The lovely young Isabel is far too na�ve for her own good. When she takes a position as a live-in assistant to Laurence Povey, a former adventurer, who was blinded in a terrible accident, she believes she'll be writing down his memoirs. Instead she records a shocking narrative about the self-mortification of nuns - a racy work of fiction. After suffering through this indelicate tale, it's not surprising when the eccentric Povey spanks her for being tardy to one of their sessions. But what awaits the frightened Isabel doesn't end there. She discovers the real purpose of her employment late one night when the kindly housekeeper Margaret leads her into a ghastly dungeon beneath the house. Much to her horror and despair, she finds that this is her new home. Not only will she suffer harsh abuse in this dreadful place, she's to be turned into her master's guide dog, a perfectly obedient puppy!
Laurence Povey's aide, John, takes on 'Bella's training. She's forced to crawl on all fours, sleep in a cage and relieve herself in the straw, just like a common dog. She's flogged for any transgression, suffering brutal punishments, then is quickly introduced to the pleasures of the flesh, culminating in the loss of her virginity. Now the master's pet, she serves at his command, offering up her body for both sexual pleasure and the hard abuse from her sadistic master. She becomes nothing but a play toy for Povey and his band of fellow sadists. Though repeatedly shamed and humiliated, strong urges to surrender herself to the defilement rise up unbidden in the once innocent Isabel, as each new twist in her tainted life propels her deeper into submission.
This wild tale is filled with lusty scenes of punishment, sexual abuse and savage sexual pleasure, featuring in its graphic content, caning, whipping, discipline, dungeons, punishment devices, suspension bondage, collars, caging, shaving and puppy training as well as sizzling scenes of straight, lesbian, strap-on, anal and some m/m sex. Certainly not for the timid reader! But one to savor for those who enjoy sadomasochistic sexuality in a historical setting where such carnal devilry abounds!
Soon the whole area of my bottom would be suffused with pain and I would sink into the sublime state I craved. In this state I was no longer Isabel Dance. I became a nameless thing existing only so that John had a female body to punish. It was the only purpose I served and it was sufficient. I counted myself fortunate that of all the women John could have used he chose my pale flesh on which to practise the potent alchemy of the flagellant's art.
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November 12, 2009
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Excerpt from The Mortification of Isabel by Lindsay Ross
"Take a good look at your new home," said a male voice.
When I turned and saw the owner of that voice I realised why it had sounded familiar. It was John. I placed my hands over my quim but realised this left my breasts exposed to his gaze.
"Please don't frighten me, John. Your humour is too dark for my liking." Looking behind him and then searching the room with frantic eyes, I realised Margaret had melted away.
John stepped closer to me. It flashed across my mind again that he was a handsome young man but I was in no mood to dwell upon his looks. I saw he was wearing a loose shirt which was open at the front revealing a muscular chest covered in fair hairs, as well as riding breeches and black boots and, most menacingly, he held a whip in his hand. I am not usually attracted to fair-haired men but John was the exception.
"I have no time for making jests, slut. We both have work to do."
"Why do you use such a word to me? I have never offended you."
"Look at yourself, trying pathetically to preserve your modesty. Is it ladylike to be stark naked before someone you believe to be a servant?"
"But..." I started to protest.
"Place your hands on your head and let me see your hairy motte," he ordered and mindful of the whip he carried I obeyed instantly.
"Keep you hands aloft and turn round."
When I did so he remarked that his master had made a good job of caning me. "I understand you snivelled like a baby," he added.
"Please be kind to me, John. I cannot understand why you wish to ill treat me."
"I'll show you how we mean to treat you. I'll give you something to cry about."
John went to the wall where he freed chains that lowered a heavy looking wooden beam. He stopped its fall just above my head and, pushing me under it, raised my arms and tied my wrists to rings screwed into the wood. He then raised the beam a little and as I swung there he lifted my legs and parted them wide before looping more hanging ropes round the backs of my knees to hold me in this position. This had the effect of exposing my pudenda in the most humiliating way possible.
He hoisted me higher still so that I was suspended at a height convenient for him to whip me; by this time his intentions were only too clear.
"What we require from you is dog-like devotion and obedience," he told me. "From where I'm standing I can see your scut gaping like a whore's, so don't try to be the lady with me."
He drew back his fearsome looking whip and when he struck, the lash curled itself round the undersides of my cheeks and my sex itself, the very tenderest places on my body. When I screamed he told me to save my breath because no sound penetrated the house from this subterranean place.
I remembered Margaret's words about pain and pleasure being closely allied but I was simply wondering whether I would pass out if I had to endure many more strokes of John's whip. Survival was my imperative.
The excruciating pain was accompanied by feelings of utter humiliation. As John had boasted, he could gloat over the sight of my most private parts - not only my pussy but my anus was exhibited - and I felt so embarrassed and powerless. I was hung in a position where I could not see the marks of the whip on my own body and I reflected that this was probably a blessing because seeing my wounds would terrify me still more.
What was my offence? Why had Margaret betrayed me? Had I been brought to Drydon Hall so that I could be tortured and abused, the role of amanuensis (secretary) being simply a ruse? Did they have some other purpose for me? Questions flooded my mind as I tensed myself to receive another stroke.
The pause was occasioned by John peeling off his sweat stained shirt. Although my naked body had felt cold when I first entered the chamber, I too was dripping with sweat and my hair was matted against my brow. Not even Margaret would think I looked beautiful in this state unless she enjoyed seeing girls suffer which now seemed entirely possible.
Naked to the waist, John came close again and pushed me, then, leaving my body swinging back and forth, he raised his whip to strike me again.
The lash crashed against the back of my thighs and burned like a brand making me yell and beg for mercy. I heard myself pleading with John without a shred of dignity, "Please spare me and I'll do anything. Use my body for your pleasure. I'll be your whore..."
"Call me master," he ordered.
"Master, I will serve you and worship you if you will just release me from this agony. I beseech you, master."
"You will serve me and worship me whether I spare you or not," John said. "Don't attempt to bargain with me. I will decide your fate, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. You will be by creature."
"It is amusing that you offer your body to me. Is that not proof that I was right to call you a whore?"
"Let me hear it from your lips."
"I am a slut, master. As lewd as any trollop. You are right, sir."
"It is progress to hear you use straightforward language instead of aping the upper classes. I remember the affected way you spoke to me when you thought you could give me orders. Are you John? He mocked me by exaggerating my accent, recalling the first time I had spoken to him."
By this time I felt as though my arms would be pulled from their sockets and my back was in great pain from the way I was hanging.
John reached up and pushed his fingers into my gash.
"Is this what is on offer?"
"And what do you call it?"
"My pussy, master."
"And other names for it? I am sure you know them."
"My twat, tail, slit, sir." I knew my face and neck had turned crimson with the embarrassment of saying these words.
"Quim, scut, snatch."
"Perhaps you should stop before you shock me. Where did you learn such words?
"I'm not sure, master. Probably from listening to other girls."
"I see, you put the blame on others?"
"No, master. I didn't mean that,"
"So I was right. You are not, and never have been, a lady or anything close to being a lady?"
"Then why did you try to act the part?"
"Because it is expected of a professional person, master. When I was employed by Mr. Povey I felt I had to present myself as a person of refined manners."
To my surprise, John burst out laughing at this last remark. "If only you knew the truth of the matter. My master has not employed you for your refined manners. You will see the irony of your words in due course. In the meantime, you can continue to talk to me like the filthy-minded fishwife you are, do you understand me? I want no airs and graces or I will know you are trying to make yourself sound superior to your master."
"I understand, sir."
With huge relief I saw him take hold of the chain and lower me so he could untie my ankles and then my wrists. When I tried to stand I staggered but managed to regain my balance to avoid falling over. I had prepared my mind as well as I could for what I expected to follow, namely that he would roger me, but instead he made me get on my hands and knees on the cold flagstones and squeeze into the iron cage I had likened to those used to house wild creatures. To be able to fit into the dimensions of the cage I needed to crouch down like an animal. I saw there was a bowl of water inside the cage and nothing more.
"You will have visitors tomorrow as it's Christmas Day," John said and pulled on his shirt again. "Sleep well."
I had completely forgotten it was Christmas Eve. The thought that I was spending Christmas in such circumstances made me feel unutterably sad and tears ran down my face.