Gromet's Plaza Boundstories.net
Twelve Days a Slave
by The Technician
Technician666@Gmail.Com | Forum Feedback
Published eBooks by Wayne Mitchell (aka The Technician): The Perfect Sex Toy | Senior Project | Handcuff Island | I, Masochist | UMPA Eleven
© Copyright 2016 - The Technician - Used by permission
Storycodes: MF+/fm+; cell; cage; naked; cuffs; collar; stage; display; public; hum; slaves; punish; bdsm; flogger; contest; torment; climax; cons/reluct; XX
jpn

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) 2016 by The Technician (Technician666@Gmail.Com)
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.

Twelve Days a Slave 4: A Corporate Flogging Contest The Technician MF+/fm+; cell; cage; naked; cuffs; collar; stage; display; public; hum; slaves; punish; bdsm; flogger; contest; torment; climax; cons/reluct; XX
story continues from part three

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Convicted of terrorism, Vicki is sentenced to penal slavery

Vicki, a young woman who works for a large department store, figures out a way to bypass the electronic return tags on expensive dresses sold by the store where she works . This allows her to buy dresses on a Friday, wear them to events over the weekend, and return them on Monday.

When a very expensive dress she is wearing is ruined at a party, everything unravels. She will be charged for the dress and can in no way afford to pay for it. A young man she recently met gives her a program that will allow her to remove the charges from her account. Unfortunately, that program contains a virus that infects not only computers in the store where she works, but many other businesses as well.

This is the story of her conviction as a terrorist and what happens to her when she is sentenced to penal slavery. Penal slavery is not impossible in the United States of America. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments of the constitution do not NOT prohibit slavery. They only LIMIT slavery to punishment for crimes. In other words, the constitution allows penal slavery.

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.

In this chapter, 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 Four - A Corporate Flogging Contest

Missy awoke to the smell of coffee... and bacon. “Get your ass out of bed,” she heard him yell from the other end of the bus. It wasn’t an angry yell, it was just loud. After stopping in the bathroom for her morning routine, which seemed so much shorter now that she didn’t have to worry about her hair, she padded into the kitchen barefoot and, of course, naked.

“I’ve lived by myself for so long that I have just gotten used to cooking,” William said as she arranged her towel on the bench at the table and sat down. He poured her a cup of coffee and set a plate in front of her with bacon, eggs, and toast on it. There was a small jar of jam on the table.

“Today will be both easier and harder than yesterday,” he said as he slipped into the bench on his side of the table. “I want you to keep in mind that this is all one great big performance. The people– and the courts– think that the primary purpose is to punish you, but the primary purpose is to make money.”

He paused to take a noisy sip from his coffee. “And we can’t make any money if you are too badly damaged to do tomorrow’s performance.” He chomped on a piece of the bacon and scooped a whole egg into his mouth with his fork.

Pointing his fork at her he became very serious. “Keep that in mind, and trust me in this. If the pain starts getting too bad, remember your fantasies. I have a feeling that helped while Takahashi was whaling on your ass.”

After another huge mouthful of food, he paused to chew for a moment and then continued, “And don’t let the undercard performances scare you. They don’t have another show tomorrow. You do.”
Missy wasn’t sure what he meant, but decided not to ask questions. Instead she slowly ate her eggs and toast. As she had always done, she saved the bacon for last and chewed it slowly between sips of coffee. When William got up to do dishes, she also stood and said, “Let me do that.”

He sat back down as she stood at the sink. While she washed, he said, “We’ll be taking a parade lap through town at eight. You need to be oiled up and ready by then.”

Again missy didn’t know for sure what he meant, but when she turned to look at him, he was holding a bottle of baby oil and a tube of some thicker gel. When she had finished the dishes, he handed both to her and said, “It would probably be best if you did this outside so you don’t get this shit all over everything in here. Wait ‘til I get changed and we will walk back to the trailer.”

A few minutes later, he came back out of his bedroom wearing a set of blue coveralls. Motioning with his head for missy to follow him, he stepped down out of the bus and walked to the side door of the trailer. “Stand there and get yourself oiled up,” he instructed and went into the trailer. He added, “Use the gel first and then smear it out with the oil. I’ll do your back after I get the unit out of the trailer.”

While missy was rubbing the slimy mixture over as much of her body as she could reach, William backed the ATV and cage out of the trailer. He then walked back over to missy carrying the chains and shackles. “Your costume,” he said as he held up the collar.

Missy obediently turned around so he could fasten it around her neck. She then turned and held up her arms, still holding the oil, so he could lock the manacles on her wrists. Since she wasn’t in the cage, she didn’t need to lift her legs for him to reach her ankles.

Once all the chains were in place, William took the oil from her and motioned for her to turn around. The only area that she could not reach had been the center of her back, but William rubbed the oily mixture thoroughly into her back and then moved down. Soon his hand was once again rubbing between her ass cheeks. She moaned slightly and his fingers slipped between her legs.

A few moments later, he suddenly withdrew his hand and said, “That should put you in the proper frame of mind to get through this.” He then led her over to the cage and locked her inside.

Once she was in the cage, he returned to the big trailer and dragged out another small trailer. This one wasn’t really a trailer. It was more of a sign on wheels which he connected to the back of the trailer holding the cage.

The sign looked very much like the side of the bus. It had the picture of missy in chains and said, “slave missy’s Punishment Tour.  Witness the punishment of a repentant terrorist.” What was different was a white area at the bottom of the sign which said, “Today! Fairgrounds - 2:00 pm.” It also gave a telephone number and a website where people could buy tickets.

“Hold onto the bars,” he instructed. “That way you won’t get thrown around in there.” He started to get on the ATV but stopped and added, “But remember to move from side to side so people on both sides of the street can see your face.”

With that he started up the ATV and headed for the entrance to the fairgrounds. The morning air was slightly cool and was even cooler when you were standing naked in an open cage moving at 30 mph. Missy soon found herself shivering and she turned to face the back of the cage to at least keep the wind off her face and the front of her body.

It was lucky for her that she was facing backwards because just as William turned to go through the square a crowd of youngsters unleashed a barrage of eggs. Most hit the street around the trailer, but several found their mark and splattered against her side and back.

She heard William curse and suddenly the ATV was moving as fast, or faster, than the traffic around them. He shortly arrived back at the fairground and drove immediately to their bus.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said as he opened her cage. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she answered, “just smeared up a little.” She gave a smile that was more like a grimace and added, “at least it helped protect my skin from the wind.”

William looked slightly embarrassed. “Well,” he said, “I hadn’t figured on that either.” Looking up at her he added, “But it won’t happen again.”

He took her over to the side of the trailer and said, “Let’s get you washed off and re-oiled.” Then leaving her standing alone he went into the bus and returned with a small bowl of warm water and a wash cloth.

After carefully wiping off the splattered egg, he mixed the gel and oil in his hands and re-applied it to the areas he had just cleaned. “Stay here a moment,” he said, pointing to the side of the trailer. He then disappeared around the other side of the bus and returned pulling a hose.

After rinsing down the cage, he motioned for her to re-enter it. “We’re running late,” he said. “The courts demand a minimum time for the punishments. I convinced them to include display time, but we have to get you up in the air to make sure some tight-assed judicial assistant doesn’t declare this day void.”

Missy hurried into her cage and William placed the huge padlock on the door. A few minutes later the winch was once again lifting her up above the stage. William stood beneath her and said, “Showtime is 2:00 o’clock. I’ll be back by then, but I have to make some special arrangements first.”

He pointed to four men in black jeans and T-shirts standing at the corners of the stage. “They will make sure that the local juvenile delinquents don’t get out of control again. With that he ran off the stage and took the ATV back over to the bus.
***

Being on display naked in a cage above the stage was humiliating, but there is only so much humiliation you can experience. After a while, it is no longer humiliating. It just is. Missy stood in her cage watching the stage crew set up a series of posts along the edge of the race track.

There were twelve posts spaced at odd intervals. The first two were a little less than five feet apart, then there was a space almost double that before the next two posts. There were also a pair of posts mounted on some sort of rolling stand that was pushed up onto the stage and moved against the back wall where it was covered with a large cloth that was the same color as the stage wall.

When the stage crew returned and began bolting chains to the top and bottom of each post, missy suddenly realized what they were– or at least what they were for. It was especially clear when the crew began attaching wrist restraints to the upper chains and ankle restraints to the short ones at the base of the posts. One thing that still puzzled missy was that the posts on her right all had leather restraints while the posts on her left had metal ones like she was currently wearing.

Another thing which seemed odd was that they seemed to be constructing another smaller stage off to the right side of the big stage. When they put up a canopy and began setting up microphones she thought to herself, “I wonder what sort of music they play for a punishment?”

At noon, her stomach began telling her that she hadn’t eaten. Shortly thereafter her ears began telling her that music, itself, could be punishment. It was some sort of local band. They were young, loud, and, at best, mediocre. Since they were local, however, there were many in the gathering crowd who applauded each song when they were finished. The band continued to play all the way up to the two o’clock showtime.

At exactly two, Mister Wilson came striding out from behind the stage. He was again dressed in his tuxedo. He lifted his microphone to his mouth and bellowed out. “Welcome to punishment day three of twelve for the repentant terrorist, slave missy. Today is sponsored by Judicial Placements Incorporated. When you need a short-term slave for those projects in your home or business, the place to go is Judicial Placements.”

He then walked over to stage right and gestured out toward the smaller stage where the band was starting to dismantle their equipment. “And our warmup music from The Smathers Smashers was sponsored Harold and Lillian Smathers.”

Missy giggled slightly to herself as she figured out that the lead singer’s parents had paid for him to perform. “Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?” she said aloud to herself. “I mean, if I were so bad that I had to pay places to let me perform, I think I would give it up.”

“But you didn’t come here today to listen to bands,” William continued in his stage voice. “You came here today to see slaves punished.”

There was a great roar of applause and whistling from the crowd.

“And of course,” he continued, “you especially came to see slave missy get her just desserts.”

Again the crowd erupted.

“But first,” he said, holding up his hand toward to the crowd, “we are going to see the punishment of some household and business slaves.”

As he was speaking, a column of slaves began walking slowly toward the stage. They must have been held somewhere under the grandstands because they came around the end of the stands and walked in front of those seated on the track.

There were two guards with each slave. The guards were dressed in black jeans and black T-shirts with the word “SECURITY” in big yellow letters across the front. As the front of the column passed the center of the stage, missy could see that on the back, the T-shirts read, “Judicial Placements Security.”

The first three slaves were men. They walked past the front of the stage and each stood between two of the posts. The last three slaves were women. They stood between the posts on stage right.

“Oh,” missy said. “That’s why the difference. Men get metal restraints. Women get leather.” She held up her wrists in front of her face. The chains clanked noisily as she did so. “Well,” she continued, “most women get leather.”

The security men bound each of the slaves in a tight “X” between the posts.

“All of these slaves volunteered to be here today,” William said loudly. “You might wonder why a slave would volunteer to be flogged,” he added almost with a laugh.   He shook his head as he answered, “They didn’t. They are being flogged for misbehavior. They volunteered to be flogged HERE today because the law stipulates that any flogging given in public counts double.”

He looked almost pensive, “I’m not sure why they limited that to flogging and not other forms of punishment,” he said, “but everyone today is going to be flogged so it doesn’t really matter.”

He then pointed down to the row of bound slaves. “The other thing which the law stipulates is that the slave must be flogged by his or her master. Since these slaves are owned by Judicial Punishments Incorporated, they will be flogged by members of the JPI board.”

At that point a large, very muscular, black man came walking out onto the stage. He was that deep shade of black that comes only directly from Africa or perhaps from one of the Caribbean islands like Jamaica.

As he reached center stage, William said warmly, “I introduce to you, Mister Nicardo Gordon, CEO of Judicial Placements Incorporated.”
He handed a second microphone to Nicardo and said, “Tell us what is going to happen this afternoon.”

Nicardo looked out at the audience with a steady gaze. “Well, William,” he began, “when you offered us the opportunity to sponsor one of these days of punishment, I immediately thought that we should also offer some of our slaves the opportunity of being publicly punished.”

He gestured to the six naked figures restrained between the posts. “All of these slaves have committed very serious infractions... up to and including attempting to escape. After a proper judicial review, they were each sentenced to 40 lashes.”

A loud flow of murmuring swept through the crowd. He held up his hand and said, “Such a serious flogging is not something we want to do, but there are times when discipline must be maintained.”

He smiled again, this time showing a significant amount of teeth. “But we are not heartless,” he continued. “We let it be known that this venue qualified for the two-for-one aspect of public flogging, and all six volunteered to allow you to witness their punishment in return for receiving only twenty strikes with the flogger.”

He then turned to stage left and said, “Would the board please come up on stage?” Four men and eight women walked out to join him. Ten were dressed in black jeans with a black polo shirt. The Judicial Placements logo was on the left side of the front of the shirt. The logo was also on the back, much larger, with “Judicial Placements Inc” printed beneath it.

Two of the women, however, were dressed very differently. Both were wearing black leather. One was wearing a black leather coverall that clung tightly to her shapely body and approached being a catsuit. Calf-high black leather boots with four-inch heels completed the outfit.

The other woman was wearing a leather miniskirt with a leather jacket. It appeared she might be wearing the black JPI polo shirt beneath the jacket, but it was hard to tell. She was also wearing black leather boots, but hers were very shiny and came up to just below the edge of her miniskirt.

Nicola smiled again at the crowd and said, “Two of our board members have direct responsibility for acquisition and training.” He laughed slightly and added, “I will leave it up to you to guess which two.”

A rumble of laughter went through the crowd.

“Each slave will receive ten lashes,” he explained. “Then they will be turned around so that they face the stage before they receive the second set of ten.”

With that, the twelve members of the board walked back off the stage and formed a line behind the slaves. Evidently while everyone’s attention was on William and Nicola on stage, the stage crew had brought in a long table and placed it against the front of the stage. On the table, arranged so that about an inch of their handles protruded off the front, were twelve floggers.

One of the women stepped up to the table and picked up a flogger. She then walked behind the woman restrained in the first set of posts. She stood slightly to the side and reached in with her arm to check the position of her swing. As she did so, the long leather strips of the flogger dragged across the slave’s back. The slave gasped in response and jerked within her bonds.

“Just making sure I’m hitting in the approved area,” the woman said. She then pulled back her arm and swung with a measured fury.

The lash slapped loudly as the leather struck flesh. The slave grunted slightly, but did not cry out.

The woman struck again... and again... and again. Each time, the slave’s vocalization became louder and her struggles within her restraints became much more frantic, but she did not cry out.

The woman swinging the flogger was beginning to perspire. Her hair was tumbling out of place. Her arm came back further and further with each swing so that she would have more momentum when she struck.

William voice came over the speakers, “Ten,” he said, and the woman dropped her arm to her side. “And what do our judges say?” he asked, gesturing over at the smaller stage where the band had been playing.

Missy turned within her cage to see what he was pointing at. Her eyes widened as three men and two women sitting behind a table on the small stage held up large cards with numbers on them. One held a number one, three scored the flogger at 2, and two gave her a 3.

“That’s a score of 2.2,” William said.

“The member of the board who scores highest,” said Nicola, “gets a significant bonus.”

“Plus,” William added, “there has been significant betting by members of the audience as to which Judicial Placements board member is the best with the whip.”

He glanced down at the two women in leather and added, “I have my own opinion on that, but members of the staff or crew are not eligible to place bets. I will say, however, that 2.2 doesn’t sound like it will be the winner.”

One of the male members of the board now walked over to the table and picked up a flogger. He immediately stepped behind the slave in sixth place and began swinging the flogger.

Evidently the blows caught the slave by surprise and he cried out. Most of the blows were striking on the slave’s upper back. With each blow he yelled loudly and pulled crazily at his bonds. The individual blows were so close together that the slave’s screams seemed to merge into one continuous cry.
“Ten... Ten... TEN!” William yelled into his microphone. The man struggled to stop his arm in mid-swing. The strands of the whip barely touched the slave’s back. William looked over to stage right and said, “I need a decision from the court on this one.”

A uniformed woman walked out onto the stage to join him. He handed her a microphone and she said, “Although there was contact, there was no blow, so that does not count as a stroke.” She paused and said sternly, “Had he actually struck the slave improperly, I would have declared his punishment voided... and thus fulfilled.”

She handed the microphone back to William and walked off the stage. “I have a feeling this will not get high marks,” he said as he pointed to the judges’ stand. Three 1's and two 0's were held up.

“That is score of point six,” he said shaking his head. Then turning to the crowd he said, “Even without the almost false strike,” he continued, “that would not have been rated high. When you are whipping someone– regardless of what the whip is– you need to put some time between the strokes and vary the time. That way the person has time to absorb the full shock of each stroke and can’t prepare themselves for the next one.”

Pointing back down at the ten board members stills standing on the track he said, “I am assuming that Nicola started with the weakest players on the team.” He paused a moment to add some drama and then said loudly, “Prove me right!”

Another of the women stepped up to the table and picked up a flogger. Missy, watching from above, noted that she stood slightly off center to right of the slave. The woman was evidently left-handed.

She was also evidently more experienced with a whip. She took a couple of test swings with the heavy flogger and then stepped out of her high-heeled shoes. Standing barefoot she took one more practice swing before bringing the flogger up over her head and swinging it down in a wide arc across the female slave’s ass.

The sound of the leather striking flesh echoed through the fairgrounds followed immediately by a loud, shrill scream. The woman then reached forward and lightly dragged the tips of the lash upward across the slave’s back. Then whipping it around in a twirling motion, brought it back down on the slave’s ass with another resounding “thwack.”

The slave’s scream this time was louder and more shrill than before. Now the woman stood quietly with the flogger at her side. Meanwhile the slave continued to whimper and twist in her restraints. The entire venue became very quiet as the slave– and the audience– waited expectantly for the next blow to fall.

That blow took everyone, especially the slave, by surprise. In one fluid motion, the woman brought the flogger out to the side and the slashed suddenly across in front of her so that the leather thongs struck across the slave’s ass just above where her ass cheeks blended into her thighs.

The scream this time was almost not recognizable as human. It sounded almost like a wounded animal. The next strike was almost immediate and before the slave could even respond to the blow it was followed by a second and a third and a fourth and a fifth. There was a slight pause before one more stroke landed across the slave’s ass.

Nine strokes had been applied and all nine of them had been exactly across the quivering slave’s ass. Again the woman stood passively as the slave writhed in her restraints. Her sobs could be clearly heard all the way to the back of the bleachers.

Just as the slave began to quiet down, the woman swished the flogger back and forth several times immediately behind the slave. You could see the slave tensing her entire body and pulling against the restraints as she awaited the final blow.

Once again, the woman brought the flogger up above her head, and once again she swung it in a large arc toward the bound female slave. But this time, the strands of the flogger did not crash across the slave’s ass. Instead, they landed squarely in the center of her back where she totally didn’t expect it.

The slave’s eyes flew wide open and her mouth opened wide to form a scream, but no sound came out. Instead the slave shook in her restraints for a moment and then collapsed to hang senseless in her chains.

The woman retrieved her shoes and then swaggered off the track. She waved to the crowd and they stomped and cheered. She paused a moment to check her scores and then disappeared behind the stands.

“That’s a 9.4,” William announced. “I think some of the judges are saving some room at the top in case any of the board are better.” He looked down at the still unconscious slave and said, “I think that performance would have been worth a ten if had been last.”

He then looked over to the CEO of Judicial Placements and said, “If you did begin with your weakest floggers, then we have a lot to look forward to.”

The crowd showed their approval of his comment by applauding wildly.

The next man picked up a flogger and stood behind the slave in the number eight position. The blows were strong, but were delivered at a steady pace and landed all over the slave’s back from his thighs to his shoulders. When he had finished, the slave was sweating and breathing heavily, but was still standing mute. He received a unanimous score of 4.0 from the judges.

That score was better than what the next woman board member received. She was so inept with the whip that the female slave was actually laughing at her by the time she had more or less landed her final blow. The crowd booed as the woman walked slowly off the track. Their boos turned to applause as the judges awarded another unanimous score. This time a perfect 1.0.

The next two board members were a little better, but not by much. Again, they tried to strike very hard, but did not have any finesse with the flogger and drew not much more than painful grunts from the slaves. Their scores were 3.1 and 3.5.

After the slaves had all been flogged once, William again came to the center of the stage with Nicola Gordon. “Tell us a little about Judicial Placements,” he said, pointing his microphone
toward Nicola for his answer.

“Well, William,” he began, “we provide temporary or permanent slaves for home or business use. We have slaves of all description and match the slave to the job.” He paused and looked down at the six slaves who were being re-positioned in their restraints.

“Obviously,” he continued, “our household slaves are convicted of non-violent crimes. Many of them are short-term and are unbranded. Some even still have their bodily hair so it is not obvious that you are making use of a slave to clean your house or take care of your kids. Unless you tell them, your friends and neighbors will think you have employed a maid or a nanny.”

“What about business slaves?” William asked.

“Depending on your needs,” Nicola responded, “and your security abilities, we can provide workers of every description. We will always,” he continued, “help you with your security needs and, in the case of known troublesome slaves, can provide additional professional security.”

“So these slaves here today are not household slaves?” William asked.

“They aren’t even business slaves,” Nicola responded curtly. “By the time a slave has reached the point of needing this kind of encouragement, they are relegated to the mines or farms.” He looked out at the audience before finishing with, “We are doing this public punishment today to show both our customers and our slaves that we take compliance with the judicial directives very seriously.”

“Thank you Nicola,” William said while shaking his hand. “But I see that the crews have reset the slaves for the second round of flogging.”

He looked down at the six board members still standing on the track behind the slaves and said, “We are ready to proceed with the second half of our program.”

The slaves were now restrained facing the stage. Their chains, if anything, were much tighter than they had been. One of the men picked up his flogger and walked out behind the number six slave.

As soon as he began swinging, the audience began to boo. There was almost no strength to the blows. The next several board members were only slightly better. Some struck very hard and got occasional grunts or screams from the slaves, but they obviously had no experience with the art of whipping and their scores reflected their ineptitude.

Finally there were only two board members left– the two women in leather. The woman in the miniskirt stepped forward and picked up the flogger. She snapped in briskly several times. Somehow she was able to cause the tips to crack like a bullwhip.

The crowd roared their approval.

She then stepped behind slave number four. She stood swinging the flogger in front of her for several moments. Again she moved it rapidly enough to cause noise. This time, the noise was a loud swishing sound as the strands of the flogger swung wildly at the end of each swing.

She continued swinging the flogger. The female slave was tensing slightly as he heard each swish. The woman waited until the slave’s response began to diminish. You can only respond to a menace so many times before your body begins to ignore the threat.

Once the slave became unprepared for the strike, the woman swished the whip once more across her front. But rather than stopping at the end of the swing, she continued up to shoulder level and brought the flogger down in a wide arc so that only the last inch or so of the leather strips struck the slave’s ass.

There was no loud sound of the whip striking flesh, but that was more than made up for by the extremely loud scream of the slave and the applause of the crowd which immediately followed.

Her routine of “swish, swish, swish... strike” continued for nine more strikes. Each time only the tips of the flogger touched the slave’s flesh, but by the sixth strike, blood was flowing down the slaves back.

After completing the tenth blow, the woman turned to face the audience and bowed deeply before striding off the track.

“What do the judges say?” William asked with a flourish.

In response the judges held up their cards. There were two nines and three tens for an average of 9.6.

“That looks like the number to beat,” William said loudly. “Can our last board member top 9.6?”

In answer to William’s question, the last board member, the one dressed in the leather almost-catsuit, stepped forward and took the last flogger from the table. She also caused it to make noise, but she did it by rotating the handles violently in a tight circle at shoulder level. Her arm was held just far enough away from her body so that the leather thongs did not strike her head.

The “wump wump” of the flogger spinning in the air filled the arena. The woman stepped closer and closer to the female slave in position three and then stepped back. She did that several times as the slave cringed and tightened her body awaiting the blow.

The woman watched the slave’s response and then, while she was backing up slightly and the slave was relaxing her body, she opened the circle of the spinning leather and struck the slave squarely across the top of her back. Unlike the previous board member, this woman’s flogger struck with almost the full length of the leather and caused a loud pop that could be heard throughout the stands.

The female slave tried to keep from crying out, but a muffled cry escaped her lips. The “wump wump” of the spinning whip began once again. Now the slave was cringing and reacting both as the sound came closer and as it backed away.

This time, the woman in leather waited until she was at her farthest point away from the slave and then leaned forward to strike– this time squarely across the female’s ass cheeks.

The slave was totally unprepared for the blow and screamed loudly. Her scream continued as she thrashed in her restraints. Then when she had quieted her body and voice, the “wump wump” began once again.

It was obvious that the slave was trying to prepare herself for the blow, but there was no way of knowing where or when the next blow would strike. The woman in the leather catsuit struck low on the woman’s ass. Many of the leather thongs actually struck the slave’s thighs.

This continued for six more strikes. There was now one blow left. The woman began spinning the flogger even faster so that the “wump wump” was both louder and higher in pitch. She stepped forward until the leather strips were just short of striking the slave and then she stepped back.

She continued her dance for several minutes. Then she reached up and grabbed the thongs of the flogger. Everything was now quiet. The audience could see that the woman was slowly drawing back her arm to get the maximum strike with the flogger, but she was, for some reason, holding her arm down, not up.

The slave was quivering slightly dreading that final blow. Suddenly the woman snapped the flogger forward and up between the slave’s legs. Her timing and positioning was exquisite. The slave was totally unprepared for the blow. And the thongs of the flogger curled up on the front of the slave’s cunt biting deeply into the total length of her slit. The very tip of the leather strips snapped loudly against the flesh above her cunt.

One of the strips evidently landed squarely on the slave’s clit because there was a loud scream which continued for many seconds before finally dying away almost like a steam kettle when the heat is turned off. The slave had lost consciousness.

Like the board member before her, the woman turned and bowed to the crowd. This time the applause was like thunder and most of the crowd was on their feet.

As the catsuit-clad woman strode off the field, the judges held up their scores. “We have a perfect ten!” William screamed. The crowd renewed their applause.

After the crowd quieted down and was once again in their seats, William said, “How was that for an undercard event?”

The crowd roared out their answer.

“We still have the main event yet to come,” he said, reverting to his ringmaster voice. “As soon as the JDI security people have removed the slaves and the stage crew has removed the restraint posts, you will witness slave missy’s second day of punishment.”

A recording began playing through the speakers as a large group of men and women in black JPI Security shirts swarmed onto the track and led the six slaves away. Three of the slaves had to be supported by the security people. One, the last female slave, had to be carried.

After the JPI guards removed the slaves, the stage crew hastily removed the twelve posts. They also dragged the large framework out into the center of the stage. Missy stared down at the frame from her cage and began to whimper. She had witnessed the ordeal of the six slaves... and they had received only 20 lashes. She would receive 46. How would she ever stand it? Would she even survive it?

As the cage began to slowly descend to stage level, she found herself murmuring and then saying and then finally yelling, “No, no, no, no, no...”

The door to the cage opened, but missy couldn’t bring herself to step out. She was still softly chanting, “No, no, no, no...”

She yelped as a hand reached through the bars and touched her shoulder. She spun around and found herself looking into William’s eyes. “This is going to hurt,” he said. “I won’t lie to you. But you can get through it.”

He reached through the bars and took her hands in his. “Remember what I told you about not getting scared by the undercard. They don’t have a performance tomorrow... you do.” His voice dropped lower as he added, “You have to trust me that this will not be more than you can endure. Remember that everything we do is a performance. Think about your fantasies and you will get through this.”

William stepped back around to the front of the cage and motioned for missy to come out onto the stage. It took all of her will to force herself to move, but she very shakily stepped out of the cage.

Two of the black garbed security people led her over to the frame and stretched her arms up to the restraints. One guard removed the manacle from her right wrist and immediately the other guard wrapped that wrist in a leather restraint. They repeated that procedure on her other wrist and then on her ankles.

The guards were evidently not satisfied with how missy hung in her chains, because one of them reached up and pulled on the end of the chain which was hanging down next to one of the uprights of the frame. There was a loud clicking sound– at least it sounded loud to missy as she stood between the uprights of the frame– and the tension on her arm increased. He pulled on the chain on the opposite upright and missy could feel her body being pulled taut. The two guards looked at each other and both nodded their heads indicating they were now pleased.

“Thank you gentlemen,” William said as the men walked off the stage. There was now no one on the stage except missy and her master.

“The law,” William began in his loud stage voice, “specifies that public flogging counts double.” He slowly swung the flogger he was holding in his hands. Missy couldn’t help herself as she watched the long strips of leather move back and forth. “Normally,” he continued, “that means that the specified strokes are cut in half. But in this case the number of strokes are fixed at 46.”

Many of the women in the crowd gasped loudly. William gave them time to murmur among themselves for just a moment and then continued. “The proceeds of today, however, will be counted double against this slave’s sentence.”

He moved around behind missy. She could feel her body tensing up against the impending strike. Nothing happened for a long moment... and then her world exploded as the lash hit across her shoulders. The slap of leather against flesh seemed very loud to her and pain shot through her body. It was nowhere near the pain she had experienced when she was branded, but it was definitely more than the hand spanking she had received the previous day.

“One,” she heard someone say through the speakers. The voice wasn’t William’s. He must have someone counting for him.

The pain came again as the flogger struck at about shoulder blade level. “Two,” said the voice. Some of the people in the crowd were starting to count with him.

A few moments later, the leather strands slammed into her back just below the previous strike. William was doing what he said a person shouldn’t do with a whip. He was striking with a regular measured pace. “Three,” called out the voice– and about half of the audience.

The next strike was just a little lower on missy’s back. The one that followed was even lower. It was readily apparent that William was working his way slowly down her body. She prepared herself for the next blow which came exactly on schedule, exactly where she expected it. The pain was somehow less when it didn’t surprise her.

That didn’t mean that there was no pain. Missy screamed and yelled and pulled against her chains. But the pain was not more than she could stand. And she did not lose consciousness. Her mind, however, did seem to retreat from reality. Her body got into the rhythm of the swings while her mind went somewhere else and looked down at her from above. In her mind, she could see the person writhing in pain in the punishment frame, but it wasn’t really her even though she could still definitely feel the pain of each blow.

When the crowd shouted out, “Twenty-three,” William pause and stepped aside as eight members of the stage crew rushed onto the stage and pushed and grunted as they turned the heavy platform around. Missy was now facing the back of the stage. William leaned in close to her and said, “No one can see your pussy anymore. If you want to let your fantasies take over, no one will see you drip.”

Missy couldn’t imagine that what William was doing to her could turn her on. She was even more sure of that when strike 24 landed on her ass. Instead she concentrated on going back to where she had been. By strike 28, she was once again the disinterested observer who just happened to be feeling the pain of the subject she was watching.

But she couldn’t get William’s words out of her mind and as the blows continued to fall, she found herself starting to get aroused. “This can’t be!” she thought to herself. The wetness she could feel between her legs, however, told her clearly, “But it is!”

As she felt herself getting wetter, the pain began to change. It was still pain... or was it? It was sensation... intense sensation, but was it really pain?

William now seemed to be concentrating his blows in one place. They were still at the same measured pace as before, but they weren’t moving up and down her body. They were all on her ass.

Soon the sensations seemed to move forward from her ass cheeks. It was as if the strokes were, somehow, striking against her cunt. The pain was still in her ass cheeks, but there was another sensation that was definitely in her cunt. It was no longer possible for her mind to observe herself writhing in her chains. The sensations– good and bad– were too intense.

Missy could feel it growing closer as the crowd shouted out, “Thirty-nine.” It slowly moved closer and closer with each stroke.

“Forty-two.” It was almost there.

“Forty-three.” It was even closer.

“Forty-four.” Her body was now bucking violently in its restraints.

“Forty-five.” A scream that began from deep within her bubbled up into her throat.

“Forty-six.” William’s last stroke, like for the slave in position three, was delivered with a rising swing up between missy’s legs. Pain shattered through her body and it arrived.

She screamed a long, loud, gurgling scream as the orgasm washed over her. The audience thought she was being overwhelmed with pain, but they were wrong. She was being overwhelmed with pleasure. She thrashed and screamed for several moments and then her mind returned to her body. The pleasure was suddenly gone and the pain finally did overwhelm her. She passed out and hung from her chains.

William turned and bowed to the crowd. Then he threw the flogger to the stage between missy’s feet. Recorded music again began to play as the crowd started to file out of the fair grounds. Many came up to the stage to take pictures of missy hanging limp in the punishment frame.

A few minutes later, an ambulance rolled slowly up to the stage. Two paramedics wheeled a Gurney onto the stage itself and stood by as several JPI security guards released missy and brought her over to the cart.

“Put her on face down,” William said, and they did so.

The paramedics quickly loaded her into the ambulance itself. William got into the front with the driver and they left with lights flashing.

Although several news crews captured video of the ambulance leaving the race track, none noticed that it didn’t go out onto the highway. Instead it proceeded across the fairgrounds and stopped at William’s bus.

Missy had regained consciousness, but was very shaky as she was led up into the bus. “Should we put her in bed?” one of the paramedics asked. “Face down,” William replied.

After the medics left, William sat on the bed and lightly stroked missy’s head.

“I could see the blood on the whip,” she said softly. “And I could feel the wetness on my back.”
Lifting her head slightly, she faced William and asked, “How badly am I cut up?” Her eyes were fearful as she asked, “Will I scar?”

“Not unless you are allergic to corn syrup or red food dye,” he answered breaking into a smile. He then held up the flogger and explained. “This is suede. It’s a very soft leather. It still hurts like hell, but it won’t break the skin if you use it properly... and suede is very porous. I soaked it in a mixture of water, corn syrup, and red food coloring.”

When missy continued to look confused, he added, “Stage blood. I shook off enough so that the whip looked dry when I started, but each stroke deposited some of the fake blood on your skin. By the time they turned you around, your back looked like hamburger. And by the time I was finished, it looked like you were dripping blood onto the ground. The big problem is soft suede doesn’t sound like leather, so I had a roadie off-stage with a mic set up close to a folding chair. Each time I struck, he slapped the chair with a thick magazine.”

He smiled at her once again. “Remember I told you that this is all a performance... and you have another show tomorrow.” He handed her a bottle of shower gel and said, “I know it still hurt like hell but it’s going to bruise if I don’t get the ointment on it, so you get into the shower and rinse that crap off your back. Then come back here and I will rub the ointment on you.

By the time missy had returned from the shower, William had turned down her sheets and was waiting with the tube of salve. He examined her back and legs carefully before applying the ointment. He softly hummed something as he rubbed it softly into her back and buttocks.

“Will it always be fake?” missy asked.

In reply he slapped her ass lightly and she yelped from the pain. “If it was fake,” he replied, “your ass wouldn’t be all red and swollen. It was real, it was just... augmented for the benefit of the paying public– and to make sure that you weren’t damaged.”

He sighed slightly and said, “Some things we can mess with and some we can’t. If there is something that could harm you rather than just hurt you, I will augment that performance. It’s all going to hurt, though. Sorry, missy, but that’s just the way it is.”

He again patted her ass, this time very softly, and said, “You stay here and let the salve do its magic. I’ll fix dinner in a little while and come back and get you.”

To her surprise, missy had fallen asleep before William came back to call her to supper.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

END CHAPTER FOUR OF THIRTEEN

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Published eBooks by Wayne Mitchell (The Technician}
The Perfect Sex Toy http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=9639
Senior Project http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=7753
Handcuff Island http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=8160
I, Masochist http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=8263
UMPA Eleven http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=10952

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

You can also leave feedback & comments for this story on the Plaza Forum

16.07.16

story continued in part five

o0o

If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
bound stories