CHAPTER FOUR - Doc’s Final Story
When David and slave yul got to the ballroom Sunday morning, Doc was already at his table. As they joined him he gestured toward the stage which was set up at one end of the room. “Mark your menu,” he said, “and the chefs will prepare your omelet and whatever. Meanwhile we can watch the discipline demonstration.” He then turned his attention back to the stage.
On stage, four naked females were standing in a line. A Mistress in a full leather Dom outfit was walking back and forth in front of them slapping the handle of a short, black crop against her hand. She was dressed in a soft, black leather teddy that molded tightly to her body. Her legs were sheathed in matching knee-high high-heeled boots with a large front knee flap that reached several inches up her thighs. Her hands and arms were covered in elbow-length black gloves of the same soft black leather from which the boots and teddy were made.
After a few moments, she stopped and walked to the front of the stage. “Masters and Mistresses,” she said, then she laughed and added, “...and everyone else here. For those of you who do not know me, I am Mistress Matilda and I specialize in domination and punishment. In fact, you might say that I am a punishment expert.”
She used her crop to point to the line of slaves and said, “These four slaves have been given over to me by their Mistresses or Masters for punishment. They have proven... difficult... to discipline so I am going to demonstrate some different ways of punishing a slave that might be more... effective.”
She motioned to someone at the edge of the stage and three spanking pillories, each mounted on a small, mobile platform, were rolled to the center of the stage. A black-clad staff woman stood next to each of them. “First,” Mistress Matilda said an almost joyful voice, “a simple spanking for simple problems.” She again used her crop to point and singled out three of the slaves saying, “You... you... and you,” as she pointed to them and then to one of the pillories.
“This,” she began, pointing to one of the pillories, “is a spanking pillory of my own design. It has a head and hand bar like any pillory.” She ran her crop around the large circle intended to hold a person’s head and the two smaller circles intended to hold their hands. “The stocks portion is rather standard except that it is lower to the ground than a standard pillory. Many Mistresses and Masters make the mistake of putting a slave in a tall pillory for a spanking, but that holds them far too upright. Not only is your target not displayed, but there is a much higher chance of hitting too high and damaging the kidneys or spleen.”
She nodded her head and the three staff women guided the slaves into the pillories, setting their necks in the large half-circle and their hands in the smaller circles. One of the staff women took something out of a box at the base of the pillory and put it in the half circles intended for the hands.
“You will notice,” Mistress Matilda said, pointing to that pillory, “that my assistant has changed the inserts in the hand holes because this particular slave has very small wrists and hands. There are three different inserts which adjust the holes for almost any size slave.”
Mistress Matilda walked back and forth behind the three slaves, lightly tapping each of them with the end of her crop. One slave yelped lightly in surprise. The other two remained silent. “Notice,” the Mistress said, “how the position of the small spanking horse forces the slave to stay back slightly from the pillory while at the same time causing them to lay their hips across the padded top of the horse. There are no tight bindings so the slave can be left in this pillory for a significant length of time to contemplate what they have done wrong.”
She motioned with her crop and the three staff women came around to stand behind the pilloried slaves. “I always start with a hand spanking,” she said and the three women began administering a rapid series of spanks to each slave. They were not overly hard, but there were about fifty spanks before they quit.
“Such a warm up,” Mistress Matilda said, facing the crowd, “is very beneficial if you are doing a therapeutic spanking or a love spanking.” She paused to smile slightly. “I do it,” she continued, “because I enjoy watching the bright red glow that appears on the ass cheeks. That bright red glow also clearly defines your target as you move to the true punishment phase.”
One of the staff women stepped forward and handed Mistress Matilda a black leather paddle. “A leather paddle is quite sufficient for most punishments. She swung it and smacked the first slave smartly across both asscheeks. The slave yelped slightly. A darken red area immediately appeared across her ass.
“According to her Master, slave terry, here,” Mistress Matilda said flatly, “responds with great anger and petulance after a punishment. He told me that spanking her harder only seemed to make it worse. She looked out into the crowd of people eating breakfast and asked, “Master Arnold, have you ever considered that you are already punishing her too severely?”
She returned to stand behind slave terry and said firmly, “Ten swats with the paddle, slave terry. You are to count each one.”
Slave terry sniffled and said, “Yes, Mistress.”
Then Mistress Matilda again swung the paddle. This time it landed on slave terry’s left asscheek with a loud pop. “One, Mistress,” slave terry immediately said.
The next smack was on the right asscheek. Then back to the left but slightly higher. Mistress Matilda continued this pattern, slowly moving up and down slave terry’s asscheeks. Then, at swat nine, she moved so that the paddle hit across both asscheeks with a resounding “Thwack!”
Slave terry yelped and cried, but managed to say, “Nine, Mistress.”
The tenth swat was much louder. So was slave terry’s yelp. It was only after almost a minute of sobbing and crying that slave terry was able to sob out the count of, “Ten, Mistress.”
“Roll her over to the edge of the stage,” the Mistress commanded and two of the staff women pushed the platform with slave terry to the very side edge of the stage. Her face was pointed toward Mistress Matilda, and her shiny red ass was on display to everyone on that side of the room.
“Now for a standard punishment spanking... with the proper implement,” Mistress Matilda said tersely as she walked up to the second slave. “This slave is continually disrespectful to her Mistress, aren’t you slave inez?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but instead delivered eight or ten rapid smacks with her hand to the slave’s ass.
“Your glow was starting to fade,” she said brightly. Then she nodded to the staff woman who handed her a solid wooden paddle.
“This paddle,” the Mistress continued, “is... or can be... much more painful than the leather paddle. You have to swing it slightly differently so that you are still swinging fully at the time of impact.”
She swung the paddle in a wide arc and slammed it into slave inez’s ass. The slave responded with a shrill scream. Mistress Matilda quickly said, “See? Now, slave inez, you will count out an even dozen swats. Do you understand that?”
Slave inez was still crying slightly but she answered, “Yes.”
“I am going to be going rather fast, so you may have to work to keep up,” Mistress Matilda said firmly. Then she started swinging the wooden paddle against slave inez’s ass.
She had said that it would be fast, and it was. Mistress Matilda was striking as fast as she could. Slave inez had no time to sob or cry out. Instead she called out, “One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine, ten, eleven, twelve.” The last four numbers were actually called out after the spanking had ended. As soon as she said, “twelve,” slave inez dissolved into heavy sobbing and tears. After a few moments, she called out, “Please, Master, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please, no more. No more.”
“There won’t be any more,” Mistress Matilda said sternly. Then she turned to the crowd and said, “Sometimes you just have to overwhelm the slave. Slave inez has experienced much worse than what she received today and remained defiant. That was because she was allowed to prepare herself for each blow. I didn’t give her that time to prepare.”
Slave inez was rolled over to the side of the stage as Mistress Matilda stepped up to the next pilloried slave. She smiled and then laughed and then said to the crowd, “You are going to enjoy this.” After a pause she said much more sternly, “Slave wanda will not.”
A staff woman handed Mistress Matilda a clear paddle that had three rows of five one-inch holes drilled in it. “This is half-inch Lexan,” the Mistress explained. “The leather bonded to the handle area provides some padding and prevents it slipping from your hand.”
She tapped it lightly against slave wanda’s ass and said, “There is no real difference between this paddle and a similarly-drilled oak paddle... at least no difference that slave wanda can tell. But it is clear, which allows me to see slave wanda’s ass skin bulge up into each of these marvelous holes.”
She stuck her finger through one of the holes and said, “Strangely, the greatest pain from this paddle comes not in the area that slams into your ass, but rather in the area of the holes. Those holes will create little round, painful welts. And unless you land exactly in the same place each time, the next swat will multiply the pain in those circles and create fifteen new circles of pain.”
She turned to address the slave and said, “Slave wanda, you don’t need to count. You don’t need to say anything until you want it to end. Then you will beg me to stop and apologize to your Master. If I think it is sincere, I will stop. If not, I will keep spanking.”
Slave wanda’s only response was a curt, “Fuck you.”
Mistress Matilda merely smiled slightly and shook her head. Then she started the spanking. The first stroke was a very loud, crisp, “Smack!” Slave wanda just grunted. The Mistress was very methodical and paced. There was a very regular pattern of “Smack!”, grunt, “Smack!”, grunt, “Smack!”, grunt, “Smack!”, grunt, “Smack!”, grunt, “Smack!”, grunt, “Smack!”, grunt.
That continued for perhaps fifteen or sixteen strokes when slave wanda began groaning softly with each stroke. After a few more strokes, her groans were yelps. A few more strokes and the yelps became short screams. At stroke twenty-one, slave wanda screamed out, “No, no, Stop! Please stop.”
The spanking slowed, but did not stop. At stroke twenty-three slave wanda called out, “Please, Mistress Matilda, I can’t stand any more.” Another stroke landed and slave wanda cried, “I’m sorry, Master Thomas. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Mistress Matilda stopped and lowered the paddle to her side. “Roll her over with the others and rub some pain relief and antiseptic on her ass,” she said as she handed the paddle to the staff woman.
She took a thin cane from the staff woman and then walked over to the one slave still standing on the stage. “Spread your legs!” she said firmly and the slave moved her feet so they were widely spread.
“Slave brenda here has been watching all this,” Mistress Matilda said, pointing at the other three slaves with her cane. “You would think that she would be standing here quaking in fear, but is she?”
Mistress Matilda suddenly reached between slave brenda’s legs and pulled two fingers through slave brenda’s slit. She laughed and said, “No, she is not quaking in fear. She is trembling with desire.”
She stood back slightly and gestured with her hand. “What you have here, Masters and Mistresses, is a true pain slut. She was getting off imagining herself in place of each of the three slaves. And now she is dripping imagining me using this cane on her ass.”
She turned to fully face the crowd and asked, “How do you punish a pain slut?”
Then she said, “The problem with punishing this slave is obvious. How can you punish a slave that gets off on pain?” She put her hands on her hips and looked out at the crowd as if awaiting an answer, but then she answered her own question. “There are actually two ways. One way is to push her... or him... past her ability to turn the pain into pleasure. But doing that risks permanent damage as some pain sluts will gain pleasure from pain almost up to the point of total destruction. The other way is to make use of one of Master W’s little inventions.”
She clapped her hands sharply and two of the black-clad staff people hurriedly rolled what looked like a cross between a small spanking horse and a Sybian out onto the stage and locked its wheels in place. It was slightly more than waist high for Mistress Matilda and was made of brown leather with thick, circular metal legs that were attached firmly to the rolling platform. A thick strap of leather ran from each of the front legs to the corresponding back leg. In the middle of the strap was a large wrist or ankle restraint.
“Bind her and put her on the Edger,” the Dom said firmly. Two naked slaves scurried onto the stage carrying a cross-arm binding glove. It worked much like a regular binding glove except that rather than the person’s arms being extended straight behind them, the arms are crossed behind the back with the left hand resting in the right elbow and the right hand resting in the left elbow. And rather than having a long lacing that could be tightened to pull the arms together, there were a series of Velcro closures which allowed the “glove” to be wrapped around the crossed forearms. Binding a slave’s arms in this fashion forced her shoulders back and pulled her tits upward making her nipples point toward the ceiling.
One of the naked slaves ran offstage and quickly returned with a small remote which she handed to the Mistress. Then both stood next to the device. Mistress Matilda pressed a button on the remote and the Edger lowered itself slightly. It was now low enough so that the slave could be positioned over the saddle. Like a Sybian, there were two prongs on the pink saddle. Unlike the Sybian, the front dildo did not rotate or wobble. One of the naked slaves smeared some lube on the two prongs and the Dom raised the Edger back up until the slave was seated on the saddle. The two naked slaves then quickly bound the slave’s ankles in the restraints which were attached to the thick leather straps at floor level. After that, the Mistress raised the Edger slightly higher so that the slave’s feet were just off the ground and then lowered it until the balls of her feet were resting on the platform.
“This doesn’t look like punishment,” the Dom said. “It looks like it could be quite enjoyable.” She laughed. “And it could be,” she continued, “if it weren’t for Master W’s orgasm detection circuitry.”
The Edger started humming softly. “This device is very capable of giving you an extremely nice orgasm... but it won’t. At least, it won’t while in Edger mode. Instead, the sensors on the two probes will detect your level of arousal and then back off just before you reach release.”
The Dom reached over and stroked one of the slave’s breasts. She tweaked a nipple and then said, “This slave who would be able to stand the most brutal beating and ask for more, will... eventually... beg for your forgiveness and beg to be released from this torture by pleasure. THAT is how you punish a painslut.”
The crowd burst into applause and Mistress Matilda bowed in response. “I am going to leave slave brenda sitting here in the center of the stage while you all finish your breakfast. It may take some time, but eventually you will hear here beg her Master’s forgiveness.”
She gave a short nod and then left the stage amidst thundering applause.
As the applause slowly faded, Doc leaned back in his wheelchair and said, “I think it’s time to finish my story. I had just left Gloria rather than make love to her in her very fragile and upset frame of mind. “When I got back to my office, the newspaper was still on my desk. It no longer had a huge headline about the building exploding, but near the back of the paper there was a short article saying that the body of a young woman had been discovered in the building. The super was worried about her and went up to check. She had slashed her wrists and bled out on the bed. I immediately went back to the point where I had left.”
Doc laughed slightly. “I know that some guys talk about getting a mercy fuck, but I’ve never heard it applied the other way around. She was attractive, and my body had no problem responding, but my mind really wasn’t into it. I was only doing it so she wouldn’t kill herself.”
“My mind not being into it didn’t make any difference to my body once we got started. She reached orgasm just as I spurted into her. I stayed with her for another hour or so and before I left, I made her promise that she wouldn’t do anything stupid. I promised that I would stop in to see her the next day. And I did. I arrived invisible so I could check on how she was doing. She was cleaning up the apartment... and was totally naked. I walked up behind her and grabbed her hand.”
He took a deep breath. “I appeared and she said, ‘Welcome, my angel, I have been waiting for you.’ Then she started rubbing up against me and pushing me toward her bedroom.”
“I told her, ‘I saved you so you could get on with your life, not for my pleasure.’ She smiled and responded, ‘What about my pleasure?’”
“‘What about getting on with your life?’ I answered, and she said flatly, ‘What life?’”
“I had given it a lot of thought, so I answered, ‘The life you could have if you wanted it. If you could do anything with your life, what would you do?’”
“She didn’t even have to think about it. She answered immediately and emphatically, ‘I’d become a nurse!’” That’s when the Victor Marsden Medical Scholarship Program was born. Gloria was the first recipient. But after her first semester, she had to take some time off to have a baby. I arranged for everything she needed on the grounds that the Marsden Foundation couldn’t let its first scholarship recipient wash out just because she had become a mother. I even stopped by to see her as my future self... well, as myself as I was then. I was afraid that she would recognize me, and she did look at me a little strangely at first. I asked her about it and she said I reminded her of someone. She looked down like she was embarrassed or maybe thought that I wouldn’t believe her. Then she said, ‘The baby’s father. He looks a lot like you, only younger... a lot younger.’ She paused and smiled at me in a real funny way, then she added, ‘... and he’s an angel.’”
“I hadn’t realized it until that very moment. But whenever I go back, I am exactly like I was when I first put on the necklace. Gloria’s angel was a forty-year younger me. She was sort of surprised that I didn’t question that the father was an angel. I could see it in her face, but she didn’t say anything. We talked a little about her plans for the future and then I left her.”
“The angel me checked in on her regularly, but we never had sex again. Maybe that was because I started showing up in angel robes... and then in regular clothes. I was there for all the important events in the boy’s life, but I remained invisible... most of the time. Gloria thought that only she could see me, but it was really that I was very careful about when I appeared and when I bounced back.”
David looked at Doc Martin very carefully for several minutes with his face very tense. “You are describing my mother,” he finally said as he threw his dinner napkin onto the table and started to rise. “Please stay,” Doc said, making a motion with his hands, “there is a very important part of this story that you have to hear.”
“What I want to hear,” David said angrily through clenched teeth, “is why you didn’t save her when her Medivac flight crashed. If you could do all these things, why didn’t you just go back and tell her not to go to work that day.”
Doc stared blankly at something over David’s right shoulder. His eyes welled up with tears. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally spoke. “I did,” he said flatly. Then he continued in a voice hoarse with grief, “I went back and told her that she had to call in sick that day. When she asked why, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her, but she knew. What other reason could there be.”
“‘Mediflight One is going to crash, isn’t it?’ she finally said. Then she asked if I could stop the crash.”
“I told her that the cause of the crash wasn’t known, so there was nothing I could do. They called it pilot error, but I went back and watched the pilot from the time he got up in the morning. There were no pills... no drugs... no booze... nothing that I could change to prevent the crash. I told her that I couldn’t bring myself to actually be there at the time of the crash because it would mean watching her die.”
“She took my hand and said very softly, ‘If I don’t go, someone else will die in my place won’t they?’”
When I didn’t answer, she knew that the answer was yes. We sat there in silence for a long time, then she finally spoke. ‘Can you be with me?’ she asked. “
“‘I will be there,’ I promised, and I was. I was visible for a second or two so she would know I was there and then bounced back and came back invisible. I held her arm above her wrist so I wouldn’t touch her hand. She could feel me and knew I was there.”
Doc’s tears were now streaming down his face. He wiped his eyes with one of the table napkins and said, “They were approaching a huge pile-up on the interstate when suddenly there was a loud noise and the pilot yelled out, ‘We’re going in. Hang on.’ He tried to autogyro in, but hit a powerline with the rotor blades and slammed into the ground. The experts tried to call it pilot error, but I forced them to look closer at the turbine. I even paid for some really expensive tests that found small pieces of plastic from some sort of cheap drone that maybe someone had been using to take pictures of the crash.”
“The hospital and the community said that your mother died a hero. But they didn’t know how much of a hero. She went on that flight knowing it would crash because she wouldn’t change things so that someone else would die in her place.”
Doc again became very quiet. “I could have saved her if I had ever been able to find out who was flying that drone. I went back again and again, but it just suddenly appeared in front of the turbine intake. The most logical theory was that it had been caught in the wake turbulence of a plane taking off at the airport and had been dragged to a high altitude and then dropped. But I couldn’t find anyone flying a drone near the airport either. Maybe it got away from its owner and ran out of battery and fell out of the sky in front of the helicopter. I could never find out where it came from. I tried getting the pilot to change takeoff time or his route, but he was too highly trained. Regardless of what I said or did, they took off as fast as they could once they got the call and he went exactly on the route dictated to avoid problems with other medivacs.”
Doc looked David directly in the eyes and said, “I would have saved your mother if I could, but I couldn’t. That’s another reality of the Timelooper. There are some things that you cannot change... no matter how hard you try.” Doc’s voice got soft and slightly raspy as he added, “You just have to live with them.”
After a short silence, David said, “Why are you telling me all of this?”
Doc said, “Isn’t it obvious?” Then he intentionally made his voice very breathy and distorted and said, “Luke, I am your father.”
“I figured that out,” David said, “but why are you telling me this now?”
Doc coughed slightly as if to clear his throat and said, “I told you that I couldn’t go back farther than my birth.”
David nodded.
“I can’t tell you,” Doc continued, “what happens after next Wednesday either.” He then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Suddenly a tight necklace appeared around his throat. “You just have to think ‘appear’ and it becomes visible,” he said in a soft voice. Then he grasped the necklace with his hands, carefully stretched it, and pulled it up over his head.
“Once it is visible,” he said, “you can remove it. Remember to do that if you have to have an MRI or something like that. It’s invisible, but it’s still there.”
Doc held the necklace out to David. “I can’t accept that,” David said.
“Oh,” Doc said, “I am giving you a lot more than this Timelooper. You are my son. I am listed as your father on your birth certificate. I had it changed a few months ago. I also filled out your middle name. I told Gloria to use just an M and the rest would be revealed later. You might want to get a new official copy of that.”
Doc held the necklace right next to David’s hand. “You are my son,” he said firmly. “I have enough DNA proof to prevent anyone from ever contesting it. You are my only child. Deb was never able to have children and she knew that an adoption investigation would uncover that we were Master and Mistress. Not everyone agrees with our lifestyle. It would have been impossible for us to adopt.”
Doc used his other hand to gesture around them, “All this is yours,” he said “or will be very soon.”
David took the necklace and stretched it slightly. “The jewel goes on the right side,” Doc said with a smile. “I think you know what to do.”
David DeAngelo stepped purposefully into the elaborately-restored ballroom of the Marsden Mansion. He was dressed in a black, western-cut suit with a black polo shirt under the coat. On his feet were black cowboy boots. On his head was a white Stetson hat.
As a middle-aged man dressed in a red suit coat of some sort, black pants, and a frilly white shirt approached him, he said firmly, “Announce me as Master David. Master David Marsden DeAngelo.”
The man startled for just a moment and then came to attention and said, “Yes, sir.” He pounded his tall, heavy cane on the floor and yelled loudly, “Master David Marsden DeAngelo.”
David handed him his hat and said, “Please have this taken to my room. I understand it is next to Master Marsden’s. And see to it that my luggage is brought up from the car.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said as Master David strode across the ballroom to join Master Victor at his table.
THE END