Revolutionettes, Chapter 8

  • Posted on February 6, 2018 at 8:46 am

By Amanda

1796 – New York 

My initiation, as Josephine had called it, only partially prepared me for what she had in store for me. The morning after my night with Sandra, while I sat quietly at Josephine’s feet in the parlor, she clasped a collar about my neck and affixed a leash to it. I would wear this day and night for the remainder of my time with her.

As we toured the estate or visited the stables and kennels, I no longer walked five paces to the rear of her. Instead she would command me to heel, and I had to walk just behind her keeping slack on the leash which she held.

All manner of shames where heaped upon me. Most I had already known, but some were new. And of course, as promised, Sandra was made to participate. She had now become my superior, as had anyone in the house. I was no longer Josephine’s girl. I was called her whore and sometimes her slut.

I found it more difficult to remain in her graces, as she was ever more demanding of me. Before long I had been given the glove enough times that I hardly felt it any longer.

Seeing that, Josephine did what she knew would most wound me. She made Sandra administer my punishments. I think she reveled in the knowledge that this caused us both great distress.

Late on a particular night when I thought I could take no more, I found Josephine entering my room with Sandra. In the maid’s hands I saw silken cloth but had no idea what it was for. Josephine approached my bed where I lay unclothed as always and I moved to get up, but she pushed me back down, ordering me to lie upon my back.

“Sandra,” she said. The girl approached me and looked quite forlorn as she took my arm and wrapped a silk tether around it. She then proceeded to tie the other end to a bed post. Within only a few moments she had tied each of my four limbs to bed posts and I found myself naked and spread before my mistress, completely helpless.

Josephine looked briefly at Sandra, and knowing what she must do the girl left the room, returning a moment later with a dildo. This one was not entirely like others I had seen. It could be donned without needing to be drawn up the legs, making it convenient, since I was bound.

Sandra began working the buckles until she had placed it upon me. The anticipation was getting to me. I felt myself becoming wet with excitement as she climbed atop me and lowered herself, taking in the length of the phallus.

Sandra closed her eyes and her head fell forward as she rode the device. She moved faster and faster until at last she began grunting and gasping with each thrust.

Josephine watched with a devilish smile as the girl ground against me driving the dildo as deep inside her as she could. At long last she cried out, trembling with her orgasm.

The girl lay against me for several moments catching her breath before she dismounted and began unhooking the device, giving it to my mistress.

Josephine then removed the dildo proper from the straps and handed the long rod to Sandra. The girl took it and approached me from the foot of the bed. I scarcely needed to be touched to provide the wetness I needed. Sandra pushed it far inside my body, so deep that it came just to the edge of pain. I threw my head back and writhed on the bed as she continued to thrust the object deeply within my folds.

I kicked, though I could scarce move my legs. My hands tightened to fists each time I felt the dildo moving into me. Tears welled in my eyes as she increased the speed. I was on the verge of climax when suddenly Sandra stopped.

“That’s quite enough,” Josephine ordered. I moaned and sighed. I wanted to protest, to beg, but I daren’t speak. I pushed my head back into the pillow trying to catch my breath, aching for release.

Sandra was at my side holding the dildo before me. I could smell the sex upon it and it only served to tempt me more. I heard Josephine order me to clean the device, and I was left to lap our combined juices from the dildo. Sandra pushed it into my mouth, so deep that I nearly gagged on it. She continued to push to that point as tears built in my eyes. But I did not complain. I dared not speak.

I remained three days tied to the bed. I was fed my meals and washed by Sandra each morning. I was left unattended till long into the night. My desire could only grow as I dreamt of the treatment I’d received that first night.

I thought I should die if I was not granted release soon. Each night they would work to excite me with the dildo, but then Josephine would tell Sandra to stop just before I could orgasm, and I had to lick myself from it.

It was all too much for me, and so when the fourth night came, at last I had resolved to beg.

Again they entered my room. Sandra took her place at the foot of the bed and Josephine stood next to her. I raised my head looking toward Josephine but not in the eye. My eyes pleaded. I so dearly wished to speak, and I could only hope she would allow me.

When Josephine motioned toward me, Sandra began to rub the dildo between my folds and just inside my sex. I felt sweat on my brow and tears in my eyes. I shook my head but did not speak. Did not beg.

I thought surely this torture would kill me when at last I heard Josephine. “Speak,” she said.

“If it pleases you, my mistress.” I said, out of breath.

“It does.”

At that moment I found myself thanking a god I did not even believe in. I swallowed hard and raised my head. “I beg you my mistress, grant me release.”

She laughed. “Tisn’t me you should beg, slut.” She gestured to Sandra. “Beg her. Confess your wickedness and beg her.”

My attention turned to Sandra. “I am a filthy whore,” I began. “I beg of you, m’lady, if you would see fit, grant me release.”

Sandra started to move, but was restrained Josephine, who demanded, “What do you want?”

“I want satisfaction, my mistress.”

“And by what means shall you receive it?”

“The dildo, mistress.”

“Now beg her for what you desire.”

I hesitated only a moment in my shame. “Fuck me,” I gasped. “I beg of you, m’lady, fuck this slut before you. Take your dildo and fuck me.” Tears filled my eyes.

Feeling the dildo invading my flesh told me that it had been good enough.

“If you should stop asking, she shall stop her ministrations, and we shall try again tomorrow,” Josephine warned, before shouting, “What are you?!”

“I’m your whore, mistress! Fuck your whore, I beg of you.” It was plunged deep within me and I cried out. My shame overwhelmed me and tears ran from my eyes.

“Why are you so filthy?” she asked.

“Only a slut would desire such wicked pleasure, my mistress. I beg you, don’t stop,” I sobbed.

“Yes, yes, tell me you want this.”

I nodded my head. “If it pleases you, my mistress.” Again I cried out as I felt the wicked device thrust within me. “Yes my mistress, fuck your slut!”

We continued on like this only a few more moments until I nearly screamed as a long pent-up orgasm was finally let loose in my loins. Sandra drove the dildo deep and slow before it gradually subsided.

“Filthy whore.” Josephine spat. “Clean it.”

I was exhausted but did as I was told. They left me then, still tied, but at least my frustrations had been released. I felt degraded and ashamed. I felt dirty. To be rewarded with such pleasure for such a filthy thing shamed me, but I would have done it again a thousand times over. And that would prove only to be the first time I suffered such torment and humiliation.

The following morning I was released and bathed. I made my way down to the table, rubbing my wrists, which were raw and sore. Josephine looked up at me with a smile. “Good morning, whore.” I curtsied before her and waited for her to order me to sit.

It was Monday and we would go to the tea party. I would spend the time as I always did, serving tea and kneeling at her feet, with my shame in her hand. The leash.

Sandra served me breakfast, unable to look at me. I think more than the shame, her manner toward me hurt. In the time since we had made love she so often was forced to do terrible things to me that she could scarce look at me at all.

I had been right to make love to her in my bed. Having the memory of that night saw me through many of my torments. Times when I thought I could take no more. Times when I found myself planning to find my dresses and leave the house in the middle of the night.

And Catherine. So often I reminded myself that I would someday have her strength, I would have her power, I would have even her compassion if only I could endure.

I have them both, Sandra and Catherine, to thank for my survival of the time I was with Josephine.

I learned that morning that while I had been tied to the bed a letter had come for me. Sandra brought it to me, setting it in front of me. I almost reached out and took it but remembered myself.

I glanced at Josephine, then the letter. I could say nothing. I had never learned how to gain her attention without getting the glove in return. I searched my thoughts for any idea I could dream up that might allow me to speak without being spoken to. I could not tear my eyes from the letter. I knew the hand that had addressed it. I knew because I had taught her to write. It was a letter from Alice, and I thought I might die if I did not get to read it soon.

I glanced up to my mistress again and saw her wearing quite the bemused look. I was afraid that if she saw my distress she might never let me read the letter.

Josephine took the letter and my leash and led me into the parlor. She placed the letter on a table then took me to the harp. There she sat for more than an hour playing while I nearly trembled with desire. There could be nothing more precious to me than the letter only paces from where I sat, and with it so close, it yet remained beyond my grasp.

She began to read from one of her books, and again I sat, nearly in tears at her feet. I felt such anger that she should let me suffer so, but still dared not speak.

Dinner was called after sunset and Josephine took up the letter and led me by my leash to the table. I sat down and she leaned the letter against the candlestick directly before me.

I could almost smell the paper it was so close. I could see that Alice had written more than a single page by the bulk of the envelope. I knew that at any moment I might burst into tears.

That was when Sandra entered with a bottle of wine and poured it into my mistress’ glass. She then proceeded to mine. Desperate now, feeling as if my flesh wished to leap from my bones to take the letter in my hand, I looked up at Sandra. “M’lady?” My voice was barely more than a whisper.

The maid turned to me, a look of desperation in her eyes.

“I beg of you, would you tell my mistress that her whore wishes to speak, if it would please her?”

Sandra nearly smiled, realizing my ingenuity. I had not made the mistake of speaking to Josephine directly. But there never had been any rule that I could not speak to the staff.

She went to stand at Josephine’s side. My mistress finished her first glass of wine and waited for a second to be poured. Sandra remained silently waiting.

“Is there something more, dear?” Josephine finally asked the maid, knowing full well why she paused. It was not as if she had not heard me.

“M’lady, your whore would like to speak, should it please you.” Sandra curtsied and left quickly.

From the corner of my eye I could see that Josephine seemed quite bemused. At long last she set her fork down and looked at me. I kept my eyes on my plate. “Do you wish to speak?”

“If it pleases you, my mistress.”

She dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth and pushed her plate forward. She sipped from her wine then folded her hands before her. “It pleases me.”

“My Mistress I beg of you, may I read my letter?” I spoke with all the desperation I felt.

“And what shall you do for me in return?” she asked.

I hardly had to think about it. “I will do anything, my mistress, you have only to ask.” I felt nothing in saying that. Whether I had said it or not, she would do with me as she pleased anyway.

“Anything, whore?”

“I live only to please you, mistress. I shall deny you nothing.” This was no oath to me, indeed it was already the way of things. I sat nearly holding my breath as I awaited her response.

After a long pause that I thought sure would see me dead from not breathing, Josephine said, “You may read your letter. Take it to your room when you have finished your dinner.”

Dinner. That was all I had to survive. I continued to mind my manners but ate as quickly as I dared. When I had finished, I drained my glass of wine and pushed my plate away.

“Do you wish to leave the table?” Josephine asked.

“If it pleases you, my mistress.”

“It does.”

I felt my whole body relax. I grabbed the envelope from the table and nearly ran up the stairs to my room. I clasped the letter to my chest as tears trickled down my cheeks. I turned it over and studied the wax seal for a moment, I wished to take in everything there was to this letter. Finally I broke the seal and pulled three sheets of paper from the envelope. Alice’s perfume wafted up to my nostrils as I did, and I felt my knees go weak, smelling her.

I read slowly, hearing Alice’s voice. Catherine had indeed married, and soon became pregnant. Alice said that shortly thereafter her husband had returned from Baltimore to stay in Georgia. Alice did not indicate she knew why, but I was sure I did.

Eliza and she had been doing their best to hold together at least some of the girls, though it was difficult since the tavern was no more and many of the women had been quite secretive about who they were. Catherine’s innermost circle, though, was easier to find.

Alice and Eliza managed to keep six of the girls always invited to the parties together. They hosted overnight parties twice a month on Friday nights. These were nothing like Catherine’s but at least they offered some companionship.

Catherine had promised that after the baby came, she would rejoin the girls and they would at least have one another.

Alice spoke of how deeply she missed me and how lonely she often felt since I had gone. I sobbed as I read her words. I missed her dearly as well. She had been my closest friend in Philadelphia. Perhaps in the whole of the world.

When I finished the letter I folded it again and returned it to the envelope. Then I placed it on the night table, a treasure I could hardly tear my eyes from.

In time Josephine came to my room. She entered and came to me, noticing the letter on the night table. She picked it up and pulled out the pages. Tears welled in my eyes. She would read the letter. The letter meant only for me.

She only glanced at the pages, though, before folding them and returning them to the envelope. “Is it worth the price you will pay?”

“Indeed it is, my mistress,” I said quietly. I turned on the bed and lay on my belly so she could beat me.

Josephine pulled me to the edge of the bed and stood me up, turning me to face her. “Have you anything to say to me?” she asked.

“If it pleases you, my mistress.”

“Indeed.”

“Your whore begs of you the means to respond to this letter, mistress.”

“You ask a great deal. Do you understand the price?”

I had no idea what she would ask, but whatever torture she concocted I must endure. “I do, my mistress.”

“You shall have it then.” She turned to leave. “I will return for you tomorrow.”

Josephine had shown me the closest thing to kindness I would see from her for the rest of the time I was under her tutelage.

There was a desk in my room, but I’d never had need of it until now. It was only moments after Josephine left that Sandra came with all the things I would need to write dear Alice back.

She set the papers down and turned to leave, then looked at me and smiled. “You are the first to have thought of that,” she told me. I looked at her unsure. “To use me to speak with her. No one else ever realized they could. But do not try it again. She was amused this once and may not be so a second time.”

“Do you know what she will do to me?” I asked.

Sandra nodded her head. “I can guess from several possibilities.” She looked sad. “But I dare not tell you, miss. It is better not to know.”

She left me there to my paper and quill. I was concerned, but after so much torment I did not feel fear. I would be degraded and humiliated, and she would say it was because of the letter. But that did not matter, she would have done it anyway.

I wrote Alice back that night. I told her of New York City, the tea party, and I told her pieces about Josephine. I was too ashamed, though, to confess everything to her. Finally I bade her extend my well wishes to all of the girls she could.

The next morning I awoke and bathed, then went down to the dining room. Josephine had not arrived yet. I was not sure what to do. In the end, I remained standing behind my chair, my head bowed. I waited an hour for her. When she came in, she sat, and then allowed me to do the same. We ate quietly, and as was the usual we went to the parlor to pass the day.

With nightfall, we ate, and then I was sent to my room. I did not know what was awaiting me this night, but whatever it was had begun.

Soon after I had closed my door, Sandra entered the room carrying the strangest thing. It was a type of table, though it was much too narrow. It stood low to the floor on four legs and the top was cushioned.

Quietly Sandra placed it on the floor near the edge of the bed. There were metal rings affixed to all four legs of the device. “Get upon it, miss. Kneeling, if you will,” she said quietly.

I did as I was told and she urged me move until I was near the back edge of the object.

“Forgive me, miss.” Sandra proceeded to bind my knees to the rings on the rearmost legs of the table. She moved around to the front and looked up at me with great sorrow in her eyes. “I can’t, miss,” she whispered.

Josephine might arrive at any moment, and I was desperate not to be caught this way. “Sandra, I will be fine. Please do not take the glove on my account. I could not bear the guilt.”

A moment passed, and Sandra nodded her head. “I am so sorry, miss,” she said as she tugged at the leash, pulling me down, making me bend at the waist. She bound my wrists with the rings and silk, leaving me completely vulnerable. My legs were held apart by the legs of the table and I could not raise my chest more than a few inches from it.

It had not escaped my notice that my bare bottom was high in the air and I was helpless to do anything. I remained there, feeling somewhat ill for quite some time before Josephine arrived. She came into my room and a moment later, Sandra placed a blindfold over my eyes. I soon heard the buckles of the dildo and swallowed hard.

The possibilities now were very clear. I did not need to ask or be told. I need not wonder at all.

Sandra entered my sex slowly. She thrust the dildo within me time and again, building my excitement. I drew trembling breaths, praying only that they would let me climax before they did what they had planned.

They did not. Sandra stopped. She withdrew the dildo. I was not entirely sure what they were doing, but I so hoped that I knew. If I could have guessed, Sandra was rubbing oil on to the phallus.

A hand rubbed once over my buttocks. I had tears in my eyes. Soon I felt the tip of the dildo pressing firmly against my anus.

“Beg her for it, whore,” Josephine said from behind me.

Sobbing, I spoke, “Please, m’lady, I beg you, bugger this whore.”

“Louder.”

“I need it,” I said, raising my voice. “Bugger this slut.”

I drew a deep breath as I felt the pressure against my anus increase. It took a moment, but soon Sandra began pushing the phallus inside me. I could tell she was not nearly fully in, but she knew what she was doing. She had managed to enter me as gently as she could and now worked her way deeper. My shame forced tears from my eyes. They would not be seen, though, as the blindfold caught them.

“What do you want, slut?” Josephine said, sounding thrilled with herself.

“I want her to fuck my ass, my mistress.” I cried out.

Sandra began to thrust hard and deep. I felt Josephine kneel close to the table. She moved close to my ear. “Beg her to push harder. Beg her to push deeper,” she ordered.

“Harder, m’lady, fuck me harder,” I sobbed. Sandra increased the speed of the thrusts. “Deeper, m’lady, I’m a whore, I must have it deeper.” Sandra obliged.

My outrage, my humiliation. It nearly overwhelmed me as Josephine forced Sandra to bugger me and made me beg for still more. But finally Sandra stopped. The blindfold was removed, and my bonds were released. I was ordered to lie on my bed where Sandra again tied my arms and legs to the bedposts.

I was still wet with excitement. Even such shame as I had been forced to endure had not deterred my wicked desires. “Frig her,” Josephine ordered.

Sandra reached out and began rubbing my clitoris with her fingers. She dipped her fingers into my opening and slid them about my sex. I raised my hips to greet her. I was panting, warm with excitement, when Josephine stopped the maid and they left.

I was not entirely shocked at this. I had expected no satisfaction this night. I was not even entirely surprised by Josephine’s choice of humiliations.

For six days, I remained tied to the bed. Fed there, bathed there. Kept like a pet, used like the phallus she had violated me with. Josephine ended each night by having Sandra frig me nearly to the point of orgasm, then stopping, and each night it took less until I was there.

On the seventh day I expected the same, but there would be mercy for me.

Josephine entered my room followed by Sandra. The maid climbed onto the bed and lowered her sex to my lips. I was covered by her dress. This I had no difficulty in enjoying. No matter what Josephine made the girl do, I had never blamed her.

Sandra ground herself into my face. I lapped at her, drank in her wetness. I pushed my tongue deep inside her, then returned to her clitoris. She began to moan and move her hips faster.

I felt Sandra’s hand on my head. She was stroking me gently. She gasped and groaned, quickening her pace. Finally, with a heavy shudder she pushed her sex into my mouth and I sucked hard on her clitoris. I prolonged her ecstasy for as long as I could.

Sandra crawled off of the bed and stood quietly. Josephine stepped close and whispered something to her. The girl left. She returned with a dildo in her hand, but it was unlike the one I had grown accustomed to. This one seemed milky white. It did not shine like the ivory or jade or polished wood I had seen before.

“Ivory, covered in something they call rubber.” Josephine said, seeing my expression. “It cost more than that bed you’re laying on. It’s as soft as calfskin. Such a shame that in all too short a time it will crumble to dust.”

Sandra oiled the dildo then rubbed it against my sex. It felt softer, more enticing. The girl pushed it in to me and I was shocked at how gentle it seemed. Sandra worked it in and out of me slowly. I lay there moving in time and simply enjoying the feel of it. I hardly noticed that I had been steadily increasing my pace.

I expected at any moment Josephine would stop us, and I would be left another day unsatisfied. I had all but given in to the inevitable when I remembered the last such time I had suffered this.

It was like a game of sorts. I could not beg Josephine. I could not speak to her, but I could Sandra. As she quickened the pace, I cried out, “I must have it! I am a filthy whore, I beg of you, fuck me!”

A glance at Josephine assured me I had not made a mistake. Sandra sped up. She seemed glad that I had spoken.

“Fuck me, m’lady, I beg of you!” I cried again. I glanced down to see Sandra smiling. “Deeper. Fuck me harder!” I begged. She did exactly what I asked and I could feel my climax building. “I’m a filthy whore, fuck me!”

I screamed, I thrashed and banged my head against the pillow as the orgasm tore through me. Sandra pushed the dildo inside as far as she could, then began rubbing my clitoris with her thumb.

Tears rolled out of my eyes again, but not from shame. From the power of the release I now enjoyed.

When my climax subsided, I was untied and left alone to sleep. As I lay in the darkness I wondered to myself… if I had begged so, would they have gratified me on the very first night?

Author’s note: Rubber, indigenous to South America, was introduced in 1736 to Europe. In 1770, its first modern practical use (as an eraser) was demonstrated. That it could have been used in 1796 as coating for a dildo is speculative to the highest degree, but was fun for the purpose of this story.

Continue on to Chapter 9

1 Comment on Revolutionettes, Chapter 8

  1. Wistful says:

    This story gets more and more compelling as it goes on, and I love the ‘period style’ in which it is written – it is so convincing. Really looking forward to the next chapter. Thank you.

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