388 HEREDITARY PAIN SLUT E
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217 A HEREDITARY PAIN SLUT.[a] free porn video
217 A HEREDITARY PAIN SLUT.[a]
if your squeemish about pain , bugger off...
Sylvia, peered over her coffee cup, which she held poised delicately in her petite hand, while addressing Tim her husband of 20 years. She was a pretty, willowy, tall, dark-haired woman, her make up perfect, her hair, that long black hair he loved so much, in a neat bun. Tidily dressed in a dark skirt and a silky white blouse, with just a hint of a cream foundation bra showing through its thin materiel. Even the stockings that enhanced her long-tapered legs where precisely aligned the seams not daring to veer even a millimetre from the straight and narrow her shoes, flat heeled patent leather court shoes glittered, polished within an inch of their lives. She was awesome, a headmistress, of 2 years standing, at 35 years old a schoolmarm of an imposing authoritative style, and a beauty in any man`s eyes, a beauty that knew her power and how to use it precisely and to her advantage.
Tim however was just the opposite, a happy go lucky chap, rotund, and not over tall at 5ft 6inches, of smiling cherubic faced cheerfulness, dressed as ever in a boiler suit, the words Park Steam Railway embroidered on the top pocket his white hair slicked back, grease top hat on the back of his head, the brass badge glittering on its front with the letters PSR and a smile as broad as the pacific.
He was a happy man he had the park railway franchise, had had it for three years now, and it had been a rocky old start, the line had been built many years before, but the old chap who laid it had had a terminal illness, the local council had been unhelpful, but now slowly he had won them over, the line being extended right round the perimeter of the big park and supplying transport from the car-park to the various amenities, there being platforms at the swimming pool, tennis courts, boating lake and the café which was beside the little depot.
Some c***dren came especially, to ride on his train, his happy smiling demeanour perfect for the job, his little steamer a glittering vision of clean brass and copper polished to perfection, with her grey paintwork lined out in gay orange lines and lettering. Her two sisters in distinctive liveries of green, and blue respectively. Each driven by retired and devoted drivers,
Altogether he was a man who enjoyed life, and was a content and happy little soul. Their marriage was a total surprise to their friends, chalk and cheese, she so up and coming, he so laid back, she stiff and authoritarian and he so gentle caring and happy.
Below the surface though like in a lot of marriages there was another persona, a hidden from the public world that they were at great pains to hide from the world.
They had ben left the big rambling old house by her father, the old boy having passed away last year the 19th year of their married lives, her last relative, he had been ill for the last few years of his life, she had equally nursed him and worked for her qualification during his last years.
In his day the old boy had been a rich old chap the legacy he left them had left them well healed and shockingly amazed at what they found in parts of the cellars as you will soon see an area that until his passing they had never been allowed into father holding on to the keys right to the very end, perhaps in embarrassment. He and her mother had had a gay life, part of the London set, keen dancers, party goers, and they later found out, what now-a-day`s would be called Swingers, and Kinky Dominant-Swingers as well as doms at that!
She had had a nanny her parents though loving had little time for her, always being at some party or other. When she was very young she became aware that she saw her parents at weekends, very infrequently, they spent hours in the cellars, there was also a lot of visitors usually in couples, who stayed most weekend and who also spent a lot of time in the cellars too, it was a mystery and she was constantly inquisitive about what they did down in the bowels of the house.
On his death bed the old chap clutched his daughters hand, thrust a small key in her hand and gasped “not till I am gone!” he then lay fighting for breath, before summonsing all his remaining energy, he managed to gasp that “I loved you and you are not to think badly of me or your beloved mother please,” he begged, and then as she promised that she never think less of him he slipped quietly away with a smile.
It took a whole week before they had enough time to investigate the locked door together, days of undertakers arranging a funeral, calling distant relatives and friends, solicitors, and the like as well as handling the grief, while tidying up the business affairs of a one-time tycoon.
Tim was as eager to explore as she was, but until the solicitor had passed her the envelope and the big old key to that big heavy door the solid keeper of the old man`s secrets! So, it was on that Saturday that they finally had chance to open the big oak door that hid away the piece of her life that she had always wondered about.
Her hands clutched the key and an envelope addressed in copper plate to her, as; to Sylvia my beloved daughter. It had held the deeds to the house, now her house, their house, the papers and an extra shares to his fortune and a letter also written in the same beautiful hand, it said, explore the centre of our sexual world my beloved Sylvia, don’t think ill, of your mother and I, we facilitated our friends fetish lives, and enjoyed our own it needed to be secret, then and perhaps even now, Sex is a great leveller, it is something that every man or woman is wrapped around, they each and every one of them from pope to pauper, enjoys sex, in one form or another, they may deny it, hide it even, avoid all mention of it, , but under the façade of their lives there is always some sexual involvement somewhere, big or small and we were no different, wallowing in the pain and suffering side of sex, dominance, and the like being our speciality, and the cellars being our playground every hour of every opportunity we as a club, a group, whatever you want to call it, we were perverts, pure and simple, taking advantage of our financial position, paying women to be used in a time when money talked, shouted even, those women would allow all sorts of liberties for what to us was a little money, to them food, rent, and clothing, some left us unable to walk, and would be weeks before they were right, but their screams were my friends and our music. Some friends paid handsomely for a permanently disfiguring service I provided or the discipline your mother gave.
It`s all still there our films, equipment, our tools, our perversions some would say.
No doubt the pearly gates may be closed to us, we shall see.
Outside that cellar we led god fearing polite and quiet lives, we loved you and I hope it was reciprocated, and we kept this secret from you all those years, my empire was built on it, films and filth. I could think of no way to obliterate this part of our lives, perhaps I didn’t really try, I needed you to know, though as a penance but I was just too embarrassed.
Please don’t hate us, we just lived.
And it was signed in a most flamboyant way with his full five names. Silvester, Simon Archibald Baldwin Blossom and in brackets after it his title (Sir)
The tears welled in her eyes as she read this that first time, but it was not the only time she read and re-read this letter from the man she was so proud of, each time bringing her to tears.
So here they were, the huge old key she had been given by the solicitor, scr****g the tumblers smoothly as it turned in the expensive lock despite it having been so long.
Her Tim, pushed the great door open revealing a short -passageway, an old stile brass topped light switch, prominent on the wall and when thrown, period wall-lamps lit the way, beckoning them down the steps into a dusty room.
In their heart of hearts, they had expected a dungeon, what they found was a luxurious sitting room with a bar, all in 1920`s style. There was a desk, a huge, roll top, bureaux complete with a big swivel chair in green leather, his chair. Tentatively she sat and tried the tiny key he had given her and with a click the big roller released. She slid it upwards her hands working automatically.
In the slots were neat files, giving dates and names, presumably of the folks who attended, kept for posterity in a neat hand, each an incriminating document that would have rung the final bell for the famous names listed if they were still alive!
The left-hand cupboard held cans of film, 8mm, and all labelled, and numbered, cross referenced neatly with the files, precise and organised as her father had always lived.
She opened the right cupboard, in the top shelves was a big box of albums, they flipped through them, all graphic, mostly ‘before and after’ pairs, tidy beauties on the first and blood-streaked and damaged afters. Tim knew they could and would be pawed over later. The central slots at the top holding more albums of the same style though these in a lot of cases with middle pictures of the trussed maiden under the whip, being branded, or having needles inserted.
Hanging from the top shelf on a hook a large imposing key on ring with two smaller keys and a big brown envelope which rather than open immediately, they left for a while still eager to explore. Together they tried the key in the remaining door, the tumblers smoothly operated, and the great door swung back as if it was on oil. Another dusty brass switch, clicked ominously, and more lights led them onwards into a chamber with yet another two, large soundproof green doors. These they found were not locked, and they selected the right one first behind it another room beckoned.
They, by now expected a dungeon, what they found was a tall white painted room the only creature comforts being an empty grated fireplace and a coal bin, a light chain lift dangled in the centre of the big echoing room, a pillory, a doctor`s examination couch and a tall cupboard cum giant wardrobe, stood untouched for some time. Dust thick and untouched for some years coated everything.
In the wardrobe, when opened, hung a strange display of chains, cuffs, a range of branding irons, straps, whips, tawse, clamps, hoods and the like. Tim whistled, then together, they wandered back to the other door.
They exchanged glances, then Tim opened the door, it led to a home cinema, three rows of old red twin cinema ‘back row of the flea pit’ type seats, in rows ten wide, a tall screen in front and a projector behind them on a platform. A bank of those brass switches each with labels, individually addressed with the words power, lights, and heat, and a single seat for the projectionist, again dust laid thick over everything.
Together feeling like trespasser`s they returned to the room with the desk, collected the envelope and locking the desk they returned to the big old kitchen.
Over coffee, they sat quietly stunned contemplating the secret lives of folk that in her case especially she had worshiped all her life as vanilla saints.
Sylvia, became aware of Tim saying he found it all a “total surprise” as he “didn’t think the old chap was into “things like that!”
“Her mother too…well that was a shock”, and that he couldn’t wait to watch some of the films just to see what had been done in that cellar!”
Her reaction, when she could bring herself to speak was tearful, shocked and practical in equal measure; suggesting that “as the film had laid unused so long it may well not be watchable!” and that;” If they had it restored it may open a can of worms and scandal that would be terrible for both them and apparently a lot of other quite well-known folk.”
Tim sat sipping his coffee deep in thought then as if a light had been switched on he exclaimed, “BINKY!”
Sylvia, looked at him a little shocked, and he repeated the name again “BINKY WOODWARD, you remember him I`ve known him for years, runs the photographers in `Great poking` (that`s the local nickname for the little town of… (well perhaps it would be better if we did not reveal the real name for obvious reasons and to save some embarrassment.)
Anyway, she realised the practicalities of his suggestion, and nodded her head as she lifted the envelope and read the label, it was clearly addressed to her by name, and marked private and confidential in block capitals.
With a wavering hand she tore the A3 envelope open,
Pouring forth onto the kitchen table the contents, a few pictures and a long letter, handwritten and as she expected, starting with, ‘My own darling Ess’, (her father`s pet name for her, through misty tear-filled eyes the script immediately blurred, so she handed the thing to Tim asking him to read the letter to her.
In a faltering voice full of emotion, knowing that this missive from beyond the grave would be hard for his wife. He began “My darling Ess, firstly I must apologise for being less ‘strong of will’ than I should have been. For years I have wished to tell you of this our hidden lifestyle, especially since your mother was struck with this awful disease, which I feel is life`s way of punishing us both. (altzymers had taken her mother from them in the last few years of the poor woman`s life)
By the time you read this I suspect we will both have gone, and I hope you will not be disappointed in us by its revelations.
Emily and myself have over the years, as you will see from the films, run a service for our piers, punishing the wayward, or the erotically kinky for fun and marking the wives as their husband`s own property, a fashion of the era, usually though that was a mark that was with the wife`s consent, to ensure that the husband was assured that they were his for life! The choice of the location of the mark was in every case, the woman`s own choice in all cases, that least we insisted on and the signed consent forms are in the bureau
We also used also to supply the discipline (as most of the men had not the backbone to give themselves) to their wives, though they were always present, some just for the sexual pleasure I am sure, your mother being in high demand to administer the punishments, I did the marking and I must admit I did enjoyed every scream, every twitch of the process, reliving it time and again in the cinema, for my own pleasure and the sexual joy of both your mother and myself.
At your mothers request I marked her, for my own sexual enjoyment and I enclose the pictures, to prove how brave she was. I always loved her with all my heart, and this was the proof of her love she wore until her death.
Perverted, well yes, I suspect that is a label I should wear when I get to wherever we go after this world, but god help me I enjoyed the pain I inflicted, and I am sure your mother did also though she could not bring herself to reveal to you her secret. It was a fun way of paying for our lifestyle and your upbringing, in a time of great poverty. Forgive me Ess, it`s your forgiveness that I want, not the forgiveness some great deity, some will of the wisp belief that I am not sure even exists.
Some of the folk are still alive …just… and though in the autumn of their lives, would not want notoriety at this late stage so I beg of you not to reveal them or their secrets.
Finally, Ess, in the bank under our name is a deposit box, the password is ‘Ess’, here there is your legacy, ill- gotten gains true but enough to keep you and Tim for your lifetime along with some videos of our last few years.
I love you my own beloved c***d, always have, always will until we meet again… wherever!
Your ever proud father
Silvester.
You could have heard a pin drop as they sat, silently digesting the content of the letter then they turned to the pictures.
Those pictures, were she found, easy to sort into date order as they each had a date written on the rear lower left corner of every single image along with a reference number. She shuffled them, face down till they were in order, perhaps to put off the inevitable, then at his insistence she turned over the earliest. they were a little faded and sepia.
A very beautiful young woman her own mother dressed in a wedding dress 1920`s style, was the first, stood on the church steps, it was to be the only one of this collection that was fully clothed. Tim grinned, wickedly and said he could see the likeness with mother and daughter and said he wondered if she would age so badly in old age as her mum had, to which she playfully hit him on the arm.
The second when turned was the same subject, dress and location, however in this shot the dress top was open just enough to show a pair of lovely breasts, unfettered, nubile and pale, with nipples in small and very tight silver clamps. They exchanged glances and carefully relooked at the first image and yes there was tiny protrusions at the bust, not enough to be obvious to anyone who didn’t know. Her mother had worn his clamps in church for him as a token of her devotion.
With trembling hand`s she turned the next picture, it was of her mother in the garden, naked, and holding by the penis an immaculately dressed best man Sylvia instantly recognised as her uncle Willoby. and Willoby had a broad smile.
The next picture turned over, this was a totally naked picture, of the same subject, her mother, stood in the dungeon cellar, her hands secured with rope above her head, those pretty breasts now fuller and her belly swollen with c***d.
Sylvia turned this one over and checked the date, then said “that was strange, she thought she had been an only c***d, but this pregnancy was some years before I was born!”
She turned the next picture, again dated 1929, this was of her mother, d****d along a chaise-long, not now pregnant anymore, this time with two men, one she didn’t recognise and the second her father, it had been taken in the cellar the fireplace and fire in the background. Other than they all being naked and smiling there was nothing exceptional about the picture.
The next showed her mother stretched out face downwards on the same couch but secured, still smiling and the stranger holding her hand.
The third shot though in complete contrast showed the length of her body from above her head, her distressed and screaming face and body, contorted in immense pain, the hand still gripped tight though still secured and now straining against the bonds in total agony. There was a smoking hot iron pressed against her left buttock by her broadly smiling father.
The image was oh so powerful, that both of the pair sat open mouthed as they stared at the small piece of photographic card.
Visibly trembling now, she turned the next over. In this the still secure but limp body had collapsed and the stranger was busy untying the wrists, the iron was gone and with the shot being taken from the feet end this time it showed a scar clearly burnt deep in the left cheek of her backside and in the shape of an S. no doubt S for Sylvester, her father`s Christian name.
She sat regarding the three pictures for some time, absorbing the whole sequence in awe.
She turned the next picture, this was less faded dated 1931 but it was of mother once more, in the cellar and comforting another naked woman lying on the apparently new doctor`s examination table secured and looking very frightened, the iron about to be applied by her father under the gaze of no doubt her husband, and another man. Again, a second picture in this set showed the aftermath, a neat but painful B again on the left buttock.
The remaining pictures all showed different women undergoing the same painful ritual on one or the other buttock, all with proud husbands, all with father doing the deed, only one, the very last, of a woman having a small word ‘Whore’ placed on her breast. They Presumed to be different!
They sat pretty much stunned at the pictures, then Tim offered to fetch the albums, which she agreed too. He was soon back with the dusty collection still in its box and a ledger, saying that that ledger seemed to be relevant, it being on top at the back of the albums.
She meanwhile had made fresh coffee, so they sat again and opened the first book. This seemed to be a rather vanilla family album, her mother as a girl, on horseback, playing tennis, on a beach dressed in one of those swimsuits thought at the time risqué covering all of the body but the legs and arms!
Then the wedding pictures, uncle Willoby, as best man, mother of the bride, her austere grandmother, nearing a smile in one, that alone cause for celebration as she was loath to smile in her whole lifetime!
The second album was more fruitful, mostly either taken in the grounds of the house or the reception rooms they showed a collection of youngish 1920`s folk, the well to do, partying, pick-nicking, and enjoying themselves, some not quite fully dressed others naked, all as risqué as the times allowed.
But it was in the third one that they struck oil, each one had a reference number which led Tim to check the ledger and cross reference the entry, for some reason the first was numbered 17, which struck him as odd, however he read each entry aloud it said;
17 Mary MacDougal, daughter of the third earl of Waterbury, married to the duke of Belling. Punished at the behest of the Duke for lude behaviour without him.
40 lashes. It was followed by the date.
The pictures showed the woman in the pillory and father applying the whip to her shapely rear. Pictures, some before, some after of the woman screaming throughout, with her husband stood near her head loving every moment and sporting a raging errection.
There was a second entry, another year-later date with the words- 17 branded on right haunch letter` M` at wife`s request.
There were similar entries, mostly young ladies with names that normally were found in who`s -who, or country life, mostly top industrial household names. Each with an entry either of punishment, or of who requested the branding on one rump or another, probably to show her allegiance to the husband, or perhaps the desire to show her bravery to her friends or lovers. The entries were numbered from 17 to 39. The 40th being the last dated 1954 and read; Mavis Wendover, branded ‘Whore’ on right breast at request of husband as punishment for infidelity.
There were no more details, though a pencilled note said, A very brave woman no doubt in fear of losing her wealthy husband and the advantages the position holds, this subject was not bound in any way and totally compliant holding her husband`s hand and then supporting the breast throughout the procedure which she bore in total silence though biting on a piece of wood throughout.
It was the final entry in this ledger.
Tim by now was so turned on and stiff that he could not resist kissing his wife, and together they moved to the cold kitchen floor for a bout of sexual energy that told that he was not the only one finding the sexual games of her parents a great stimulation.
That night in bed, Tm asked her “what they should do with the cellars?” her reply took him by storm, as she suggested “That they clean them up and use the reception cellar as a games and party room for their large circle of friends, if they put in a bar instead of the big old desk, and the cinema can be re-equipt for videos and films, that ’other room’ she suggested would make a good play room for
ourselves and a very select few but would need to be kept locked to prevent unwanted nosy guests straying from the play area.
He laughed, then said “perhaps she would like to be branded as her mother once was,” fully expecting her to refuse point blank and to swear at him, but no, after a short silence, he was surprised. She asked him if he would like to see her to bear his mark?
He answered, that “ it had turned him on but it was not so far reality for him,” explain that so far it was just pornographic pictures, images from the past and that in reality he wasn’t sure he could inflict that amount of pain, though the whips clamps and the like had distinct possibilities that he would consider only if she wanted to try that sort of stuff out, he wondered how far games could go before his, or perhaps more ‘their’ limits were reached!”
She looked deep into his eyes, kissed him thanked him for being honest then said, “She would think long and hard about it, as she had mixed feelings about it all” and although she had found the pictures a real turn on she was unsure about the pain They lapsed into silence and the day`s events soon drifted them off into the land of nod.
if your squeemish about pain , bugger off...
Sylvia, peered over her coffee cup, which she held poised delicately in her petite hand, while addressing Tim her husband of 20 years. She was a pretty, willowy, tall, dark-haired woman, her make up perfect, her hair, that long black hair he loved so much, in a neat bun. Tidily dressed in a dark skirt and a silky white blouse, with just a hint of a cream foundation bra showing through its thin materiel. Even the stockings that enhanced her long-tapered legs where precisely aligned the seams not daring to veer even a millimetre from the straight and narrow her shoes, flat heeled patent leather court shoes glittered, polished within an inch of their lives. She was awesome, a headmistress, of 2 years standing, at 35 years old a schoolmarm of an imposing authoritative style, and a beauty in any man`s eyes, a beauty that knew her power and how to use it precisely and to her advantage.
Tim however was just the opposite, a happy go lucky chap, rotund, and not over tall at 5ft 6inches, of smiling cherubic faced cheerfulness, dressed as ever in a boiler suit, the words Park Steam Railway embroidered on the top pocket his white hair slicked back, grease top hat on the back of his head, the brass badge glittering on its front with the letters PSR and a smile as broad as the pacific.
He was a happy man he had the park railway franchise, had had it for three years now, and it had been a rocky old start, the line had been built many years before, but the old chap who laid it had had a terminal illness, the local council had been unhelpful, but now slowly he had won them over, the line being extended right round the perimeter of the big park and supplying transport from the car-park to the various amenities, there being platforms at the swimming pool, tennis courts, boating lake and the café which was beside the little depot.
Some c***dren came especially, to ride on his train, his happy smiling demeanour perfect for the job, his little steamer a glittering vision of clean brass and copper polished to perfection, with her grey paintwork lined out in gay orange lines and lettering. Her two sisters in distinctive liveries of green, and blue respectively. Each driven by retired and devoted drivers,
Altogether he was a man who enjoyed life, and was a content and happy little soul. Their marriage was a total surprise to their friends, chalk and cheese, she so up and coming, he so laid back, she stiff and authoritarian and he so gentle caring and happy.
Below the surface though like in a lot of marriages there was another persona, a hidden from the public world that they were at great pains to hide from the world.
They had ben left the big rambling old house by her father, the old boy having passed away last year the 19th year of their married lives, her last relative, he had been ill for the last few years of his life, she had equally nursed him and worked for her qualification during his last years.
In his day the old boy had been a rich old chap the legacy he left them had left them well healed and shockingly amazed at what they found in parts of the cellars as you will soon see an area that until his passing they had never been allowed into father holding on to the keys right to the very end, perhaps in embarrassment. He and her mother had had a gay life, part of the London set, keen dancers, party goers, and they later found out, what now-a-day`s would be called Swingers, and Kinky Dominant-Swingers as well as doms at that!
She had had a nanny her parents though loving had little time for her, always being at some party or other. When she was very young she became aware that she saw her parents at weekends, very infrequently, they spent hours in the cellars, there was also a lot of visitors usually in couples, who stayed most weekend and who also spent a lot of time in the cellars too, it was a mystery and she was constantly inquisitive about what they did down in the bowels of the house.
On his death bed the old chap clutched his daughters hand, thrust a small key in her hand and gasped “not till I am gone!” he then lay fighting for breath, before summonsing all his remaining energy, he managed to gasp that “I loved you and you are not to think badly of me or your beloved mother please,” he begged, and then as she promised that she never think less of him he slipped quietly away with a smile.
It took a whole week before they had enough time to investigate the locked door together, days of undertakers arranging a funeral, calling distant relatives and friends, solicitors, and the like as well as handling the grief, while tidying up the business affairs of a one-time tycoon.
Tim was as eager to explore as she was, but until the solicitor had passed her the envelope and the big old key to that big heavy door the solid keeper of the old man`s secrets! So, it was on that Saturday that they finally had chance to open the big oak door that hid away the piece of her life that she had always wondered about.
Her hands clutched the key and an envelope addressed in copper plate to her, as; to Sylvia my beloved daughter. It had held the deeds to the house, now her house, their house, the papers and an extra shares to his fortune and a letter also written in the same beautiful hand, it said, explore the centre of our sexual world my beloved Sylvia, don’t think ill, of your mother and I, we facilitated our friends fetish lives, and enjoyed our own it needed to be secret, then and perhaps even now, Sex is a great leveller, it is something that every man or woman is wrapped around, they each and every one of them from pope to pauper, enjoys sex, in one form or another, they may deny it, hide it even, avoid all mention of it, , but under the façade of their lives there is always some sexual involvement somewhere, big or small and we were no different, wallowing in the pain and suffering side of sex, dominance, and the like being our speciality, and the cellars being our playground every hour of every opportunity we as a club, a group, whatever you want to call it, we were perverts, pure and simple, taking advantage of our financial position, paying women to be used in a time when money talked, shouted even, those women would allow all sorts of liberties for what to us was a little money, to them food, rent, and clothing, some left us unable to walk, and would be weeks before they were right, but their screams were my friends and our music. Some friends paid handsomely for a permanently disfiguring service I provided or the discipline your mother gave.
It`s all still there our films, equipment, our tools, our perversions some would say.
No doubt the pearly gates may be closed to us, we shall see.
Outside that cellar we led god fearing polite and quiet lives, we loved you and I hope it was reciprocated, and we kept this secret from you all those years, my empire was built on it, films and filth. I could think of no way to obliterate this part of our lives, perhaps I didn’t really try, I needed you to know, though as a penance but I was just too embarrassed.
Please don’t hate us, we just lived.
And it was signed in a most flamboyant way with his full five names. Silvester, Simon Archibald Baldwin Blossom and in brackets after it his title (Sir)
The tears welled in her eyes as she read this that first time, but it was not the only time she read and re-read this letter from the man she was so proud of, each time bringing her to tears.
So here they were, the huge old key she had been given by the solicitor, scr****g the tumblers smoothly as it turned in the expensive lock despite it having been so long.
Her Tim, pushed the great door open revealing a short -passageway, an old stile brass topped light switch, prominent on the wall and when thrown, period wall-lamps lit the way, beckoning them down the steps into a dusty room.
In their heart of hearts, they had expected a dungeon, what they found was a luxurious sitting room with a bar, all in 1920`s style. There was a desk, a huge, roll top, bureaux complete with a big swivel chair in green leather, his chair. Tentatively she sat and tried the tiny key he had given her and with a click the big roller released. She slid it upwards her hands working automatically.
In the slots were neat files, giving dates and names, presumably of the folks who attended, kept for posterity in a neat hand, each an incriminating document that would have rung the final bell for the famous names listed if they were still alive!
The left-hand cupboard held cans of film, 8mm, and all labelled, and numbered, cross referenced neatly with the files, precise and organised as her father had always lived.
She opened the right cupboard, in the top shelves was a big box of albums, they flipped through them, all graphic, mostly ‘before and after’ pairs, tidy beauties on the first and blood-streaked and damaged afters. Tim knew they could and would be pawed over later. The central slots at the top holding more albums of the same style though these in a lot of cases with middle pictures of the trussed maiden under the whip, being branded, or having needles inserted.
Hanging from the top shelf on a hook a large imposing key on ring with two smaller keys and a big brown envelope which rather than open immediately, they left for a while still eager to explore. Together they tried the key in the remaining door, the tumblers smoothly operated, and the great door swung back as if it was on oil. Another dusty brass switch, clicked ominously, and more lights led them onwards into a chamber with yet another two, large soundproof green doors. These they found were not locked, and they selected the right one first behind it another room beckoned.
They, by now expected a dungeon, what they found was a tall white painted room the only creature comforts being an empty grated fireplace and a coal bin, a light chain lift dangled in the centre of the big echoing room, a pillory, a doctor`s examination couch and a tall cupboard cum giant wardrobe, stood untouched for some time. Dust thick and untouched for some years coated everything.
In the wardrobe, when opened, hung a strange display of chains, cuffs, a range of branding irons, straps, whips, tawse, clamps, hoods and the like. Tim whistled, then together, they wandered back to the other door.
They exchanged glances, then Tim opened the door, it led to a home cinema, three rows of old red twin cinema ‘back row of the flea pit’ type seats, in rows ten wide, a tall screen in front and a projector behind them on a platform. A bank of those brass switches each with labels, individually addressed with the words power, lights, and heat, and a single seat for the projectionist, again dust laid thick over everything.
Together feeling like trespasser`s they returned to the room with the desk, collected the envelope and locking the desk they returned to the big old kitchen.
Over coffee, they sat quietly stunned contemplating the secret lives of folk that in her case especially she had worshiped all her life as vanilla saints.
Sylvia, became aware of Tim saying he found it all a “total surprise” as he “didn’t think the old chap was into “things like that!”
“Her mother too…well that was a shock”, and that he couldn’t wait to watch some of the films just to see what had been done in that cellar!”
Her reaction, when she could bring herself to speak was tearful, shocked and practical in equal measure; suggesting that “as the film had laid unused so long it may well not be watchable!” and that;” If they had it restored it may open a can of worms and scandal that would be terrible for both them and apparently a lot of other quite well-known folk.”
Tim sat sipping his coffee deep in thought then as if a light had been switched on he exclaimed, “BINKY!”
Sylvia, looked at him a little shocked, and he repeated the name again “BINKY WOODWARD, you remember him I`ve known him for years, runs the photographers in `Great poking` (that`s the local nickname for the little town of… (well perhaps it would be better if we did not reveal the real name for obvious reasons and to save some embarrassment.)
Anyway, she realised the practicalities of his suggestion, and nodded her head as she lifted the envelope and read the label, it was clearly addressed to her by name, and marked private and confidential in block capitals.
With a wavering hand she tore the A3 envelope open,
Pouring forth onto the kitchen table the contents, a few pictures and a long letter, handwritten and as she expected, starting with, ‘My own darling Ess’, (her father`s pet name for her, through misty tear-filled eyes the script immediately blurred, so she handed the thing to Tim asking him to read the letter to her.
In a faltering voice full of emotion, knowing that this missive from beyond the grave would be hard for his wife. He began “My darling Ess, firstly I must apologise for being less ‘strong of will’ than I should have been. For years I have wished to tell you of this our hidden lifestyle, especially since your mother was struck with this awful disease, which I feel is life`s way of punishing us both. (altzymers had taken her mother from them in the last few years of the poor woman`s life)
By the time you read this I suspect we will both have gone, and I hope you will not be disappointed in us by its revelations.
Emily and myself have over the years, as you will see from the films, run a service for our piers, punishing the wayward, or the erotically kinky for fun and marking the wives as their husband`s own property, a fashion of the era, usually though that was a mark that was with the wife`s consent, to ensure that the husband was assured that they were his for life! The choice of the location of the mark was in every case, the woman`s own choice in all cases, that least we insisted on and the signed consent forms are in the bureau
We also used also to supply the discipline (as most of the men had not the backbone to give themselves) to their wives, though they were always present, some just for the sexual pleasure I am sure, your mother being in high demand to administer the punishments, I did the marking and I must admit I did enjoyed every scream, every twitch of the process, reliving it time and again in the cinema, for my own pleasure and the sexual joy of both your mother and myself.
At your mothers request I marked her, for my own sexual enjoyment and I enclose the pictures, to prove how brave she was. I always loved her with all my heart, and this was the proof of her love she wore until her death.
Perverted, well yes, I suspect that is a label I should wear when I get to wherever we go after this world, but god help me I enjoyed the pain I inflicted, and I am sure your mother did also though she could not bring herself to reveal to you her secret. It was a fun way of paying for our lifestyle and your upbringing, in a time of great poverty. Forgive me Ess, it`s your forgiveness that I want, not the forgiveness some great deity, some will of the wisp belief that I am not sure even exists.
Some of the folk are still alive …just… and though in the autumn of their lives, would not want notoriety at this late stage so I beg of you not to reveal them or their secrets.
Finally, Ess, in the bank under our name is a deposit box, the password is ‘Ess’, here there is your legacy, ill- gotten gains true but enough to keep you and Tim for your lifetime along with some videos of our last few years.
I love you my own beloved c***d, always have, always will until we meet again… wherever!
Your ever proud father
Silvester.
You could have heard a pin drop as they sat, silently digesting the content of the letter then they turned to the pictures.
Those pictures, were she found, easy to sort into date order as they each had a date written on the rear lower left corner of every single image along with a reference number. She shuffled them, face down till they were in order, perhaps to put off the inevitable, then at his insistence she turned over the earliest. they were a little faded and sepia.
A very beautiful young woman her own mother dressed in a wedding dress 1920`s style, was the first, stood on the church steps, it was to be the only one of this collection that was fully clothed. Tim grinned, wickedly and said he could see the likeness with mother and daughter and said he wondered if she would age so badly in old age as her mum had, to which she playfully hit him on the arm.
The second when turned was the same subject, dress and location, however in this shot the dress top was open just enough to show a pair of lovely breasts, unfettered, nubile and pale, with nipples in small and very tight silver clamps. They exchanged glances and carefully relooked at the first image and yes there was tiny protrusions at the bust, not enough to be obvious to anyone who didn’t know. Her mother had worn his clamps in church for him as a token of her devotion.
With trembling hand`s she turned the next picture, it was of her mother in the garden, naked, and holding by the penis an immaculately dressed best man Sylvia instantly recognised as her uncle Willoby. and Willoby had a broad smile.
The next picture turned over, this was a totally naked picture, of the same subject, her mother, stood in the dungeon cellar, her hands secured with rope above her head, those pretty breasts now fuller and her belly swollen with c***d.
Sylvia turned this one over and checked the date, then said “that was strange, she thought she had been an only c***d, but this pregnancy was some years before I was born!”
She turned the next picture, again dated 1929, this was of her mother, d****d along a chaise-long, not now pregnant anymore, this time with two men, one she didn’t recognise and the second her father, it had been taken in the cellar the fireplace and fire in the background. Other than they all being naked and smiling there was nothing exceptional about the picture.
The next showed her mother stretched out face downwards on the same couch but secured, still smiling and the stranger holding her hand.
The third shot though in complete contrast showed the length of her body from above her head, her distressed and screaming face and body, contorted in immense pain, the hand still gripped tight though still secured and now straining against the bonds in total agony. There was a smoking hot iron pressed against her left buttock by her broadly smiling father.
The image was oh so powerful, that both of the pair sat open mouthed as they stared at the small piece of photographic card.
Visibly trembling now, she turned the next over. In this the still secure but limp body had collapsed and the stranger was busy untying the wrists, the iron was gone and with the shot being taken from the feet end this time it showed a scar clearly burnt deep in the left cheek of her backside and in the shape of an S. no doubt S for Sylvester, her father`s Christian name.
She sat regarding the three pictures for some time, absorbing the whole sequence in awe.
She turned the next picture, this was less faded dated 1931 but it was of mother once more, in the cellar and comforting another naked woman lying on the apparently new doctor`s examination table secured and looking very frightened, the iron about to be applied by her father under the gaze of no doubt her husband, and another man. Again, a second picture in this set showed the aftermath, a neat but painful B again on the left buttock.
The remaining pictures all showed different women undergoing the same painful ritual on one or the other buttock, all with proud husbands, all with father doing the deed, only one, the very last, of a woman having a small word ‘Whore’ placed on her breast. They Presumed to be different!
They sat pretty much stunned at the pictures, then Tim offered to fetch the albums, which she agreed too. He was soon back with the dusty collection still in its box and a ledger, saying that that ledger seemed to be relevant, it being on top at the back of the albums.
She meanwhile had made fresh coffee, so they sat again and opened the first book. This seemed to be a rather vanilla family album, her mother as a girl, on horseback, playing tennis, on a beach dressed in one of those swimsuits thought at the time risqué covering all of the body but the legs and arms!
Then the wedding pictures, uncle Willoby, as best man, mother of the bride, her austere grandmother, nearing a smile in one, that alone cause for celebration as she was loath to smile in her whole lifetime!
The second album was more fruitful, mostly either taken in the grounds of the house or the reception rooms they showed a collection of youngish 1920`s folk, the well to do, partying, pick-nicking, and enjoying themselves, some not quite fully dressed others naked, all as risqué as the times allowed.
But it was in the third one that they struck oil, each one had a reference number which led Tim to check the ledger and cross reference the entry, for some reason the first was numbered 17, which struck him as odd, however he read each entry aloud it said;
17 Mary MacDougal, daughter of the third earl of Waterbury, married to the duke of Belling. Punished at the behest of the Duke for lude behaviour without him.
40 lashes. It was followed by the date.
The pictures showed the woman in the pillory and father applying the whip to her shapely rear. Pictures, some before, some after of the woman screaming throughout, with her husband stood near her head loving every moment and sporting a raging errection.
There was a second entry, another year-later date with the words- 17 branded on right haunch letter` M` at wife`s request.
There were similar entries, mostly young ladies with names that normally were found in who`s -who, or country life, mostly top industrial household names. Each with an entry either of punishment, or of who requested the branding on one rump or another, probably to show her allegiance to the husband, or perhaps the desire to show her bravery to her friends or lovers. The entries were numbered from 17 to 39. The 40th being the last dated 1954 and read; Mavis Wendover, branded ‘Whore’ on right breast at request of husband as punishment for infidelity.
There were no more details, though a pencilled note said, A very brave woman no doubt in fear of losing her wealthy husband and the advantages the position holds, this subject was not bound in any way and totally compliant holding her husband`s hand and then supporting the breast throughout the procedure which she bore in total silence though biting on a piece of wood throughout.
It was the final entry in this ledger.
Tim by now was so turned on and stiff that he could not resist kissing his wife, and together they moved to the cold kitchen floor for a bout of sexual energy that told that he was not the only one finding the sexual games of her parents a great stimulation.
That night in bed, Tm asked her “what they should do with the cellars?” her reply took him by storm, as she suggested “That they clean them up and use the reception cellar as a games and party room for their large circle of friends, if they put in a bar instead of the big old desk, and the cinema can be re-equipt for videos and films, that ’other room’ she suggested would make a good play room for
ourselves and a very select few but would need to be kept locked to prevent unwanted nosy guests straying from the play area.
He laughed, then said “perhaps she would like to be branded as her mother once was,” fully expecting her to refuse point blank and to swear at him, but no, after a short silence, he was surprised. She asked him if he would like to see her to bear his mark?
He answered, that “ it had turned him on but it was not so far reality for him,” explain that so far it was just pornographic pictures, images from the past and that in reality he wasn’t sure he could inflict that amount of pain, though the whips clamps and the like had distinct possibilities that he would consider only if she wanted to try that sort of stuff out, he wondered how far games could go before his, or perhaps more ‘their’ limits were reached!”
She looked deep into his eyes, kissed him thanked him for being honest then said, “She would think long and hard about it, as she had mixed feelings about it all” and although she had found the pictures a real turn on she was unsure about the pain They lapsed into silence and the day`s events soon drifted them off into the land of nod.
Wynona
- 19.08.2020
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219 A HEREDITARY PAIN SLUT c
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218 A HEREDITARY PAIN SLUT b
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