford Ursuline cloister regarding their ward, the Lady Diane Montcalm, who had been given by him into her care.  There was a situation, the letter said, that was beyond her authority to resolve without the knowledge and approval of the baron.

Lady Diane Montcalm was barely nineteen years of age now and by any evaluation a beauty.  A few inches above five feet tall, she had a heart-shaped face, full lips, a slightly upturned nose, and striking hazel eyes flecked with gold.  Cropped just to her slim neck so she could wear the head enclosing veil of the order, her hair was a lustrous auburn shot through with brighter copper streaks.  As was common with her coloration, there was a sprinkling of light freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her pug nose, a delicate addition that added to her dainty loveliness.  Even covered by the plain black tunic, it was also obvious that the body beneath was that of an almost fully ripe young woman.  She was fourteen in 1271 when her father, Sir Brian Montcalm, 3rd Baron of Kent left with The Lord Edward Plantagenet, later Edward the First, called Longshanks, to the Ninth and final Crusade.  He left his daughter in the care of his younger brother, Derrick.  Edward returned, Sir Brian did not.  

Sir Derrick was solicitous at first, but when news reached him that his elder brother had been killed in the Holy Land that changed.  A man with little concern for anyone or anything but his immediate desires--and less for the rules of chivalry--the nubile Diane presented a strong temptation.  It was only the ever-present household spies of his wife, the dour and corpulent Hermoine (whose family's money kept him in office) that prevented him from forcing the girl to his bed.   The baroness was both aware of his carnal yearning and jealous of her elegant appearance.  She pestered her husband incessantly to get rid of her.  He finally yielded to the pressure and sent her to the Ursuline Convent for "a noble's education," pledging an annual stipend that kept the Mother Superior, one Maria Constance, willing to take her.  That was four years ago.  During that time,  Sir Derrick forgot about her in favor of the peasant girls on his lands outside the ever-watchful eyes of the keep and whose silence was assured by fear of retribution.  Diane was forgotten, that is, until he received the message from the prioress.  The baroness, of course, insisted on accompanying him.  Unlike him, she remembered the lissome beauty all too well.

The two of them sat in the convent office and listened to the old nun's recitation of the young woman's sin that required their presence.  Even though she had near-absolute authority over the nuns and novitiates within the bleak stone walls of the cloister, the disciplining of a noble could only be done with the permission of her sponsor.

"So I'm sure you understand my position," she said to them.  "One of the other nuns, Sister Margaret told me that she saw the Lady Montcalm staring into a mirror--itself a pride in self we discourage--naked and rubbing her body in what can only be described as a, a sexual nature."  She wrinkled her nose in disgust.  "Such behavior is an abomination before God and should be punished most, most I say, severely, if only to save her immortal soul.  Yet I am compelled to advise you as her patrons of the offense and get your permission to proceed with the necessary--ah--correction.  You do, after all, send the convent a most generous allowance to properly educate her and she is of noble blood.  Such matters require the proper decorum as well as decisiveness."

Before the baron could speak, his wife chirped up.  "Yes, yes, of course, Mother.  Our niece, our dear brother's daughter--martyred in the Holy Crusade, you know--must learn accountability for her behavior."  A cruel look took over her face.  "What do you consider a just correction?"

The prioress saw and well grasped that look and revised her plan in accordance.  There would be no female timidity from this one.  This one, despite her bulk, was hard as stone.  "As you know, your Lordships," the prioress said, "the sins of the flesh require correction through the flesh.  Your niece committed the sins of both pride and lust, two of the seven deadly ones established by the Bible, and these in a single act.  While we Sisters of Christ are pledged to Jesus, we worship His suffering.  Only through pain can these unholy desires be expunged and her purity restored.  I recommend an immediate and stringent punishment."  She paused a moment.  "As the head of the Ursulines here in Aylesford I have instituted a policy of addressing offenses the same way our mutual superior, His Excellence Bishop Hereford has found effective in the monastery.  With a judicious application of the lash."

She waited while this pronouncement sank in.  Again, the fat baroness responded first, the cruel expression now even more pronounced.  "Yes.  Yes, clearly you are correct.  Such behavior is an affront to the family as well as God.  You have our permission.  Of course.  You are more knowledgeable in these matters."  There was a slight hesitation, then she added, "But I must insist that we witness her punishment.  To ensure that the honor of the name of the Montcalm name is not sullied by a willful young girl."

Maria leaned back in her opulent chair.  So she had judged this harridan correctly.  "I completely understand.  It is your right to ensure that your stature is protected."  At the prospect of this unexpected event, Sir Derrick himself perked up.  Oh, so you, too, eh?  Haughty and regal, but eager for a thrill.  "Anticipating your desire to see God's Law obeyed I have already sent word to the bishop.  He, like me, is a strong force to enforce the Will of the Lord and will act swiftly."  She paused a moment.  "I also--again with your indulgence--requested that he attend with Brother Hugh.  Brother Hugh, I am told, is very skilled in these things, distasteful though they may be.  They should be here within the week.  I shall send word to you of the exact day they will arrive and make the necessary arrangements.  As you wish to attend, you both will be provided seats to watch the purging of your niece's sins."

It was, in fact, less than a week before Mother Maria Constance's invitation reached the Aylesford baronial keep.  Two days hence, it said, at the convent for the "correction" of young Lady Diane.

Upon their arrival, both were served wine in Maria's office then escorted by her directly to a room in the lowest level of the convent.  Bishop Hereford was already there.  They were given the seats of honor on either side of the bishop and her.  Their chairs were positioned only a few yards before the centerpiece of the room, a single upright post of thick oak almost two feet in diameter embedded in its center.  Not high, perhaps seven feet from the cobblestone floor bottom to top, with iron spikes projecting from front and back just beneath its peak, it was a stark and forbidding thing.  The room had no windows, but was still brightly lit from many flickering yellow torches set in sconces around the walls.  All in all, the atmosphere of the chamber was grim, sinister, and intimate.  Along the wall behind the seats stood three rows of black-clad women, silent, the other sisters of the order assembled to watch the punishment of the slightest infraction of their austere life of prayer.

Once the prioress judged the preparations complete, she clapped her hands and two other, older, sisters entered holding Diane between them.  They led her to the post and turned her around to face the assembly, leaving her standing there, alone and afraid.  She saw the baron, baroness, Mother Superior, and bishop sitting before her.  Then she noticed another man standing off to her right.  Wearing the cowl and cassock of a monk, he was tall, broad and forbidding.  Her eyes were particularly drawn to the belt than dangled from his hand.  

Maria stood and addressed her directly.  "Diane Montcalm (deliberately omitting the honorific of Lady), you have been found guilty of impure thought and immoral action.  Your pride is anathema to the sanctity and dignity of the cloister.  That pride must be purged from you through the lash.  With the agreement of your benefactors and after much prayer, I have decided that two dozen strokes with the strap are required to purge you of the lusts of the flesh.  As punishment must be applied directly to the flesh that has offended the Lord, you shall now remove your clothing.  For the sake of decorum you need not be fully naked, but only bared to the waist.  Strip yourself.  Now".

Young Diane knew she was guilty.  After bathing, she remembered standing before the mirror behind the bathing stall.  It started innocently.  There was no conscious intent.  After washing her sides and hips, her hands rose to wash the bulging mounds on her chest.  As her soapy fingers rubbed the mounds, she felt an unexpected warm feeling in her loins.  Instinctively, her fingertips reached to the nipples, already erect.  She raised her face upward feeling the heat grow in her body.  Diane leaned forward against the front of the bathing cubicle, shivering with arousal.  Her left hand fondled the meaty breast, plucking at the nipple, while her small right hand crept down into the grotto between her thighs to rub and slide her fingertips over the slippery lips.  Unbidden, the heat and moisture grew more and more intense.  A pinch on one nipple, an internal stab with a finger, and Diane's body shivered beyond control, shaking in the throes of an orgasm until she slid to the floor and rolled to one side, hugging herself.  Slowly she regained her senses, but was not aware enough that she noticed the eyes watching from a peep-hole in the bathing wall.  The hole closed silently while she dressed for her bed.  Only a day later, Diane awoke to cloth strictures holding her body to her bed.  No, she thought, no what is this?  "Keep the child bound," an old sister commanded, "by order of the Mother Superior.  She will decide what is best."

Now she found herself here in the convent's basement.  She had been here before, rarely, when some sister violated the strict rules of the cloister.  To be one of those required to witness the required punishment.  Cruel, but deserved, she thought at the time. Never, never did she think that she would be here facing her own discipline.  Diane saw no pity in the Reverend Mother's eyes.  Even worse, she saw the cold, hard glint in her aunt's stare.  Slowly, reluctantly, she untied the cincture, the dark wool belt that held her tunic about her waste and husked it from her shoulders to the stone floor where it pooled beside her bare feet.  In spite of himself, the baron drew a sharp breath at the sight.  Her chest pushed the plain white chemise beneath out in two prominent bulges.  Derrick hadn't seen her in almost three years.  Even at fifteen, she was unusually buxom for her age, but he had not expected that her most obvious female attributes would develop in just a few years to the fullness that now filled the chemise.  Trembling fingers next undid the ties down the front from her throat.  Then it, too, was allowed to fall to the floor, leaving her body covered by nothing but an underskirt just above the narrow hips and a simple bandeau covering the breasts.  The narrow band of fabric bound them so tightly that they couldn't swing and sway as they might, but did nothing to hide the bountiful flesh it held.  She hesitated.

"Bare to the waist, daughter," the prioress ordered.  "Your punishment is required by God.  Shame was the sin of Eve and has no place before the Will of the Lord.  Now remove it.  Bare to the waist, I said!"

Shivering with fear, Diane reached behind her back to untie the bandeau and let it too fall away.  She immediately saw the lustful stare of the baron, bishop, and the tall monk, the only men present, and instinctively brought her arms up to cover her upper body.  A furious blush suffused her cheeks in embarrassment. "Drop your arms, daughter," the Mother Superior commanded sharply, "Pride is a tool of the Fallen Angel."  There was one last hesitation before she obeyed and now stood gloriously bared to the waist before the audience in the small chamber.

Painfully aware of so many eyes on her nudity, Diane's bare feet moved in an uncontrollable mincing dance and her hands formed small fists at her hips.  And every eye was indeed locked upon her lush topless body.  Her shoulders were still fairly narrow with youth, but her chest was unusually broad and deep, a necessary attribute to hold the now bared breasts.  Full they were, remarkably large for her age, yet by that same quality of tender age there was only the slightest overhang above her rib cage.  They thrust out into the chamber, high and proud.  At their furthest extent the nipples commanded special attention.  The aureoles were broad, almost two inches in diameter, and decorated with a random scattering of small bumps.  Rose-pink as was typical of her auburn coloration, their muted hue still declared themselves against the cream white of the mounds that presented them.  Now exposed to the chill underground air, their centers grew out into peaks.  Even from the distance where her primary audience sat the tiny divots at their very tips were obvious--a minuscule addition that added to their delicate femininity.  In helpless reaction, the blush that infused her cheeks spread down to the the mounds, revealing more previously unexpected freckles across their slopes beneath her throat, extending across to the softly rounded shoulders and even her upper arms.  Always hidden from the sun, Diane's skin appeared a pearly cream white, yet with a translucence that couldn't hide the faint bluish webbing of veins just beneath.

The prioress took her seat again and turned to the tall monk.  "Brother Hugh, pray proceed."  Of course, "Brother" Hugh was no brother or monk.  He was Aylesford's torturer, the burly assistant to the town's marshal.  The bishop had seen him at work administering the whip in the public square and come to appreciate his skill with the lash.  For a small amount of gold, he had enlisted the brute as his personal acolyte, a man who enjoyed the infliction of pain more than pay.  While he didn't much care who his victims were or what they looked like, he preferred women, the younger the better.  Not that he wouldn't torment a man--he was more often than not required to do that--but then mainly for the wage he was paid by the marshal.  The infliction of pain always excited him, but always better with a criminal he could later properly fuck.  He watched from the side as the girl undressed herself.  He preferred to violently strip his female victims, ripping the clothes from her body, something his audience also enjoyed, although he had to admit that making a shy maid bare herself did have an attraction.  It not only embarrassed her, it also made her an accomplice in what was to follow.  Bad enough if that involved a forcible rape, but even worse when she knew it was to expose her body, her naked skin, to make it better available to the instruments of torture.

Brother Hugh now wasted no time.  Draping the belt over one shoulder, he moved up before her and roughly grabbed both of her hands.  He quickly tied the wrists together with a short rope.  All the while his eyes were fastened on the thrusting female globes between her arms.  He craved to grab and play with them, but resisted.  Patience, patience, he told himself.  This will be a special treat.  Don't ruin it.

As soon as he finished the wrist tying Diane turned and faced the post.  She nervously raised her bound wrists.  She had been witness to many other such punishments and knew how they went.  The woman's hands were secured to the top of the post and her back was whipped.  Of course every one of those chastisements were administered by one of the senior nuns with a multi-thong whip of wet knotted cords.  Painful--and a few screamed throughout--but none had died, even if their backs occasionally bloodied.  At least the monk had a flat strap and wasn't armed with one of those weapons.  So she presented herself for the mounting against the post and tried to convince herself to be strong.

But there was to be one final cruel indignity, one she couldn't imagine..  Behind her she heard the bishop clear his throat.  "Reverend Mother Maria Constance, I recall from your report that the girl's sin involved fondling herself in a sexual manner, is that not so?"

"Indeed it is, Bishop Hereford.  She was seen playing with herself as a man would."

"Then it is necessary that her impure sexual thoughts be purged from her in like manner.  Brother Hugh," he said in a silky voice, "turn the sinful wretch around with her back to the post.  She shall receive the strap on those parts she defiled before God!"

Grinning, the tall monk gripped Diane's shoulders and roughly spun her so she faced the room.  No, oh no!  Diane was shocked by the words.  No, he couldn't mean that!  That meant that they were going to whip her breasts!   Still reeling from the shock, Diane felt the man's powerful right arm circle her waist.  He lifted her small frame easily and his left hand raised her bound wrists high and passed the wrist rope above the top of the wooden pole and lowered it to the iron nail behind.  He released her and all of her weight hung from the upraised arms and her toes just brushed the floor beneath her.  The stout post was wide in diameter, so tying her hands behind it this way pulled her shoulders back and together painfully with the desired effect of forcing her chest to stick out insistently before her, even further out than would have been the case otherwise.  In the gaol's questioning room he had installed a screwed bolster through the devices there that would push against the upper chest to better present his female victim's chest to his attentions.  While without those back struts the broadness of this pillar accomplished the same thing, and with a subtlety he had never considered.  The ones he installed were obvious in their intent.  This, this now accomplished the same effect without appearing to be so specifically designed.  So, even I have something to learn from these sanctimonious prigs. . .

Hugh brought his mind back to the task at hand.  He stood back a bit in thoughtful assessment.  He, more than any of those assembled here, knew that this was theater, just a more private intimate theater than that offered on the public stage.  There he would take the time to ensure that the young apprentices set out the tip jars where they could yield the greatest results.  A good show always gained the most appreciation, after all, and a man had to add to his purse as he could. . .

Yet even he was surprisingly impressed with this current subject.  Stripped to the waist, her breasts were presented in full arrogant display, larger than he had hoped from her youthful face.  While the raising of her arms above her head stretched the globes up a bit, they were so well fleshed that they maintained the most enticing aspect of their feminine pear shape, offering the tender under curves now fully to the lash.  Hugh nodded in appreciation.  This bitch's titties fairly beg for the whip, he thought.  Well, let us do this right.  The bitch can still squirm around a little and it is much more terrifying when they can't move even at all to avoid the leather.

He went behind the post and knelt to the stones.  Reaching around, he pulled her feet back, tying the ankles together and raising the cord to a third, unknown spike set a foot above the floor.  This served to increase the strain on her upper body while holding her hips all but immobile.  Even so, there was a final binding required.  Hugh had seen women beat their heads against the wood of the post or bench in reaction when their breasts were tortured knock themselves out and so end the excruciating agony.  This escape, of course, could not be permitted.  He picked up the fallen cincture and walked behind the post again.  He passed it around her throat and drew it tight before knotting the black sash close against the wood.  The wool cincture was soft and flexible enough that the bitch wouldn't strangle, yet still hold her head so close to the post that she couldn't gain enough space to beat it backward into unconsciousness.  Satisfied with the preparation, he returned to the front and moved back to both admire his handiwork and give an unobstructed view to the prioress, bishop, and two nobles.

Experienced in all the refinements to add to his victims' pain, Hugh knew that anticipation was key.  He undraped the belt from his shoulder and held it up where Diane could see it clearly.  The weapon looked fairly benign for the ordeal she was facing.  Indeed it was nothing more than the supple strop she had seen her father use to hone the edge of his razor before he shaved every morning.  The same smooth flat leather only a bit thinner and attached to a handle of wood instead of the wall beside the sink.  She didn't even notice were the three small holes Hugh had drilled in the final few inches of it, a tactic that not only enabled it to fly through the air faster, but would also create tiny, intensely painful, blood blisters behind its impacts.

The room was silent but for Diane's mewling whimpers as they stared at the helplessly offered young body secured to the post.  The dark brown wood contrasted against the girl's milky skin.  With her weight completely suspended above the floor, every gasping breath lifted her chest, displaying the ribs in high relief and drawing her stomach in into a delicate concave depression.  One could see even the muscles beneath the skin and valley down the center of her torso.  And even though tied tightly to the wood column, every inhalation caused the elastic globes to tremble daintily, as if with a trepidation of their own.

Hugh would have preferred to have this lusty wench under his arm in the village dungeon, in privacy.  There he wouldn't be confined to this damned monk's costume and could administer the tortures with his sex exposed to the pleasure.  He didn't know why--nor did he care--but having his cock released  when playing with a pretty young wench just felt good.  The way it would rise up, hard and tingle with excitement.  Already it was hard beneath the cassock.  He would also have the bitch completely naked, of course.  Not only so he could work on her slit, but also penetrate it whenever the urge took him.  A lot of fun, that.  Sure, hurting any helpless victim was enjoyable, but nothing like the pleasures of having a beautiful young wench to play with.  He was a man who loved his work and was skilled at his job, but the bishop provided gold, so he did as ordered.  He also knew that there was a ripe barmaid waiting in the gaol once he returned from this task.  

The regally attired baron was suffering the same discomfort.  The man was leaning forward to ease the painful swelling in his groin.  Damme, Montcalm was thinking.  If I had thought the bitch would turn out this lush, I would have found a way to avoid the spies and bedded her.  It would have been worth the risk.  Oh, well, nothing for it now.  Yet, yet.  He knew the old prioress loved her secular comforts--her food and wine--as much or more than her piety.  A healthy bullock and a couple of barrels of malmsey just might open her up to a visit from her sponsor to "reinforce the familial connection after so long a separation."  Yes, that should work.  That should work.

Bishop Hereford was thinking much the same thing, although using his authority, not a potentially expensive bribe.  All I need do is tell Mother Maria that I think some intensive, personal training in piety would be necessary.  I could even get her to send the wench to the monastery in Aylesford where I would be undisturbed by spying nuns.  Yes, that should work.  That should work.

While the noble and man of God were engaged in their own imaginings, Hugh stepped up.  He would have dearly loved to fondle the jutting mounds, but couldn't here and now.  Yet, there was something he could do.  Masked by the talking behind them, he moved in close to the helplessly displayed young woman.  Instead of his hands, he lifted the folded length of his weapon to lightly prod the presented mounds.  Even mounted with her torso stretched as it was, the globes still maintained the remarkable softness unique to all females.  Diane's eyes darted from her chest to the man's face.  Unlike her, his focus was direct, concentrated on her naked flesh.  The folded strap pushed inward from the arm pits,from the left, right, then he used it to lift the bulges from beneath, up to their limit before dropping the leather away to watch the tender globes quiver back into place.  He leaned in close, so he could whisper into her ear without being overheard.

"You n' me, missy, soon we will play our own private game.  I can tell how sensitive these ripe fruit is."  He brushed them back and forth again with the leather band.  "So soft.  So plump.  Them others, now, they don't know.  But we do, eh?  We know.  I am going to beat them in just a bit.  With this," he lifted the strop in front of her eyes.  "Not the whip, but adequate for the task.  Oh yes, adequate.  I'm gonna beat these beauties--an beat 'em good.  You was fairly caught doin' somethin' you shouldn't of.  Natural, but I don't care."  He leaned in even closer.  "An' just between you an me, I like hurting pretties like you."  He lowered the strap to the distended rose-petal tip of her left nipple, teasing the point into even harder erection.  "Yes, oh yes," he murmured.  "Well, it sounds like they are done back there.  Prepare yourself, if you can."

The monk moved back to a place in front and a bit to her right, the best place to administer the strap.  He deliberately held a moment until her eyes found him out of the corner of her eyes, then swung his arm.

SMACKKKT!  The leather flew through the air to explode against Diane's chest an inch beneath the trembling globes, directly across the straining lines of her ribs.

"Ahhhh!  Ahhhhh!  Ahhhhh!" she gasped at the sudden, sharp pain.  She had wanted to face this punishment in silence, but the intense fiery pain shocked her more than she thought possible.

"Brother Hugh," the prioress said behind him with more than a little exasperation.  "Sister Diane's offense involved those portions unique to a female.  It is there your blows should be addressed."

"Yes, Reverend Mother, beg pardon," Hugh said contritely.  "I misunderstood.  I shall ensure the remainder meet your desires."  There was no mistake, of course.  Sending his first cut to this asexual, yet only slightly less tender, skin introduced the wretch to the pain possible--and the promise of how much more it would hurt when his tool sought out the much more sensitive parts of her body.

Hugh gave her a moment to fully appreciate the pain, then launched the next stroke to the captive torso, a rising uppercut that struck viciously against the softly rounded lower curves, lifting the mounds and setting them into a wild dance on her chest.  "Ahhhhhhh!" she cried.

Watching intently from their seats, the bishop, prioress, baron, and especially the baroness stared at the display before them.  It was obvious that the impacts of the strop to her breasts were agonizing from the way her body strained against the post.  The baroness watched with undisguised glee, oblivious to the discomforting arousal of the two men seated on either side of her.

SMACKKKT!  The monk swept his arm out again, this time to impact the upper slopes.  The leather pushed the flesh down and forcing the rounded bottoms to bulge out, then wobble back into shape when it was pulled away.  He waited a moment, then delivered two strokes in rapid succession, striking the tops then the bottoms as quickly as he could.  The twin blows made the globes leap to the limit of their freedom as if with a volition of their own.  "AHHHHHHH!  OOWWWWWAHHHH!  HAH!  HAH!  HAH!" Diane cried, only just holding the outright scream in check.

Pleased with the reaction, Hugh attacked them the same way again, tops followed immediately by a crisp uppercut to lift the lower curves and again the girl's loud whines of pain filled the small room.  

Hugh supplemented his income playing to a crowd on the village stage so he understood well the value of a little showmanship.  Don't give 'em too much too fast.  Nurse 'em along.  Anticipation was as much to be nurtured in an audience as in the victim.  And, you don't want to wear out the victim too soon, either, so he held his arm a moment.  On the post, Diane Montcalm's topless body squirmed against the wood, her chest rising and falling rapidly.  Her lovely hazel eyes darted about, side to side and up in anguish. Her torturer gave her a full minute, keenly gauging the impatience of those watching, then swept a single rising slash to lift the bare breasts again.

It was all Diane could do was keep from screaming out loud.  Even her original resolve couldn't stop more loud gasps of pain, though.  The man only waited until the mounds stopped shaking before launching a blow to the upper slopes.  The next stroke repeated the tactic, giving them a moment to settle then returning to the tops again, the lower edge of the strap just catching the pink border of the nipples.  After another prolonged interval for her to regain some composure, he returned to the rapid double stroke.  SWACKKT!  SMACKKKT!  With these he stepped forward so the final inch of the lash could reach into the exquisitely tender hollow beneath her raised left arm.  "HEEEEAHHHHHH!"  This time the pain was so fierce than Diane could no longer withhold her shrieks.

A few of the nuns and novitiates looked down or to the side, shamed by the erotic display. but the four important watchers were staring at the sight she presented intently.  The once creamy breasts were flushing scarlet on top and bottom.  Slightly darker lines showed where the sides of the strop had landed.  Only the narrow band across the middles that held the nipples was still unblemished.  Even though the basement chamber was cool, the maid's quivering torso gleamed with perspiration, reflecting the flickering light from the torches.

The girl's topless form already showed ample evidence of her ordeal.  She was too tightly bound to the unyielding post to move much, but was still able to squirm lasciviously to the scant limit possible.  Even though the low cellar was cool, her body gleamed with the sweat of her torture, the droplets reflecting the flickering torch flames.  The tops and lower curves of her proffered naked breasts were already flushed bright red from the belt, leaving the band of still creamy white skin separating them that held the rosy nipples.  Unlike the sweat, the chill air was effective in getting the aureoles pucker and the teats stick out hard and engorged as two ripe currants.  Succulent already to be sure, but the strap will make them even harder and larger.  Twisting his shoulders, Hugh swept one more savage slash to the rounded under curves and lift the globes into a frenzied ballet above her ribs.  Maddened by the pain, the girl's semi-nude body shivered against the unyielding post, then hung limp.  Even so, the accumulated agony couldn't stop the lascivious writhing as the wretch tried to master her agony.  

"If I might make a suggestion, Reverend Mother," Hugh said turning back, "the punishment is only half over, but to be most effective, the sinner should be as responsive as possible.  If I might get a cup of cold water, I think that could be achieved."

"Yes, yes, of course.  An excellent observation," the aged nun said.  "I am very pleased that Bishop Hereford was able to provide a brother with such intelligence and skill for this most distasteful necessity.  Sister Amanda, go fetch some cold water for Brother Hugh!"

A pewter mug was soon handed to him.  Hanging the strap over his neck, he approached the miserable girl.  With no warning, the man dashed the chill liquid directly into her face.  Diane sputtered and her eyes opened wide at the sudden shock.  Hugh saw the manic delirium in them clear, replaced by the utter terror he wanted.

"P-please, stop," she whimpered.  "It hurts so much, so much.  Please n-no more.  Haven't I suffered enough?  Please, I beg you, no more."

He only smiled, then using the same whispering voice he had when introducing her to the strop, crooned, "Stop?  No more?  Oh no, girly, we are just halfway through the old hag's  sentence on you.  You still have another dozen to go on them tasty titties."  He saw the eyes widen even further at his words.  "And you haven't learned what pain is.  Up till now I have been gentle.  You are going to really suffer before I'm finished with you.  If you want to beg, beg those who ordered this.  Beg the bishop or the prioress."  He smiled.  "Or pray to God, eh.  You believe that He is just, loving, and merciful.  Yes, pray to Him and see what good it will do."  He took a chance, counting on his body blocking her view--the bishop knew who and what he was, but not the old crone and considering why this bitch was getting whipped, it wouldn't do for her to see him--he  reached up with one hand and teasingly flicked the erect teat of her left breast up and down.  "Are these sensitive?"  He saw the answer in her eyes.  "Yes, they are, aren't they?  It's true for most women, but the bishop told me that you made yourself come by playing with yours, eh?  I can't pay proper attention to that slut cunt, but you won't hardly care.  I have a few other tricks, too.  I never get haughty noble bitches to have fun with, so I'm going to get special pleasure with you.  Almost nothing more enjoyable that hearing a pretty young bint wailing to the lash.  I will have you hoarse before I'm through."

Even then, he waited until he saw her lovely hazel eyes turn to the side where they could look at him standing there.  No, please, oh please no, those eyes begged.  In vain.  She had a bare minute before she saw the twisting of his body and the strap flew toward her again.

Now it was time to address those parts of the wench's tits he had left for last, the most sensitive parts, the middle and those inviting pink nipples.  Hugh took aim, then launched a savage horizontal stroke directly over the middle of the tits, for the first time striking the nipples.  While fairly light, the leather, delivered with such force, still pushed the fleshy globes down and distorted them against the maiden's chest, making the upper and bottom curves bulge beneath it, then wobble back after it was withdrawn.  

Diane could only gasp in shock at this new and fiendish pain.  Now that he had introduced the tender paps to the lash, Hugh returned to them immediately to intensify the effect.

Pain.  Pain.  Nothing but pain.  That was Diane's entire existence.  Pain.  Yes, she had touched herself.  Had caressed her breasts, felt the warm, wet sensations that created between her thighs.  It had seemed natural--certainly unstoppable once started--but nothing to deserve this ghastly torture inflicted on her tender bare breasts.  Those mounds that grew, unbidden on her chest, into projecting melons that made her body feel awake, alive, excited when she fondled them were now the source of intolerable agony.  Hard pressed tightly against the whipping post, her topless body squirmed, the sweat of enduring the savage sexual beating making it gleam ever brighter in the flickering torch light.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" she wailed as the leather continued to find the naked breasts, offered so tantalizingly to him.  An expert with the lash, Hugh didn't wait between his strokes and returned with three rapid slashes across Diane's chest.  This time he added just that little bit more reach so the final inch could delve into the exquisitely tender grotto beneath her upraised left arm.  For the helpless girl, besides the immediate sharp pain there was also the savage burning accumulating from the repeated blows.  She was so consumed by the pain, she didn't yet isolate that of the few tiny blisters rising up hard and tight in their wake.  The girl's face was contorted in a grimace of agony, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks.  The others may have thought that this ruined her gamin loveliness, but to Hugh the change in her appearance only made her more beautiful.

Now he had a wench under his hand he had only dreamed of.  He had beaten many women before, but none, absolutely none, as young, beautiful, and lusty as this one.  Her tits were made for the whip, even begged for the whip.  Well, enough delay.  Time for the best part.

SMACKKKKKT!  He twisted his powerful shoulders to launch a savage horizontal blow directly across the most out-thrust part of the young woman's breasts, for the first time punishing the exquisitely sensitive nipples and flattening the erect nipples.  The power of the leather strap mashed the middle of the globes down against her chest so they bulged out above and below.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEE!  AAAAAHHHHHHHH!  AAAHHHHH!" Diane howled, all attempt at control shattered by the pain afflicting her delicate paps.  

Despite his role as a stoic monk serving his order, Hugh couldn't help laughing with glee.  I knew that would get your attention, bitch!  He took aim again and swept another vicious stroke across the helplessly proffered nipples.  Uncomfortably erect under the cassock, he wished he could have this lusty bitch in the gaol's dungeon where he could play with her body the way it so richly deserved.  Why, the whore wasn't even fully naked!  If I had you to myself I would strip you bare as a worm and really teach you what could be done with your cunt and it wouldn't be with a slippery finger.  Stretched on your back on the whipping bench with your legs spread wide I'd treat your arrogant titties properly, too.  They're so plump that they would likely shift somewhat to the side, but you're young so that it wouldn't be by enough that they wouldn't still stick up nicely.  The pliers to start, just to get your attention, then an hour or two with needles glowing fresh from the coals.  That really makes a wench's nipples bloat up and stand at attention!  The whip hurts, I know, but there's nothing like the kiss of red hot steel to produce some really fine screams.  In between I would fuck you, too, whenever your torture got me excited enough.  The bench has the middle cut out up to the ass so I can get right up to a wench's notch and shag her good.  Of course, none of that is possible here in the convent.  A pity.  He finished his musings.  Well, you are still a rare treat, Milady.  Maybe I can't fondle your titties, but the strap I'm holding can.  Let's see those beauties really dance.

This time there was no hesitation between the blows, another strategy he knew would vary and intensify the pain.  SWACKKKKT!  SMACKKKT!  SMACKKKT!  SWACKKKKTT!  Four hard fast horizontal strokes cut the air to kiss the angrily striated orbs, top, bottom, and middle.  Each built upon the other to set the mounds leaping wildly.  Bound as tightly as she was to the post, she couldn't move her body at all, but the soft globes of her breasts were under no such constraint and cavorted vigorously on her heaving chest.  Every one was rewarded with a loud shriek of agony with no restraint, no control any more.

"Stop, please stop!" she cried between screams.  "Oh, please, I hurt so much!  Reverend Mother, I beg you, please make him stop hurting me!  My poor breasts burn, they burn, they burn!  I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.  PLEASE, Reverend Mother, mercy, mercy!  Have pity, I beg you.  My breasts burn!  Make him stop, make him stop hurting meeeee.  Dear God, MAKE HIM STOP!"

Maria was touched by the heartbreaking anguish in Diane's voice, but there would be no stopping the cruel punishment before the end.  An example must be made.  Even if she wanted to, having Bishop Hereford here at her invitation prevented doing that.  No, the beating must proceed.

Hugh decided to change tactics for the next few.  He knew that variety was always appreciated by the crowd in the village square, so was certain to be a hit with the nobles and clerics here and he knew one such that also proved very effective with the female criminals.  He went behind the post.  He glanced briefly at the wrists and ankles, gratified by the raw abrasions there, silent testament to his efforts.  A droplet of blood even seeped down her left arm almost to the elbow.  He took a further step back, measured the distance, then swung his arm quickly side to side so the lash alternately struck the breasts in turn, two strokes to each.  Standing where he was, the girl couldn't see him and was denied even the negligible help that preparation provided, just the sudden ferocious pain when the whip struck her helpless flesh.  An artist with the whip, Hugh used the exact reach necessary that only the very end of the leather impacted the nipples and the tiny eyelets could accomplish their hideous purpose.  The frenzied grimace on her face and the squeals of agony after the last relentless stroke were such that the baroness actually clapped a few times before catching herself and sheepishly returning her hands to her lap.

He moved to the left side of the post and launched two fierce horizontal backhand slashes to find the outside of Diane's right breast and the depression beneath her upraised arm where the bulge began.  As the girl gave voice to her suffering, Hugh changed his attack yet again.  Walking to the front--careful that he didn't block the line of sight, of course--he administered two rapid vertical strikes to the upper slopes down to the areolae, immediately followed with a pair of devilish uppercuts rising from the floor to punish the still jiggling bottom curves.  The globes were still quivering when he returned to his primary position to her right.  Again he gave her some time to recover.  The goal was to keep increasing the pain, but not shattering the victim's mind.  Early in his dread career he had broken a few women--especially after some overly enthusiastic play with the red hot irons--but without conscious awareness, further torment might as well be inflicted on an animal.  Worth a final fuck, of course to satisfy the arousal the branding always produced, but not a repeat session.

The screams went on and on.  The man would wait between until they started to die down, interspersed by heaving gasps for air, before attacking the breasts again.  A few sought out the already discolored tops and bottoms, but the majority were aimed at the middles so the pitiless leather could strike the nipples directly.  It wasn't only that the paps--especially the teats--possessed a more heavily concentration of nerves, and so a greater responsiveness to abuse, but they were also one of the primary things that a budding young woman associated with her maturing femininity.  Any attack to those, painful that they were, was also an attack on her very sexual identity.  Hugh delivered the slashes with an exuberance bordering on ecstasy--there were very few more delightful ways to spend a morning than whipping a cute girl's tits, after all--so the strap ruptured a few of the earlier blisters while creating fresh ones in its wake.

Throughout the screams Diane's eyes were tightly shut.  The image of Sir Brian came to her, looking so bold and brave, his armor shining as he sat his horse and rode from the castle to the Crusade.  Desperately, she called out to that image, "Father, oh father, why?  Why did you leave me?  Why did you leave me to this, this hell?  Oh, father, FATHER!  Father, save me!  Save me!"  But Sir Brian was dead, dead from a Saracen arrow in his throat and entombed in the hot dry sands of a foreign land.

Her body heaved so more drops of sweat dripped to the floor beneath the oaken pillar, splashing into the small puddle already there.  Thin rivulets of clear fluid streaked with crimson dribbled from the maid's naked torso, primarily down the more heavily beaten left side, but there were also a few trickling over the lower bulge of her breasts.  Almost spent, Diane hung shivering against the post.  She heard a movement in front of her and opened her weeping hazel eyes.  There, before her, stood the prioress, Mother Maria Celeste.  The old woman raised one arm to her.  A single index finger reached forward to trace some of the scarlet lines crossing the trembling mounds, each touch drawing a gasp of pain.

"Please, oh please," she whimpered.  "Please no more, no more.  Oh, it hurts, it hurts me so, so very much.  So very much . . ."

The old woman said quietly, "So you regret your acts, daughter?  And you won't do them again?"

"Yes, oh yes!" the wretched girl cried.  "Never!  Never!  I swear to the Madonna!  Never again!"

"Good, good, daughter.  This punishment brought me no pleasure, but you had to be taught."  She walked back toward her chair, then stopped and turned back.  Loud enough that all could hear, she said, "And yet you cried out to God, the Father, accusing him of abandoning you.  This ordeal was commanded by God Himself through my prayers.  No, daughter, the Heavenly Father didn't abandon you, would never abandon one of His children!" she finished angrily.  Regaining her composure with obvious difficulty, she continued, "No, I don't think you have properly come to understand the gift of His just concern for your immortal soul.  It would be unfair to you to let that misunderstanding stand."  She looked to the large monk.  "Brother Hugh, it is clear that more education is required.  You will continue the punishment of her breasts.  A dozen more, vigorously applied, for we are fighting to preserve her hope for blessed eternity."

It took a moment for Reverend Mother Maria's pronouncement to penetrate Diane's pain-wracked mind.  What?  What did she say?  Twelve more of those hideous lashes to her poor bosom?  "No, no," she cried out, her eyes wild with panic.  "My punishment is over, over!  I was calling to my father, the baron, not the Heavenly Father.  Not God!  Never would I say that God had abandoned me!  Never!  Please, of please, you must believe me!  You must!  I can't endure more, not twelve more.  Ah, my poor breasts hurt so much already.  Twelve more would kill me!  No, oh please no, not that, not that, not that. . ."

"No, child," the prioress said flatly.  "They are necessary.  They won't kill you.  You won't die."  She paused a moment.  "But if that should happen, in the Holy process of your purification, then you will go to His side in heaven.  And all here would envy you that gift of His grace."  She stepped back.

"Continue with the purging, Brother Hugh.  A dozen more.  Vigorously administered."

Diane's hazel eyes darted back and forth and a prolonged whine of utter terror came from her when she saw the man return to her side out of their corners.  She couldn't see the strap, but sensed him move and then the flash just before it vicious slapped across her helpless mammaries, again targeting their middle and the nipples.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!  AAAAAARRRRRHHHHHHH!!"  While her distended bosom never stopped throbbing throughout the break when the Reverend Mother spoke to her, that brief lull eased the fierce burn of the active flogging and revitalized the inflamed nerve endings in them, so this resumption was unexpectedly intense.  Hugh's extensive experience informed him exactly what was going on and swept two more quick strokes to maximize the effect.  Between the shrieks, Diane gulped in air, blowing like a horse run too hard and too fast.  With each lusty inhalation the girl's chest heaved, lifting the rib cage and pulling her taut midriff in.  She wrenched madly at the cords holding her tightly to the post and her topless body spasmed as if with palsy.  Only the projecting bare breasts had enough freedom to cavort about.

Hugh relished their dancing.  Torturing a young woman's nipples always evoked a vigorous response, but too much all at once would overwhelm the nerves, diminishing their responsiveness before the whipping was over, so he left them for the next ones, going back with one to the upper slopes, then three more to the vividly striped bottom bulges.  Each bitter uppercut lifted them collarbone high then bobbling back to their elegant, if now swollen, shape.  He paused again, delighting in the sight the miserable girl presented.  Her semi-nude body was sweating profusely from the strenuous exertion of enduring the relentless sexual torture, glistening with reflected yellow torchlight.  Unseen from the front, her wrists--and now ankles--were severely abraded where the coarse rope rubbed the skin raw from her efforts to free them.  While Diane's rational mind knew that the rope was too strong for her to break, the hideous agony afflicting her naked breasts drove the girl at a basic animalistic level to free her hands so she could cover the globes and protect them from the relentless leather strap.  To somehow escape the demonic torture.

By ensuring that the very end of the strop primarily struck the broad nipples, he made sure that a few more of the tiny blisters sprouted across the broad aureoles, darker violet against the florid disks.  One grew from the base of the bloated right tip.  Another on the left pap rose almost impossibly from the very peak of the teat itself.  As it hardened, the erect point projected even further out from its stalk, every nerve ending stretched to maximal responsiveness.  A small, focused, minuscule target of female sensitivity.

When told his task, Hugh had carefully considered the weapon he would bring.  There was no way he could use one that would split the skin--no permanent damage, he knew.  He must even minimize the overtly visible marks--yet still maximize the pain.  After long study, he chose the softer strop. This one even had fewer and smaller holes cut into the tip so the vesicles it produced would be that much less obvious to the eye.  No less painful when they burst, of course, but with less conspicuous discharge when they did.

Hugh waited until the blister on the tip of Diane's left teat hardened, then his eyes narrowed and focused on the taut bluish growth.  Mentally he addressed the petite boil.  What a little beauty you are.  You're just begging for a young lover's caress, only mine won't be nearly as pleasurable.  No, nothing like that.  Well, I'm not one to ignore the desire of such a delectable morsel.  He drew back his arm and launched a fiendish stroke that exploded against the defenseless nipple, shattering the rigid bud in a small mist of blood. "EEEEEAAAAAHHHH!" Diane shrieked.  Her sweat-soaked body tensed furiously, every muscle stark against the fine white skin of her belly and hips.  "HEEEEEEE!  HEEEEEAAAHHHHH!"  These were the loudest screeches wrenched from her throat so far, raw and ragged as from some tormented animal and not a small young woman.  "NO MORE, NO MORE, OH PLEASE GOD, NO MORE!"

Chuckling cruelly at the futile words, Hugh stepped forward for a better look at result of his latest effort.  There was a small shred of skin at the tip of the swollen teat weeping a trickle of blood-streaked fluid down the variegated bulge of the breast.  His close inspection wasn't only to admire his handiwork, though.  He also examined the globes looking for good targets for the remaining four kisses by his strap.  There were a few of the angry little berries on the side of it and into the armpit, but most had already cracked open to release their own scarlet-streaked discharge down to the hem of her camisole, itself soaked and darkened with sweat.  Ah, there, there is one right where the tit began that was almost ripe and another on the lower curve of the breast almost hidden by the oozing fluid.  He was pleased to see that the one at the base of the right teat was still there, much more turgid now.  Oh, and two more under it, close together, one on the bottom of the areola and one just outside it.  Yes, I'll make them split open and it will be a good day's work done.  

As all were available from where he could use his preferred right-arm strokes, he returned to where he had been.  So how to do this?  Yes, first the bottom one, then the two on the pap.  If one of them survives, I can go back to get it--hell, even if I get both the first time a follow up lash to the same place still sting like the devil--then finish with the one under her arm.  Bitches just don't appreciate how sensitive their arm pits are.  But I do.  Oh yes, I do.

Satisfied with the strategy, he took aim, flipped the belt back, then propelled a crisp rising slash to the left's bulging under curve, driving the mound upward.  SMACKKKKT!  He added a slight snap to his wrist to ensure that the end of the strap landed with maximum force to his target.  Once again he saw the tiny spray when the mulberry bleb ruptured under the impact.  The agonized girl was still screaming when the next flew horizontally across the middle of her right breast to seek out the blisters there.  He held a brief moment after to gauge the effect.  Yes, the one on her pap was still intact.  Okay, my beauty, this one will take care of you.  SWACCKKKT!  Straight back to the aching nipple, bursting its blister.  Now for the final lash.  Even though the beautiful girl was already frantic with agony, Hugh knew that he could raise that atrocious pain to one last even greater height.  SMACKKKKKK!  Superbly judged, the end of the strap delved accurately into the narrow crevice separating breast from arm pit to crack that hard purple boil apart.  and quickly delivered his final stroke with all of his power to the right nipple and exploded the taut vesicle there.

"AAAHHHHHHAIEEEEEEEEEEEE!"  Absolutely lost in the agony afflicting her sensitive breasts, all Diane could do was bellow out her intolerable suffering.  Over and over again, interrupted only by the need to gulp in fresh air, Diane shrieked and wailed.  Her bound sweating body convulsed on the unyielding post in the most lascivious reaction to the ghastly torture Hugh could recall ever seeing.  The raw, ragged screams continued to fill the small dank room before Diane's body tensed and then sagged limp against the post.  Even broken beyond endurance by the hideous beating of her bare breasts, Diane's body still twitched in reaction, low mewling moans crawling from her throat.

His job done--surely even those who determined this dreadful torment couldn't order more--Hugh stepped back.  The once pale leather strop was now sodden from the sweat and bloodied juices it had wrenched from the girl's flesh.  He was well satisfied.  Rarely had he elicited as much suffering from a woman, let alone having only her tits to work on with a whip.  Yet, there was one more thing he could do.  The wench was young and surprisingly strong so she should be able to endure even this without dying.

"There now, Holy Mother, I feel confident that the sinner adequately regrets her vile sinful act."  He paused a moment.  "Yet she seems to be less than appreciative of your efforts to preserve her soul from the eternal fires.  See how limp she hangs?  The way her eyes are closed?  She is barely awake enough to appreciate my efforts on her behalf.  If I may suggest a splash or two of some strong salted water?  That usually does the trick."

The bishop usurped the prioress's authority.  He had seen firsthand the effect of this finale on the bloodied backs of those monks he had been forced to punish--for much the same sexual offense.  "Yes, Brother Hugh, you are right.  With your permission, Reverend Mother, please send your sister to fetch a bucket of brine that the brother may complete the girl's correction properly.  I believe that a stringent first lesson will prevent the odious necessity for a second."  Maria nodded and gave the order to Sister Amanda who returned a couple of minutes later with a small pail.  She handed it to the monk.  He picked up the pewter mug he used earlier to revive the girl.  Carrying both, he walked to her left being careful not to block the view.  He had deliberately chosen to start here as this side was more heavily beaten with more of the cracked and suppurating blisters.  He dipped the cup into the water and dashed the contents onto the armpit and side of the breast.  He immediately filled the cup again and splashed its contents across the front of her body to anoint both of the inflamed breasts.

The effect was immediate and profound.  Diane was wrenched back to full horrid awareness and her semi-nude form tensed violently on the pillar.  Unbelievably to those assembled, the new frenzied shrieks that erupted from her throat were impossibly louder and more screeching as the salt found the furiously irritated nerve endings exposed by the ruptured blisters.  The corrosive chemical pain created a different, but equally intense, ferocious sting that afflicted her entire upper torso all at the same instant.  Unable to comprehend that this fresh torment meant that her ordeal was truly at an end, almost inchoate pleas came in between the strident wails of absolute misery  "AAHHH, n-n-no more, no more.  Oh, I burn!  P-p-please k-kill me!  K-kill me!  Oh God, let me d-die, let me die.  Please, God, just let me die and end this agony.  No more, oh God, n-no more, no more, no more. . ."