The Captive Flesh Read Free Page A

up!’
    Marietta blushed hotly. ‘That’s … almost what she did. I had been given the task of cleaning her room. I used to dread it but I dared not complain. What reason could I give for refusing? She made me scrub and dust every inch of it. The worst thing was cleaning the floor. I had to scrub the stone whilst on my knees. Sister Anna would watch. She … she made me pin up my dress and chemise. Pin them up high above my waistand secure them out of the way, so that my naked buttocks were exposed. She said this was to protect my clothes from the wet floor. I had to move backwards and forwards, scrubbing vigorously, knowing that her eyes were on my swaying buttocks and that she could see the dark valley between them. I would almost weep with mortification.’
    â€˜But she never used the lash on you? I am surprised. What a delectable sight you must have been! I almost wish I could have seen you! Is that all she did?’
    â€˜At first. It seemed enough for her to humiliate me. Then one day she was in an odd mood. Her eyes seemed to burn into mine. There was a sort of leashed tension in her thin harsh body. I sensed that something was about to happen. I scrubbed the floor in the usual way, then I stood up to go. My face was red with shame. I longed to pull down my skirts and cover myself, but Sister Anna did not dismiss me. She kept looking at the triangle between my thighs, her eyes roving restlessly over my exposed hips and belly so that I became uneasy and longed to cover myself with my hands. But I dared not move. She told me to leave my dress and chemise pinned up. Then she called me over to where she sat on a wooden bench. She told me to sit astride it, facing her. I was acutely conscious of my half-naked state and I hesitated. She grew angry and said that if I did not obey her implicitly she would punish me severely. Then she said that I looked untidy and asked again if I had been neglecting to wash myself thoroughly. I insisted that I had not. Indeed, I had bathed just an hour or so before I began my tasks. She did not believe me. She said my hair was a mess and made me unbraid it. She brushed it out and spread it around my shoulders.’
    Marietta stopped and took a breath. Then went on:
    â€˜All the time that she was brushing and teasing strands of my hair through her fingers, I was aware of the hardness of the bench under my parted thighs. I longed to close them together, to hide the triangle of hair and my intimate parts that were revealed by my position. My thighs trembled, but if I made the slightest move to adjust my position she slapped my legs, hard. After a while she ordered me to lie on the wooden bench and said that she intended to examine me. Oh, Claudine … I can hardly go on.’
    Claudine’s gentle fingers caressed Marietta’s back. Her firm thighs opened. She drew one of Marietta’s legs into her embrace and closed her legs around it, squeezing gently. Marietta felt the soft fleece of Claudine’s sex against her upper thigh. She felt heat too and a slight dampness.
    Her friend’s voice, when it came, was light and a little breathless. ‘Please go on, Marietta. Tell me everything.’
    â€˜I laid on the narrow bench. My shirts still looped up past my waist. My thighs were together, knees pressed so tightly against each other that my muscles ached. Sister Anna examined my bare feet. She pushed her fingers between my toes, separating each one roughly, stroking and pulling at them. Then her hands slid up my ankles and stroked my calves. They felt horribly rough and dry on my skin. Her fingers were always cold. She felt behind my knees, examining the creases, all the time commenting on the texture of my skin. She lingered on my upper legs, parting my thighs a little, stroking and pinching the surfaces – hard. The pain brought tears to my eyes. I made a sound of protest and shrank away, clamping my legs together with even more force. She