This is a 10,000 word novella intended for adult audiences. Part two of five.
Content warning: This story features graphic sex, BDSM, cheating spouses, gay sex, lesbian sex, bondage and discipline, group sex, female dominance, female submission, sexual slavery, and other explicit depictions of adult sexuality. Strong language and adult only content.
Being bound up to the St. Andrew’s cross wasn’t unpleasant, but Jane found that she didn’t enjoy it as much as she had hoped. It wasn’t very exciting hanging naked from a heavy wooden cross. The ropes went around her wrists, elbows waist, knees, and ankles, holding her tightly to the thick wooden beams that formed the X of the cross. A short chain attached to her collar and a bolt in the side of the cross. That’s the part she hated the most; she couldn’t rest her head on anything. She was constantly forced to keep it upright.
The cross was in the middle of the manor house’s reception hall. It was the busiest part of the house, except for, perhaps, the kitchen downstairs. Everyone saw her: servants, other slaves, guests. Everyone. Jane took an odd sort of pleasure in being exposed to everyone, but none of the servants or slaves seemed to notice her and none commented on her strange situation. A few of the guests examined her for a moment or two, and one man with a severe haircut, nodded once and said, “Perfect,” but then hurried on to wherever he had to be.
She hadn’t been told why she was bound to the cross. A servant had simply knocked on the door to her cell that morning and announced she had been summoned. Instead of being taken to one of the bedrooms, Jane was brought to the main hall where two burly servants were waiting with the cross. They lifted her up to swiftly and efficiently bound her to the wooden apparatus. No explanation was given and she knew not to ask for one. She was a slave and this was expected of her. As soon as she was secure, they walked away without a word.
When the beating started Jane wasn’t really aware of it. One of the many servants in black and white livery that bustled in and out of the hall all day simply walked up to her and started striking her with a short leather lash. He didn’t say anything even when she cried out and asked him why. His face was impassive while he worked giving her little red stings up and down her arms and legs, and then her belly. He paused a moment, judging his work. Her pale skin immediately took on a bright pink glow from the abuse. Jane was panting heavily, was in pain, from the treatment. She caught the eye of her abuser and started to beg for him to stop, but he covered her mouth with his hand covered by a leather glove.
“Quiet,” he told her. “This will be the worse part.”