This is the story of a young woman’s conviction as a terrorist and what happens to her when she is sentenced to penal slavery. Penal slavery is not impossible. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Constitution of the United States of America do NOT prohibit slavery. They only LIMIT slavery to punishment for crimes. In other words, the Constitution allows penal slavery.
After the woman is convicted, a “sentence negotiator” gets her sentence reduced to a public day of repentance followed by eleven days of public punishment. Following that, she is to serve one year of penal servitude.
This story deals with non-consensual punishment, pain, and involuntary slavery. If such topics offend you or upset you, I would advise skipping this particular book.
There are thirteen chapters to this story. The chapters can be read on their own, but the story is much better understood if the previous portions have been read. The complete story is full book length. I debated publishing it with some of my other books at Fiction4all, but decided that I would rather serialize it and post it here.
A description of the thirteen chapters follows the end of each chapter. On the sixth day of her punishment, missy is introduced to “The Whipmaster.” Before punishing her he provides a demonstration of his abilities. The chapter is focused on public nudity, public humiliation, and public flogging of one sort or another.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2015 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Eight - Slave missy meets The Whipmaster.
William and missy’s morning routine was quickly becoming exactly that... very routine. For missy, each morning was coffee, bacon, eggs, do dishes, grease herself up with the mixture of baby oil and baby gel, get in her cage, ride through downtown, then return to the fairgrounds and literally hang around until show time at two. The routine had been basically identical for five days and this day was starting out no different.
Shortly after William locked her into her cage, however, something changed. Rather than immediately driving the ATV with the cage trailer and the rolling billboard downtown, William stood around looking nervously at his watch.
“Is something wrong?” missy asked.
“No problem,” William replied. “He’s not late... yet. He promised he would be here exactly at 8:00 and we still have a few minutes.”
He then went back to pacing and looking at his watch every few seconds. Missy was about to ask who “he” was when she heard the approaching roar of a motorcycle. Turning in the direction of the sound, she could see a large bike coming across the fairgrounds parking lot.
There were two flags fluttering on poles attached to the bike. One was, of course, the American flag. The other at first appeared to be a pirate flag. It looked like a pirate flag. It was black and appeared to have the traditional skull and crossed bones on it. Something else appeared to be fluttering above the flags, but missy couldn’t quite make out what that was.
As the bike drew up to where William was impatiently waiting, missy could see that it was a Harley chopper. The front wheel had been extended significantly out in front of the bike and almost every surface of the bike– including everything on the motor– was bright, shiny, chrome.
As he got closer, missy realized that what she had first thought to be crossed bones on a pirate flag turned out to be crossed whips and a oval signet-like emblem which said, “The Whipmaster” in old gothic-style lettering. The unknown items fluttering above the flags turned out to be long strands of black leather. The poles holding the flags had been wrapped with leather so they would look like the handles on a whip, and the strands were braided so that the two flag staffs appeared to be huge bullwhips.
The man riding the Harley was as impressive as the bike itself. He was in his late twenties or early thirties with a very muscular build. He was wearing rather tight, black leather pants and a matching black leather vest. Since he was shirtless, his six-pack abs were on display, framed by the open front of the vest. The muscles of his arms rippled as he brought the bike to a halt alongside the cage. Missy could see that the black leather vest he was wearing had the same signet and crossed whips that decorated his flag.
He brushed his long, black hair off his face and asked, “Do you want me leading or following?”
“Leading, by all means,” answered William. “You do remember the route we discussed, don’t you?”
In answer, the man tapped the side of his head with his finger and said, “Got it.” He then smiled over at missy. His bright white teeth contrasted greatly with his immaculately trimmed, shiny black moustache and beard. For some reason, to missy, his whole appearance and demeanor made him look like someone trying to be a rock star from the 1960s.
“Let’s roll,” shouted William as he got on the seat of the ATV. “... and remember to make three laps around the town square.” He waited for the man to answer. When he did not, he added, “And only three!”
In response the man once again tapped the side of his head and then revved the engine on the Harley. Despite the custom pipes, the sound of the engine retained that distinctive, almost musical, Harley roar.
As they pulled out of the fairgrounds missy said aloud to herself, “I don’t think I like him, but I have a feeling I am going to know The Whipmaster a whole lot better before the day is over.” She kept her eye on him, but remained silent as their very short parade continued on its morning route.
The crowds had gotten slightly smaller each morning as people became used to seeing the naked slave being displayed in her rolling cage. This morning, however, the roar of the Harley chopper and the huge flags streaming above The Whipmaster’s head as he rode through town brought many people back to the sidewalks to watch them pass.
Missy wondered why William had specified three trips around the town square. Usually they circled the square only once. As they completed their second loop, however, his plan became clear. There were twice as many people standing on the sidewalks on the second time around the square as there had been on the first lap. And more people were streaming out of the shops and offices to get a closer look at The Whipmaster.
She wondered for a moment if they should take a fourth lap around the square, but then realized that the crowd seemed to have peaked. It was large, but very few additional people were coming out of the buildings. “Two wasn’t enough,” she thought to herself, “and four would have been too many.”
“P. T. Barnum could learn a trick or two from you, Mister Wilson,” she shouted toward the ATV. She wasn’t sure if William heard her or was just waving to the crowd, but his hand appeared to raise in response and give a slight wave as they turned back onto main street to return to the fairgrounds.
Once there, The Whipmaster roared once around the race track and disappeared out one of the front entrances. In the meantime, William drove up onto the stage so missy’s cage could be raised to its normal pre-show position.
After William left, missy settled into her pre-show routine of watching the stage crew set up the equipment and slowly stroking herself to a satisfying plateau of sexual excitement. She wasn’t seeking an orgasm, but she was making sure that she was turned on. Somehow, handling whatever pain was awaiting her in today’s punishment was easier if her body was already experiencing sexual sensations.
There didn’t seem to be much in the way of equipment today. There were what appeared to be a dozen or so candlesticks set up in a circle in the center of the stage. On stage left was what appeared to be a very high spanking bench. From the restraints which were attached to it, it appeared to missy that a person was expected to lay their upper body over the padded bar. Their ankles would then be restrained to a low bar on the front. Their arms would be stretched down to a similar bar on the back side of the stand. The result was a very well-presented ass and totally exposed legs. Missy wondered whether it was going to be her wrists and ankles which were strapped to those bars.
On stage right was an upright frame consisting of two poles attached to a wide base. Again, missy wondered if it would be her pulled taut between those uprights while The Whipmaster did his thing with a bullwhip. That thought caused her to shudder in fear.
“William’s right,” she thought to herself. “Knowing what is coming is worse than not knowing.” She decided it would be best to concentrate on what sensations her fingers could give her and not worry about what some egotistical wannabe rock star with a whip might do to her body. She closed her eyes and ignored the stage crew as they continued to set up equipment beneath her. She did not ignore her fingers.
Around 1:30, she heard The Whipmaster’s motorcycle rumble into the infield and park behind the stage. At 2:00, exactly on time as usual, William strode out onto the stage and welcomed the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, drawing out each word into several extra syllables. He was starting to sound more and more like a ringmaster at a circus– or perhaps a ring announcer at a fight. “Today is day six of our repentant terrorist’s days of punishment.”
William paused and missy could hear the sound of a motorcycle engine starting.
“We have a very special treat for you today,” he cried out and suddenly the rumble of a Harley filled the air. The Whipmaster roared out from behind the stage, flags fluttering, and rode completely around the fairgrounds race track as if taking a victory lap at the end of a race. When he got back to the grandstands and the stage, he came in at full throttle in front of the crowd, locked his brakes and pivoted on his left leg, spraying dirt and gravel in a wide arc around him. He stopped facing the crowd. There was a moment or so of complete silence before the crowd erupted with applause.
“I present to you,” William yelled above the crowd, “The Whipmaster!”
The leather-clad man bowed from his seat on the Harley and then bowed once more after he had dismounted. He bowed a third time when he joined William on stage. “The Whipmaster,” William began, “is going to be starting a world tour next month. He has chosen to sponsor this day of punishment as a preview of that tour.”
“Thank you, Mister Wilson,” The Whipmaster said in a very heavily-accented voice.
Missy couldn’t place the accent, but somehow thought it was false. He’s trying to sound like he’s from Russia or some place like that,” she said silently to herself. “but I bet he grew up in Chicago or New York.” She huffed loudly before continuing, “He talks that way just to make himself sound sexy.”
Missy looked down at him as he bowed once more to the crowd’s applause. This time, he bowed so deeply that his long black hair nearly touched the stage. Remaining bent over, he reached out and touched the finger tips of the women now standing at ground level in front of the stage. Missy watched as scores more women of all ages left their seats and crowded in front of the stage.
“Well,” she said aloud, “it works.” He was a superb showman and she, as well as most of the women in the crowd, now thought The Whipmaster definitely looked and sounded very sexy.
“I still don’t like him,” she said aloud. “... but I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”
He returned to stage center and a scantily-clad young woman rushed out to hand him two long-handled black whips.
“As you can hear,” he said to the crowd, “I have a little trouble with your language.” He loudly snapped both whips above his head. Missy jumped in the cage even though the tips of the two whips had to still be several feet below her. It had sounded like a rifle shot.
He snapped the whips in the direction of the audience and added, “So I will let my whips speak for me.”
In response, the crowd roared their approval.
He snapped one of the whips three times and three more scantily-clad young women ran out onto the stage carrying lit candles. They put them into the candle holders and then ran back off stage for more. When they returned, the fourth young woman was with them, also carrying two candles.
The girls set the candles in place and then began placing twelve of the candle holders in a large circle around him. The additional two, they placed just inside the circle on either side of him. He faced the left side of the stage and held both whips high above his head. He swung them slowly back and forth so that the leather seemed to writhe above his head like a thin, black snake. He then stood still for just a moment and simultaneously snapped one whip to the front and one to the back.
There was a long silence until someone realized that both candles had been extinguished. The applause began with one person and grew in volume as more people recognized what he had done. The Whipmaster bowed deeply as two of his assistants ran on stage and carried the extinguished candles– and their candle holders– off stage.
He then started snapping both whips rapidly all around him. When he stopped, there was a smattering of applause, but for the most part, the audience looked confused. All twelve of the candles were still burning brightly. He looked around as if he were confused and then shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated way.
The four young women ran on stage as if to carry the candles and holders off as they had done before, but this time, they stopped just outside the circle and each grabbed two of the candles just below the top. They then stepped back holding just the top half of each candle.
The Whipmaster had cut each candle in half without knocking it over or putting out the flame.
The applause was deafening. He waited until the crowd had almost quieted down when he once more snapped his whips all around himself. All of the candles were now out, and the roar of the crowd was, if anything, even louder than before.
He bowed several times from within the circle of candles, then grabbed the top half of the four candles which the girls had not taken and walked up to the very front of the stage. He was smiling broadly as he tossed the candle portions one by one out to the screaming women.
By the time he had turned around, the four assistants had carried the remaining candlesticks off stage. When they returned, they were each leading a female slave by a chain attached to her collar. Each of the female slaves had large silver bells hanging from both of their nipples.
The Whipmaster waited patiently as the assistants positioned the naked slaves to stand in a square around him. Then the scantily-clad assistants took their own positions which rounded that square out into a circle. In their hands, they each were holding more silver bells.
The assistants held out the bells in front of themselves, and the slaves lifted their breasts as much as they could to present the bells to The Whipmaster. The whips began snapping and the bells began ringing. Soon a popular Christmas carol was ringing out from the stage.
The crowd’s applause almost drowned out the bells before the short piece ended. The Whipmaster walked to the front of the stage and took his customary low bow and then returned to the center of the circle.
From her perch high above the stage, missy could see three of the slaves and all four of the assistants turn their faces toward the remaining slave. She nodded her head quickly several times. All their eyes returned to The Whipmaster as he once more snapped his whips above his head. The then began– literally– whipping out the “William Tell Overture”.
After only a few notes, most of the audience recognized it, even if they thought it was the theme from The Lone Ranger. He had barely finished the opening bars, however, when one of the slaves... the one everyone had been looking at, suddenly flinched and stepped back.
“How dare you!” he screamed in his heavily-accented voice. “Do you not trust my skills with the whip?” He glared at her for a moment and then said very firmly, “Back in place, slave!”
The girl stepped back into place, but again, after only a few notes, jumped back out of the way so that the whip missed the intended bell.
“If you can’t stand in place on your own,” The Whipmaster said, trying to sound very severe, “then we will have to help you.”
He pointed over to the frame on stage right and ordered, “Restrain her!”
“It’s a setup,” missy said to herself. “They were making sure who was supposed to mess up.” Then she, and the audience, watched intently as the four assistants carefully strapped the pseudo-miscreant slave tightly into the frame. From the grandstands it looked like she was struggling against them, but missy could see that her movements stopped every so often so the assistants could properly close the restraints.
“Transfer the bells,” ordered The Whipmaster and the other three slaves removed their nipple clamps and re-attached them to the bound slave’s breasts on either side of her nipples. The slave now had four bells hanging from each breast.
“All of them!” he said, pointing his whip at one of the assistants.
She stepped forward and began attaching her bells to the bound slave’s body. Evidently there was a clamp of some sort already on the short chain which the assistant was holding because when she stepped back, both of her bells hung from the flesh of the bound slave’s right underarm.
A second assistant stepped forward and attached her bells to the left underarm. The third assistant’s bells were placed one on each of the breasts so the slave now had four attached to each breast as well as one on each nipple.
“Where are the other two going to go?” missy asked herself. Most of the crowd was asking itself the very same thing.
As if in answer to that unspoken question, the last assistant stepped forward and held one of her bells up in front of the slave’s face. The slave dutifully stuck out her tongue and the assistant clamped the bell in place. She then stood in front of the slave slowly moving the bell around in the air as if trying to think of where to place it. Finally she lowered her hand so that the bell was dangling just below the slave’s crotch.
She looked out at the crowd as if asking, “Should I do it?”
The crowd roared out its answer and with a smirk and a nod of her head, she clamped the bell to the slave’s clit. The slave responded with a very painful-sounding groan.
The Whipmaster again addressed the crowd. “First the tune,” he said and then quickly returned to the overture. Once again, the shouts and cheers from the crowd almost drowned out the bells before he completed his short excerpt.
Turning once again to the crowd, he said slowly, “Now the punishment.” His whips snapped twelve times in rapid succession as he was turning back around and all of the bells on the slave’s breasts and underarms flew off across the stage. Her loud scream of pain was not fake as the clamps were torn from her body.
The Whipmaster paused and swung his whips underhand back and forth several times as if measuring his shot. Then both whips snaked out at the same time and the bells flew from her nipples. The bell on her tongue rang loudly and she screamed and thrashed against her restraints.
He again swung his whips in preparation for striking. It seemed to take him a long time to align his strike and the audience grew quiet in anticipation. Suddenly one whip snapped upward and the bell was torn from the slave’s tongue. In response she thrashed even harder than before, but her scream was very subdued. Perhaps the pain in her tongue acted almost like a gag and prevented her from crying out.
There was only one bell left. The Whipmaster dropped one whip to the stage and stood carefully measuring his strike for well over a minute. Missy could see that almost everyone was leaning forward waiting for this final bell to be knocked free.
The whip suddenly slashed out and the bell... rang. It had barely touched it. He stood even longer moving the whip up and down and staring at the bell hanging between the bound slave’s legs.
The whip slashed out again, this time much faster and harder than before. It came up between the slave’s outspread legs and curled upward against her slit. The bell rang loudly as it was forcefully pulled off the unfortunate slave’s clit. It continued to ring as it arched through the air toward The Whipmaster.
Without taking a step, he leaned slightly forward and caught the bell in his left hand. The crowd was on its feet applauding and cheering. Their cheers were almost loud enough to cover the poor slave’s screams as she shook in her restraints. She was still shaking in pain as the assistants released her from the cuffs and took her backstage.
The Whipmaster waited until all the clapping and shouting had almost died down to walk once again to stage front. He stood quietly surveying the crowd. He waved slightly at several different women gathered in front of the stage. Then when everything was totally quiet, he said, “For this next portion of our act, we will need a volunteer from the audience.”
Cries of “Me! Me! Me!” could be heard from the pack in front of the stage. Several dozen hands were raised among those women and perhaps a hundred or so more among the rest of the crowd. He made a big show of trying to make a decision. At one point he even stood stroking his well-manicured beard as he stared down at the possible choices.
Finally he pointed with the handle of his whip and said, “This young lady... the blonde with the bright top.”
A mid-twenties woman wearing a bright blue top and an off-white pleated miniskirt started bouncing up and down a clapping her hands. She was crying out in joy like she had just won some great fabulous prize. Two of the assistants were already down front. They took her by the hands and led her up onto the stage.
The Whipmaster now had a microphone in his hands. “Tell us your first name, and a little about yourself.” he said pleasantly.
“Julianna,” the woman replied. She was trebling with excitement. The way she was bouncing up and down, and the style of dress she was wearing, she almost looked like a cheerleader on the sidelines of a big game somewhere. “I moved here about a year ago. I’m one of the waitresses at Club Risque on Route 12 just outside of town.”
The Whipmaster smiled broadly. He knew the place. Club Risque was just that, a supper club with R-rated entertainment. There was no outright stripping, but the comics were gross and the acts were mostly scantily-clad women singing songs filled with innuendo while they slithered around the stage from one provocative pose to another. Most of the females in town thought a good old-fashioned, honest, strip club would have been less degrading and humiliating for women.
The audience responded to her self-introduction with a low, “Ohhhh”, that swept through the crowd along with many knowing looks passed between the men.
“You sound like the perfect woman to help me show this crowd one of my family’s holiday traditions,” The Whipmaster said encouragingly. “Are you willing to do that?”
“Yes,” the woman answered. She was watching the whip in his other hand as she spoke, and her answer sounded very tenuous.
“What do I have to do?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“All you have to do,” he replied, “is to hold the holiday ham while I slice it.”
One of the assistants joined them on stage. She was carrying a small metal serving tray with about a twelve pound boneless ham sitting on it.
“Of course,” The Whipmaster continued, “I come from a long line of Whipmasters, so our family traditions are a little different.” Gently pushing her forward into a bend, he said, “You bend over and hold this ham on your back while I slice it with my whip.” He looked down into her eyes, “Are you willing to do that?”
She nodded her head.
“The audience would like to hear your answer,” he said gently and she again nodded her head, but clearly said. “Yes”, at the same time.
“You are still trembling with excitement... or is it fear?” he said. It was difficult to tell if he was speaking to her or to the audience, because he was facing out as he said it. “Maybe it would be easier if you had something to support your stomach to hold it steady while you hold the tray. Do you think we should do that?”
She again nodded and said, “Yes.”
Two other assistants came out on stage and guided her over to the high spanking bench. Missy looked down at them an shook her head. “Lady,” she said softly, “you are being conned. By the time this is all over you are going to have a red ass.”
Julianna didn’t hear her, and even if she did, she was too far under The Whipmaster’s wily spell to care.
The assistants lay Julianna over the high padded bench. They pushed up her blouse so that they could pull the wide leather strap across her bare back.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
After she nodded, the assistant carrying the ham placed it on the small of her back so that it was resting partially on her bent buttocks.
“You are still moving around too much,” he said. “Perhaps if you grabbed that bar beneath your hands, you will be able to stay much quieter. Can you do that?”
She reached down, but her arms weren’t long enough. Her finger tips barely touched the bar.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid we are going to have to get a different volunteer... unless... Yes! This bench is used in a different way in a another segment of my act. There are some wrist cuffs that would hold your arms still. We could use them! Do you want us to cuff your hands so you can remain still?”
Julianna was probably the only person in the whole arena who didn’t recognize that she was being manipulated into allowing herself to be put in bondage. She nodded her head and said softly, “OK.”
The Whipmaster stepped back behind her and started swinging his whip as if preparing to strike. Suddenly he stopped and said loudly, “Oh, no! This isn’t going to work. I should have picked someone wearing pants.”
He then walked around in front of Julianna and said, “The wind is blowing your skirt around. It keeps getting in the way of where my whip needs to strike. This has to be very precise, so I need a totally clear path to the ham. I’m afraid we are going to have to let you go back to the audience.”
Missy and everyone in the audience had one question in their minds, “What wind?”
Julianna was tearing up badly. She had already invested so much of herself in this and now it was all for nothing.
“She could take it off,” one of the assistants suggested.
“Oh, I would never ask her to do that,” The Whipmaster said as he shook his head. “She would be displaying her panties to this entire crowd. It would be asking too much of her. It would take a really strong-willed woman to do that.”
The assistant walked in front of Julianna so that they could see each other’s faces. “Are you a strong-willed woman? Would you like me to take off your dress so The Whipmaster can proceed?”
Julianna hesitated, but then nodded her head. Her lips were pressed firmly together in silence, but he didn’t ask to her repeat her answer out loud. Instead he gave a hand signal and the assistant walked around behind Julianna and slipped the white dress down her legs.
Her panties weren’t exactly granny panties, but they did cover most of her ass. The assistant who had been handling the ham returned it to Julianna’s back. This time, however, it was almost totally balanced on the edge of her buttocks.
The Whipmaster returned to his striking position and again began to limber up the whip. He had just started to begin to move it with some speed when the ham came crashing down to the stage.
“No! Not again!” he wailed. “I am so sorry,” said to her. “It appears that your panties are too slippery and the ham won’t stay in place. ... After all you’ve done for us. I am so sorry.”
“Take them off,” came a very soft voice. Julianna continued, “If that’s what it takes, take them off.”
“I would never ask that of you,” he replied, “but since you suggested it...”
One of the assistants stepped forward and slowly pulled the white panties down. As she did so, the bright stage lights reflected off the gathering wetness between the woman’s legs.
“She’s getting turned on by this!” missy said to herself in surprise.
The ham assistant picked everything up from the stage and once again placed the tray more securely on Julianna’s back. Then she reached down and moved the bound woman’s legs out slightly so they aligned with the leg restraints.
Julianna did not resist or say anything as the assistant slowly wrapped the restraints around each ankle.
The Whipmaster once again took his place and began swinging the whip. After several swings, he brought it around in a circle and then used his wrist to snap it down onto the ham. A section of the ham a little over an inch wide fell over onto the tray.
He again swung the whip several times and again brought it around in an arc over his head before snapping it down on the ham. Another one-inch slice folded over onto the tray.
Five more times he snapped the whip down on the ham and each time another one-inch slice was added to the tray. Now there was only a two-inch piece still upright on the tray. He swung his whip slowly several times as he carefully examined that piece. Then with a loud swish he brought the whip through the entire arc so that the tip slashed downward through the ham. There was a loud clang as the tip hit the tray and Julianna jumped slightly from the impact which she felt through the metal.
The Whipmaster turned and bowed to the crowd. The applause was good, but nowhere near what it had been for his other tricks. It wasn’t that the ham cutting had not been impressive. It was very impressive. Their applause was subdued because they somehow knew that this wasn’t the end of the segment. Something better was yet to come.
The assistant removed the tray and ham from Julianna’s back and walked off stage. The Whipmaster walked up directly behind her and stood for a moment looking at the fluids trickling down her leg.
“This excited you very much, didn’t it?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, but continued, “Each time my whip cut into the ham, you were imagining it raising a welt across your ass, weren’t you?”
He reached up and traced a line across her ass cheeks with one of his fingers. “The reason you let us strip you and tie you in place is that deep down in those secret places of your mind, you were hoping that I would use this whip on your naked ass in front of all these people.”
She was once again trembling. Her head slowly nodded.
“Say it!” he commanded.
“Yes!” she screamed out. “I was hoping that you would whip my naked ass!”
Her eyes went wide and her mouth formed an O of surprise. Had she really said that out loud?
The Whipmaster was now stroking her ass cheeks with one hand while his other slid between her legs to very lightly stroke her slit. “Would you like me to whip your ass?” he asked. “I won’t cut you like I did the ham. I won’t even break the skin. It will just raise some nasty welts to remind you of this for a week or two.”
His voice was very soft and soothing as he asked, “Do you want me to do that for you?”
“Yes,” she replied in a very throaty voice.
“You really should be totally naked for this,” he said. She said nothing, instead began to breathe deeper and deeper as one of the assistants removed her blouse and bra. They had to uncuff her hands for a moment to slip them off her arms, but Julianna did not resist. In fact, she set her wrists back into the cuffs so the assistant could re-bind them.
Meanwhile, The Whipmaster was continuing to stroke Julianna’s ass. “How many times should I strike you?” he asked softly.
“Until I cum,” she answered. Her need was now as apparent in her voice as it was in her body.
“I didn’t quite hear that,” he said. “I have to be sure because I don’t want to give you more than you asked for.”
“Whip my ass until I cum!” she yelled out. Her whole body was now vibrating with her need.
The Whipmaster stepped upstage of the bound woman’s ass so that he could deliver the blows from the side but not block the audience’s view. He snaked the whip back and forth several times before snapping it out so that it landed squarely across both ass cheeks.
“Aiiiiieeeee!” she screamed, but she did not yell for him to stop. Instead she began panting deeply.
A second snap echoed through the arena and she screamed once again. This time it was more of an “Ahhhhhhh” than an “Aiieee.”
Another snap. Jullianna twisted and thrashed in her restraints, but the scream was again softer.
By the fifth strike, the scream had turned into a moan. The insides of both of her legs glistened brightly under the stage lights. The crowd was silent. Missy could see that a number of women in the audience seemed to be almost going into a trance. Several standing up front by the stage had their hands down their skirts or shorts.
The moan became louder with each strike of the whip until on the fourteenth blow, the moan again became a long, drawn out, “Aiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” as Julianna humped furiously against the padded shelf which held her upright.
Now the crowd exploded in applause and cheers. Mixed among those cheers, missy could also hear several other Aiiiiieeeee’s– including her own. Julianna was not the only one to orgasm from the experience.
After the applause had died down and the crowd was once again seated, William strode out on stage to join The Whipmaster. “It is time now,” he said solemnly, “to witness today’s punishment.”
Missy’s cage began to slowly descend. As it was coming down, several of the stage crew pushed a platform onto the stage. Mounted on that platform was a metal pole about eight feet high. It had been painted to look like a telephone pole and was about the same size, but it was very smooth and the cracks and grain were obviously painted on. From the top hung a set of wrist restraints. Their chain went over the top of the pole and was secured on the back to some sort of winch mechanism.
The cage settled onto the stage with a soft “Thump!” and William unlocked the huge padlock. After missy stepped out, he removed her chains and collar and led her over to the post. It was pretty obvious what she was supposed to do, so she raised her hands above her head so they could be wrapped with the restraints.
William then nudged her foot with his indicating that she should spread her legs. She did and he nudged again. She was now very widely spread. William then stooped down and attached a restraint to her ankle. He nudged her other leg and she moved it even farther out. He then attached the second ankle cuff.
“This is called a Lambda Restraint,” The Whipmaster explained to the crowd. He pronounced it “lam-bu-duh.”
Two of the assistants walked to the front of the stage carrying white cards with a black symbol on them that looked very much like missy’s body did hanging from the restraints. “This is because,” he continued, “the person’s body looks very much like the Greek letter Lambda, especially if they lose consciousness and hang limply from their wrists.”
The Whipmaster then moved into position and William continued the explanation. “The Lambda Restraint is actually the best one to use when whipping because there are no posts or walls to prevent the whip from curving around to the sides of the person’s body.”
Missy could not see him, but could tell by the change in the volume of his voice, he was now looking at her. “In addition, the person being whipped is often forced to press their body against the rough wood in an attempt to escape the pain.”
“Rough wood?” missy thought. “This thing is totally smooth. I could slide against it all day with no problem.”
“For most people held in the Lambda’s grip, however,” he continued as he turned back to face the crowd, “there is no escape from the pain.”
“Oh!” missy said aloud. She then continued silently, “He’s telling me how I can get through this.” She tentatively ground her crotch against the metal pole. “This could work... or at least I hope it will work.”
William reverted to his ringmaster voice and cried out, “Ladies and Gentlemen. You are about to witness an attempt at a record. The Whipmaster’s record for consecutive strokes of the whip without breaking skin is currently forty-two. Today he will attempt to extend that record to forty-six.”
He then walked over to missy and pretended to check the restraints. As he reached up to check the wrist cuffs, his mouth was close to missy’s ear. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly, “he’s actually gone well over one-hundred in past years.” He laughed softly and added, “But the audience doesn’t know that.”
After William stepped back, there was a long silence– a long, long silence– as The Whipmaster stood behind missy slowly moving his whip up and back. The long leather snaked back and forth as the tension grew in the crowd. Finally, when the buzz of the crowd dipped to total silence for just a moment, he flicked his wrist in a slightly different way and the whip snapped out across missy’s ass.
The loud “crack!” could be heard throughout the stands. Also heard throughout the stands was missy’s quick shriek as she cried out in pain. It felt as if her ass were suddenly on fire. To the people in the crowd, it seemed as if the force of the blow drove missy forward onto the post, but it was just her own muscles reacting to the noise and pain.
The smooth metal post seemed especially cold as missy ground her crotch against the pole as the pain reverberated throughout her body. She knew that the only way she could endure the pain was to go into the pain and hopefully change it into pleasure. Actually, it wasn’t pleasure she sought as much as the lessening of the pain sensations.
“Hurt but not harm,” she began saying to herself over and over and over again.
“Crack!” the whip slashed once again into her body.
She again ground her crotch into the pole as she tried to deal with the pain. A new welt appeared across her ass about a hand’s width up from the previous strike.
“Hurt but not harm, Hurt but not harm, Hurt but not harm, Hurt but not harm,” she found herself repeating. With each “Hurt,” she pushed herself forward against the cold metal.
“Crack!” the whip struck again. The Whipmaster had moved up exactly the same spacing to leave a third welt across missy’s back.
“He’s more accurate than that robot,” missy thought. “He’s almost a machine himself.”
She hugged the pole as best she could with her shoulders and legs and said softly aloud, “Hurt but not harm.” This time she actually believed it.
The whip cracked again and a fourth welt appeared on missy’s back. The distance between the stripes was exact. Missy again thought of the machine which had caned her a few days ago. It had struck only as hard as necessary to raise a welt and missy had been able to turn those sensations of pain into sensations of pleasure.
“Hurt but not harm, Hurt but not harm, Hurt but not harm.”
As she had with the robot, missy was able to slowly dull the sharpness of the pain. With each strike, the pain became less true pain and more sensation which the body could interpret as it wished. And there were two advantages to being whipped rather than being caned.
First off, the whip was softer and slightly bigger than the rod used to cane her. This meant that the area was slightly wider where the whip came in contact with her skin and that it did not concentrate the force as greatly at the initial point of impact.
Secondly, missy was held in a Lambda Restraint rather than bound tightly between upright posts of a square frame. This meant that she could grind her crotch against the post and slide her cunt up and down on the smooth metal.
There were now two sets of sensations flooding her body, the pain– now made generic by her concentration on the fact that the whip would hurt but not harm her body– and the pressure against her cunt and clit which could only be interpreted as pleasure. When the two sets of sensations combined in her mind, they combined as pleasure.
“Crack!” the whip slashed across her back and she thrust her body heavily against the post. The crowd could see her move and assumed that the force of the strike was making her grind against the post, but the truth was, she was pushing herself against the post before the leather made contact with her flesh. That way there was a pulse of pleasure that radiated outward from her cunt just before the pain flashed outward from her ass.
From the audience point of view, The Whipmaster would strike and a new welt would immediately appear in the exactly spaced pattern on the repentant terrorist’s back. Missy would then scream in pain and thrash against the post, pulling as hard as she could against her restraints. Many in the audience were themselves getting sexual satisfaction out of watching this merciless whipping.
From missy’s point of view, she would thrust her very wet cunt against the post, almost crushing her clit against the cold metal. The resulting sensations would drive her higher up orgasm mountain. Adding to the drive toward the top of the mountain would be a sudden flood of intense sensations as the leather slammed across her back or ass. The combination of intense sensations would cause her to drive her cunt even harder against the post as her body shook with the intensity of what she was feeling. Needless to say, missy was also getting sexual satisfaction from what appeared to be a merciless whipping.
William’s voice came through the speakers very softly as he counted, “thirty-nine.” When he said “forty,” it was a little louder. “Forty-one” was louder still. Some of the crowd began to count with him at “forty-two.” More joined the count at “forty-three.” By the time the count reached “forty-four,” everyone in the stands was standing and counting loudly.
At “forty-five” missy let out a long, wailing scream that rose above the noise of the crowd.
At “forty-six” her scream changed to a loud, long, “aaaaahhhhhhhh!” as she thrashed violently against the pole and pulled against the restraints which held her taut. Then she suddenly relaxed. She had lost consciousness and her body slumped, hanging from her wrists to form the true lambda shape.
The audience assumed that she had passed out from the pain. William, and of course missy, knew that she had passed out not from overwhelming pain, but from overwhelming pleasure.
The Whipmaster stepped to the front of the stage and bowed deeply. The audience, already on its feet, thundered their applause.
He remained in his deep bow as William stepped alongside him and, when things began to quiet down said loudly, “The Whipmaster will be at the small platform on stage right to sign autographs for you. He will also have the schedule for his upcoming tour and you will have the opportunity to purchase tickets. His video, The Whipmaster Shows You How It’s Done ,” is also available.”
When William had finished, The Whipmaster rose back to a standing position and strode off stage toward the platform. William and two of the stage crew, meanwhile, began to remove missy from her wrist and ankle cuffs.
Missy was conscious, but not quite with it, as he led her over to her cage. “Can you stand on your own, or do we need to tie your hands to the bars to help hold you up?” he asked.
The question was enough to bring missy fully awake, “No,” she said, almost laughing, “I’ve had enough tie and stretch for today. I’ll stand on my own.”
As the cage began its rise into the air, however, she regretted her decision. She was planning on assuming her standard rest position with her back against the back bars and her feet firmly against the bars at the front of the cage. When she put her back against the bars, however, the pain which had been submerged beneath her pleasure suddenly reared its head to announce that her back was not only hurt, it was harmed.
She could feel each welt stinging on her skin. She reached around and rubbed the edges of the welts with her hands. They were raised and very sore, but the skin did not appear to be broken. “Not harmed,” she said aloud, “but damn, that hurts!”
She ended up standing most of the hour of her after-show display time. The only way she could lean back against the bars was to center a bar in the crack of her ass and lean forward to keep her back off the bars. Unfortunately, that would put pressure on her tail bone, so it was comfortable for only a few minutes, but it did give some relief to her legs while it lasted.
At the end of an hour, she heard the sound of the ATV as William pulled the cage trailer up onto the stage. A few minutes later she was lying face down on her bed as William spread copious amounts of his marvelous medicinal salve all over the back of her body. Shortly thereafter, the pain was replaced by a slight tingling sensation as the medication did whatever it did to reduce swelling and hasten healing. Within a few minutes she was sound asleep.
Whether it was the events of the day or the accumulation of what had occurred the previous days, missy did not awaken when William returned after a while to apply more ointment. In fact, she remained asleep as he returned four more times to repeat the application. He decided to let her sleep.
William returned several more times during the night to apply a fresh coat of the salve. By morning, the welts and bruises had all but disappeared.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
END CHAPTER EIGHT OF THIRTEEN
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Chapter One: Vicki LeClaire is convicted of all charges. A sentencing agreement is negotiated by William Wilson, a professional slave sentence negotiator. This chapter primarily sets the scene for the rest of the book. Once that is done, the action near the end centers around public nudity and public humiliation.
Chapter Two: Vicki’s “Day of Repentance” and her humiliating descent into slavery, including being renamed as slave missy. This chapter centers primarily on public nudity and public humiliation.
Chapter Three: The first of missy’s 11 days of public punishment. On this first day of punishment, Master Hiroya Takahashi demonstrates properly-trained pony girls, and instructs missy on the proper way to receive a punishment spanking. The focus of this chapter is pony girls and public spanking.
Chapter Four: The second day of punishment begins with a flogging contest by a company called Judicial Placements Incorporated. Her negotiator... and new Master, William Wilson, flogs missy the required forty-six times to fulfill the terms of her sentence. This chapter is totally focused on non-consensual flogging.
Chapter Five: Slave missy’s third day of punishment. She is once again subject to a spanking, this time by the head of a private girls’ reformatory. Before her spanking, several of the young women from the reformatory also receive public punishment. This is a spanking chapter with bare hand, slipper, paddle, and leather belt.
Chapter Six: The fourth day. On this day of punishment, she is caned... by a robot, or more accurately, by a computer-driven mechanical spanking machine. Before her caning, James Madison demonstrates his company’s machines. This chapter focuses on mechanical flogging, paddling, and caning. It also delves into self-bondage and pain-pleasure.
Chapter Seven: The fifth day. Slave missy is punished by water combined with heat, cold, and electricity. This chapter focuses on various types of water punishment.
Chapter Eight: On the sixth day of her punishment, missy is introduced to “The Whipmaster.” Before punishing her he provides a demonstration of his abilities. The chapter is focused on public nudity, public humiliation, and public flogging of one sort or another.
Chapter Nine: The seventh day for slave missy is a day for electro-punishment. Slave missy becomes part of the vidshow, “Wheel of Pleasure, Wheel of Pain.”
Chapter Ten: The eighth day introduces a unique punishment– punishment by combat. There is also an undercard of slave wrestling with humiliation and pain in store for the loser.
Chapter Eleven: The ninth day of punishment is a lottery. The public is given the chance to paddle the repentant terrorist. Eight lucky winners each get to give her five swats with a special paddle. One lucky winner gets to finish the forty-six required for her punishment by laying six swats of the paddle across missy’s ass. The undercard is also part of the lottery. Three slaves in need of punishment will each receive 20 swats, again with one lottery winner delivering 5 of those swats. In addition there are two volunteers. One is a male member of the stage crew who is coming out as a pain slut. The other is a woman who has been at every performance so far and wants to experience public punishment and humiliation. Hers is a special case and her husband will deliver however many swats it takes to make her cum. Twenty-five winners were chosen to participate. Each was asked to write a short essay saying why they should be the one to deliver the final six to the repentant terrorist. The winner finishes off missy.
Chapter Twelve: This tenth day returns missy to old school punishment as she receives an old-fashioned caning. There is also a contest between slaves to see who can withstand the most strokes of the cane.
Chapter Thirteen: (Last Chapter) Slave missy finally reaches her final day of punishment. After having been punished by hand, slipper, paddle, cane, water, and electricity, missy is punished with pleasure. She is strapped into a high-tech denial/teasing/edging device and taken to the very brink of orgasm 46 times.