“Then, of course, there are the initial infractions which, I am certain; you knew you would be reported for, didn’t you?”
Marcy didn’t respond, thinking that anything she said would not help her and might simply give Boswick yet another infraction to load onto her already ponderous discipline obligations.
“No comments?” Boswick queried, glancing up from his notes. “Okay, how about the little session with the new toy that came in from Germany yesterday. You apparently felt it was your duty to check out her qualifications.”
Marcy looked up, forcing her head back against her chained arms and trying to look Boswick in the eyes.
“I know nothing about that,” she said in a quiet monotone, lowering her head once again and wondering what the hell that was all about. She knew the new girl had been placed in a cell in her area, but she had not had any contact with her…yet. So this charge was pure fabrication and perhaps a cover-up by someone else for what they had actually done. “When in doubt, shove the blame up the line,” was a mantra she often heard at the school and she had done it many times herself, assigning fault to someone in charge rather than taking the fault herself or letting it far to one of her girls.
“Nice little item, don’t you think?” Boswick added. “Is she going to be a valuable addition to the school team, Miss Neidler?” Boswick pressed, putting his notebook on the floor and standing up. Marcy said nothing.
“Okay. That’s the interrogation for now,” Boswick said merrily, walking over to the trunks on the wall and opening each at random, then choosing a single item and, turning around, putting it behind his back so that Marcy couldn’t see what he held. “Let’s improve your attention a bit, Neidler.” He stood in front of the hanging girl and, grabbing her single braid at the top of her head, pulled her head back and through her extended arms, then jammed a huge rubber plug into her open mouth. The gag was large, but Marcy had accommodated larger ones in her time and she accepted the plug as a gift for the moment because it precluded her having to answer any more of Boswick’s stupid questions. It would keep her from incriminating herself as well. The gag fit easily and Boswick pulled the wide strap around her head, making certain that the external pad was correctly fitted just below Marcy’s nose and covering the area around her plugged mouth, sealing the aperture and helping muffle any sounds that might later come from there.
He tightened the strap behind her head, moving it lower so that it rested on the base of her skull, more on her neck than on her head. As this was being done, Marcy noticed that it was an inflatable gag and her earlier thoughts of this possibly being a slightly less rigorous punishment dissipated as Boswick pumped the inflation bulb enthusiastically, expanding the plug inside her mouth and forcing her jaws even wider. Marcy gasped, deeply inhaling through her nose. Boswick pumped more. Her mouth was jammed open in the position of a gaping scream and her jaws ached immediately from the strain. She moaned involuntarily and Boswick, giving the tight inflation bulb a final squeeze, nodded approvingly and disconnected the bulb hose from the valve at the front of the gag pad.
“There. That’s a good start, Neidler. Now, do you want to tell me about your soirée with the German cunt or do we go to the next level?” Boswick said, still composed and appearing very relaxed. Marcy groaned and continued to stare at the rafters because her head was held back behind her extended arms and Boswick was busily tying off her braid to the post several feet behind her. He also adjusted the post’s suspension mechanism so that Marcy hung in true hammock fashion, with her wrists at about the same height above the floor as her ankles. The stress of this position was intense and she knew that if left there for any length of time, something would be damaged, perhaps beyond later reclamation. She weighed a mere 110 pounds, but the position was extremely hazardous for many reasons and she seldom used it except for a cursory introduction to discipline with students. From this painful state, most victims willingly cooperated in any way they could. Now she was stretched from wrists to ankles and feeling as though her shoulders and knees were about to pop out of their sockets and leave her a cripple for life. Compared to the horizontal rack, which was only used now and then because it was, according to school lore, an archaic training device, this post and arm gibbet thing was a much greater horror. Marcy was sure that Boswick knew this too and she hoped that he also knew she was near the limits of her endurance. She shut her eyes and tried to make the tears of pain go away, but they didn’t. Boswick saw the tears, wiped them from her cheeks and quickly fitted a padded leather band over her eyes. The blindfold completed her “uniform” for the moment and Marcy knew this was still a prelude to what came next. Boswick’s full concerto was yet to come and she wasn’t looking forward to it.
The eight foot long horsewhip struck without warning, searing a thin red line around her waist with the cracker ending up in the middle of her back where it left a deeper welt. So surprised was Marcy at the blow that she had to subconsciously recalibrate herself before her body and brain reacted to the burning pain from the lash to her midsection. Boswick seemed delighted at her delayed reaction to the blow.
“How’s that for a warm-up?” he said, slowly re coiling the whip and then lightly touching the weals on Marcy’s waist and back. “There’s plenty more where that came from,” he said. “But right now, I think I want to improve your education about this particular gadget you’re so neatly dangling from.”
What the hell does he mean by that? Marcy wondered. She pretty much knew every tool and toy in the school’s inventory. What did Boswick have in mind?
Part of the beauty of the post and gibbet structure in the sub basement was that it seldom revealed all of its qualities at one time. That is, people who were disciplined on the post might not even be hung from the gibbet and those who were strung up by, say their feet for the gibbet, might never experience the complex suspension that Marcy was currently in. Others might spend a night or two hung facing the post while their backs and buttocks were flogged while others might only recall being chained to the base of the post while some portion of their body was violated. Boswick knew every nuance of the post and gibbet and he was about to display an aspect that Marcy and most of the rest of the school didn’t know about. First, he went to one of the trunks and removed what looked like a duplicate of the gibbet arm with various hardware and fittings on it. Carrying it to the post, he reached up and attached the new arm to the top of the post with three heavy bolts and wing nuts. When he was done, the post now looked like a “T” with the initial arm still holding Marcy’s arms. From the end of the second arm, he hung a double chain with a bar suspended at the ends. At the ends of the bar were cuffs like those that now held Marcy’s wrist and ankles. Though Marcy could only hear him work, she knew whatever it was, it was going to hurt.
“Okay, Marcy, now you and I are going to adapt to a new situation. I am going to unlock your right ankle from the shackle and place it in a different one. You will have to stretch a bit, but if you cooperate, I will not use the horsewhip again. I promise,” His Supreme Excellency said, sounding sincere.
As though I really have a choice, thought Marcy as she hummed a short “mmmm” into the inflated gag plug.
“Okay. Good,” said Boswick and he released the right ankle, holding it firmly in his hand and pulling the leg back towards the post. With his other hand, he touched a hidden switch in the side of the post and the gibbet arm began to retract back towards the post, moving Marcy’s body in the same rearward direction.
“Very nice,” said Boswick. “Just a bit more and we’ll have it.” He held the switch for a moment more and then locked the girl’s right ankle into the new shackle on the right end of the suspended bar behind the post. “Now let’s do the other one,” he said agreeably. Marcy cooperated by letting him release the left foot and reattach it to the same bar. This move didn’t really alter her suspension that much because she was still hanging by ankles and wrists in a more or less hammock-like pose with her gagged and blindfolded head held
back by the braided cord. The one difference was that her legs were now spread wider because of the bar suspended from the second arm and the post was between her spread knees.
Boswick walked back to the trunks again and this time came back with what looked like a large cigar box of polished wood with brass fittings. He set the box on the floor beneath Marcy and opening it, removed a rather large, brass penis-shaped object that he fastened to the side of the post with a simple slide arrangement much like what one might use to attach a kitchen appliance to the wall. The penis was on the post, pointing directly at Marcy’s split crotch. Her legs were on either side of the post with the brass prong aimed directly at her cunt.
Not able to see this, Marcy had no idea what was going to happen next, but Boswick pushed the switch again and the gibbet arm retracted further backwards and Marcy moved back slowly until the cold metal prick’s head just touched her slightly open lower lips.
What a shock! Marcy flinched and tugged at her ankles and wrists, only bruising them more, as she felt the cold prong between her legs.
Oh shit, not this, she thought, hissing through the gag and blowing hard through her nostrils in an attempt to tell Boswick that she would tell him anything, anything she could, even if she didn’t really know what he wanted to hear. It was clear that what he planned to do was impale her horizontally with the brass prong on the post, a somewhat different twist to the much more common school technique of forcing disciplined students to stand for hours or even days impaled on a single post that was topped with one or two similar prongs imbedded in their lower body cavities. Marcy visualized the possibilities of what was to come and wondered if she would like or hate it. This seemingly cavalier analysis of the obscene torment she was about to endure was actually quite rational; Marcy used her own personal experience to help decide what she would do with students and what they might be able to endure and tolerate.
Boswick then adjusted a wide leather belt around Marcy’s narrow waist. He buckled it in front and pulled it tight. Then, although she could not see it, she felt him attach a chain from the overhead arm to the back of the belt and then tighten that a bit. This additional enhancement accomplished three things: it immediately took some of the weight off Marcy’s wrists and ankles, it provided a stabilizing point to prevent wild gyrations of the body that was in the suspension and it raised her mid section to an almost horizontal position that would make expelling the anticipated impalements much more difficult.
The drive motors for the overhead arms whined again and the prong pressed Marcy’s portal, shoved the lips aside and drove directly into the dark, warm cave that Marcy hoped would not be invaded this time around. Her hopes were dashed as the hard cold prong continued to force its entry and stopped only when her pelvis and groin were pressed firmly against the side of the post and the probe was inside her in its cold, metallic entirety.
“How’s that for a penetrating melody?” Boswick asked. “Keep listening, there’s another chorus to come,” he added confidently. “By the way, do you prefer hard or soft? I meant to ask you and decided that since you are in charge of the pig pens, you probably want it hard, so you got Mister Brass Pecker for, ahem, openers. Forgive the pun.”
Marcy hummed and wiggled on her multi-point suspension. Her four limbs were in agony and the central penetrator didn’t help. The cord from her braid had slacked as she moved rearward, but Boswick didn’t seem to be pay any attention to that. He was busy doing something on the post, right above the point where the brass dick was fastened. She could hear metal being moved and in contact with other metal part. She wondered once again what this nut Boswick was up to. Recalling too easily the vicious whiplash of just a few minutes ago, Marcy shuddered to think about what he was preparing for her now.
It was thus no surprise, when she felt his rubber gloved forefinger slide slowly down her bent backbone, enter the smoothness of the cleft between her buttocks and stop at her rear aperture. The finger poked and probed and entered the passage easily since Boswick had coated it with some greasy lubricant before making his approach down her back. With one finger inside, he slowly added a second and then a third. Marcy tried to pull away, but there was no slack in the chains and the fingers began routing around. The triple penetration became painful, but most of Marcy’s discontent was from the embarrassment of having this man rummage in her rectum in such a callus fashion without her permission.
Boswick probed a bit longer and then removed his fingers.
“I think you’ll take a nice fat one up there, my dear,” he said with grave humor. “We have so many to choose from and unfortunately only a couple of holes to put them in.” Marcy struggled, flexing her back and lifting her torso up and then down in the suspension, but the brass impalement limited this exercise dramatically and as she flexed she realized that the probe was quite stimulating in spite of not moving itself. The combination of being suspended by her hands and feet while impaled on the brass prick was, she had to admit, pretty novel…at least she hadn’t thought of it until now. The idea of having a probe up her ass while thus pinioned created a certain involuntary excitement factor that she tried unsuccessfully to suppress. Her vaginal juices were bubbling and the brass thing inside her almost seemed to be getting smaller as she slowly and unconsciously rotated her hips and surged forward and back in her hammock-like posture.
“Oh, good,” marveled Boswick, “you seem to be adjusting nicely to the impalement of your cunt. Let’s see how we can enhance that with this…” And without any other warning, he plunged a greased, massive brass prong into Marcy’s ass. In one shove, the whole length of the monster dong went in and in and in further until it was swallowed in full by the twitching ass muscles and Marcy was in the throes of a near orgasm while she thrashed and twisted in the chains, rotating her hips and ass around the two penetrators. Boswick had connected the threaded end of the second probe to a gooseneck arrangement, which he had fastened to the post a few inches above the base of the first prong. The gooseneck was flexible, to a point, and held the ass probe deeply in its target. Marcy’s efforts to expel it had little affect other than to cause the flexible gooseneck shaft to bend slightly and then return to its original shape, driving the probe back into its hole like a pile driver that comes up for air and then slams back into the depths.
“A grand performance, Neidler,” said a new voice in the basement. With the double dongs working overtime inside her deranged lower body, the blindfold and gag all combining to hinder her senses, Marcy barely recognized the voice of The Head Mistress. Mistress Wright had descended the stairs quietly and was now standing in front of the hanging girl, her face only a few inches from hers.
“Isn’t Mister Boswick a clever fellow?” she asked the now drooling and whimpering Marcy Neidler, who still thrashed about and ramming her pelvis into the sturdy post, driving the two dildos in and out of their respective sites.
“Mummm, nah, eee muumuu,” Marcy muttered back as she tried to slow her embarrassing contortions and prevent her large breasts from swinging so enticingly in front of Wright. Marcy knew only too well that such a sight often moved the Head Mistress to extended floggings of the twin globes and she wanted no more of any of this. What Boswick had done thus far was more than enough. The Head noted the swinging tits and, without even thinking about it, brought her riding crop swiftly across the gyrating boobs with a resounding whack that left an instant red track across the tops of both tits.
“EEEEooooow!” Marcy howled into the gag. “Oooo mhoooooorrrr!”
“Oh,” said The Head, feigning surprise at the hysterical reaction, and she swung the crop again hitting the same general area of the tits, only this time getting one nipple included in the strike. Marcy was in agonized hysteria, flopping about on her chains, wiggling her hips and ass, sliding up and down on the impalements in her crotch and screaming without effect into the inflated plug gag. Mistress Wright took advantage of the distracting performance to grab the flailing braid of Marcy’s hair. It had come undone
from its initial tie-down on the post, so The Head pulled it and its attached cord back, tying it around the post next to the base of the brass dong that was cyclically exposed, due to Marcy’s up and down exercise on the two metal intruders. Marcy’s situation was at max discomfort, the three people in the cellar each independently concluded. Boswick went to his chair and lit a cigarette. The Head turned on her heel, took a cursory swing at Marcy’s still jiggling tits with her crop and went back up the stairs. Marcy, meanwhile, wiggled and yelled and hummed with her gag, rotating and pumping her hips until she simply passed out from the stress and exertion. Boswick checked her breathing and left her there for another ten minutes, then released her ankles, pulled the probes out and let the blindfolded, gagged girl remain standing by her abused wrists. He stood in front of her red face, which dripped with snot, saliva and sweat, and ran both of his small, soft hands over the whipped and bruised breasts. Afterwards, he followed The Head back upstairs.
Inside the coffin-like crate, Dori sweated too. It seemed like the longer she stayed in the crate the tighter her bondage became. While she thought that some of this was perhaps her imagination, she also thought, as she twisted and shifted inside the box, that perhaps some of her limbs were swelling from the long restraint and that this was tightening the straps that held her. She also considered, (since she had nothing else to do but twitch her fingers and bite down on the gag), that the position of the box had something to do with the tightness of the leather and nylon network of straps holding her in place. The box remained upright, which meant she was riding, in a sense and quite uncomfortably, on the small metal saddle and dildo. From the motions of the crate, she assumed that she was in some sort of vehicle and further deliberation led her to conclude that it must be a truck of some kind because the crate would not have fit upright in the Rover. Whatever kind of vehicle it was, it bounced and rattled for some time over what must have been back roads, then the ride smoothed out and Dori interpreted this to mean that they were now on a highway.
Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition Page 15
