(See here for an explanation of this series. This story is even more of an homage to Réage than my usual fare.)
H and S, as they were known at the château, stood in front of their Maître. Neither of them had been at the château for a whole week: H had come just the day before, and S only two days before that. H's real name was Hélène, but she was not allowed to tell anyone that, or even to say it to herself; she had had her first flogging for forgetting, and saying "Je m'appelle Hélène" to S, on that terrible first day when she had also been given to all the Maîtres in the great hall. S had turned white, knowing what was coming, and their Maître had instantly taken his whip from his belt, and told H to lay herself over the whipping bench that stood in the room they shared as a never-absent reminder of what happened to girls who broke the rules of the château, or failed to please their Maîtres. Then he had told S to stand behind him and caress his sex while he beat H's poor bare bottom until it was laced with fiery redness all over, and, then, suitably prepared by S (whom he also had prepare H's rear entrance), he had spent his essence inside it, while H (who had never had a man's hardness in there before) sobbed in shame and discomfort.
Thus, H did not know S's real name. As they stood there in front of their Maître, though, she felt love well up in her heart for her new training-partner, who had risked the punishment they were certainly now going to receive to climb into H's bed and try to give her a bit of comfort.
"So, girls," said the Maître. "You decided to have a little fun."
S reached out and took H's hand, and brought it to the small of her back. H was so touched by this gesture of sympathy that she wanted to cry, standing there in the château uniform of stockings, thong, garter-belt, and spiked heels that made her feel always furnished to her Maître, always ready to be enjoyed or punished. How could she be both that château-pucelle, as they were all called, and this sympathetic friend? It seemed somehow both impossible and yet exactly right.
That night they were tied to posts set side-by-side in the great hall, and flogged in front of all the girls, then used by the Maîtres, then finally used by two girls wearing the disciplinary strap-ons the Maîtres made them wear. Through it all, though, H was able to look into S's eyes, and see that they were united not only by the ordeal they underwent, but by the submissive flame they shared.
Photo via the wonderful Marie Berrios