Painful Prize

by Stephen Rawlings

  Their problems had not begun though with their public appearance. The mounting had been agonisingly slow and difficult. For a start, each girl had been responsible for greasing her own dildos. The process brought her face to face with the rampant prongs she would have to accept into her body, and they needed no encouragement to daub them liberally with Vaseline and, for good measure, thrust solid wads of the same semi-solid lubricant deep into their own threatened sphincters and vaginas. Squatting, naked, beside the float, each dipped her fingers deep into the jar, then worked the greasy gunge past her anal ring, rotating her fingers to distribute it evenly to try and ensure the least painful entry she could contrive, though accepting these brutal, insensitive intrusions in their rectal regions would never be a picnic. There was less urgency about their vaginas. As healthy and well-serviced young women, they were never actually dry between the plump labia that graced the fork of their shapely thighs, but a little extra on the edges of the lips themselves was a wise precaution against them becoming trapped, and drawn painfully into the vaginal entrance when the bald alloy knob sank inexorably home under their own weight.

  The anal plug was fixed in unyielding verticality, though inclining forward slightly, the better to enter a seated female bowel. Its tapering stem was a daunting inch and a half at the base, the size of it causing sphincters to cringe before ever making contact. A bulging glans, even more monstrously gross, crowned the seven-inch horror, and the future rider's fear.

  The vaginal visitor was a simpler, if rather larger, affair, a two inch ball set on a one and a half inch stem, but it was adjustable, lying to one side before use, and a cause of much less fear, each girl knowing that a ball that size would present no real difficulty for a vaginal canal designed to accept the head of a babe, and already well exercised by the male member. Its stem passed through a slot in the seat, and would be locked in place by a nut beneath, when it had been located correctly to bear internally against the rigid anal distender, and make her prisoner by the infernal pincer movement on the walls of vagina and rectum.

  Laura was mounted first but, before she could gain the top of the float, there was an interruption, and she was recalled to the ground.

  George had come to supervise the mounting and give them final instructions and inspection. Now he stood before the three naked women, lined up with their backs to the float, while he addressed them. Their attention was assured; if they had not already learnt to dwell on his every word, by the lean and hungry length of yellow cane he flexed in a straining arc between his capable hands.

  "The Trident has always turned out a dazzling float," he told them, "we have been renowned for it for generations. Do not let us down this year. We are expecting you to win when the judging takes place."

  He looked them over searchingly. "Yes, you are all beautiful," he assured them, "but you are not tranquil. Your nerves are on edge, your knees tremble, there is apprehension in your faces. You must not show it to the people in the streets and, particularly, not in front of the judges. You are sea nymphs, riding proudly with your lord on his watery chariot, proud and confident. You need something to calm you."

  He gestured with the wicked wand of pain in his hand.

  "Turn around Laura, and lean yourself over the front of the float." he commanded.

  While the other two still faced unswervingly to the front, Laura turned and moved behind them. George moved out of their sight in her wake, and there was a short pause, filled with small sounds of naked flesh being laid on the float, a slight creaking as the suspension adjusted. The silence that followed stretched their nerves, for they had no illusions how this 'calming' was to be achieved, only how big their tally was to be. Then came the familiar heart-stopping whirr of the rod parting the air on its way to wreak havoc in tender buttock meat. The loud report of its landing was accompanied by a gasp from the bent girl, then a pained intake of breath as the fearful cut into her bent nates flowered into its true agony. The waiting girls could not see the execution but could hear every nuance, counting the strokes in mounting fear, knowing they would have to endure the like themselves, before they came to mount their float for the parade. They were horribly conscious that they would have to ride their painful mounts with the additional distraction of fresh searing welts under them, on the hard seats. Two, three, four, five, the count mounted, and the women trembled. Laura's gasp on the sixth stroke was almost a cry, experienced though she was at this exercise, and there were shudders of mingled fear and relief when it proved to be the last of her count.

  Now it was Renee's turn to bend over the rounded prow of the float, while Laura took her aching backside to stand with the remaining naked nymph facing away from the scene, but hearing each cut as it fell. The hard plastic moulding dug into Renee's belly as she stretched herself over it, parting her legs without instruction. She had taken this position too many times now to need directions, and dropped her waist to cant up her pelvis to the rear, offering the under-side of her buttocks, where the rod would bite deepest and the welts would be placed on that part of her that would bear her weight on the long afternoon pilgrimage through the villages

  Her skin shrank from the flogging to come. She hated the cane; oh how she hated it. The strap stung and burned, the paddle's slap sent sheets of flame through bruised buttocks but the cane was the worst of all, combining all that was hardest to bear of each. Moreover, its effects lasted longer, ached and throbbed when others had died to mere warmth, awoke to sore remembrance on sitting days after. Now she would have to sit on these flaming brands, as well as her other hurts to come. She would not flinch from it, she steeled herself not to disgrace herself, but it would be hard, so very hard.

  George was cutting deep today, the first stroke nearly undoing her as it burrowed into her flesh below. God, she had forgotten already how such a rod was twice as potent in the hands of a male, than even in Lady Hartington's rigorous grip. It seemed to slice her in two, and her breath was driven from her in a grunt of pain as the fire burst across her haunches, then she was sucking it in again as she fought the flooding tide of the returning blood and the agony it brought with it. The rod returned, she bunched her fists and beat on the float as she fought to bear what was almost unbearable. If George could bring her to the edge of disgrace in two strokes only, and he had tested her severely, how was she to endure four more of the same? Of the same! The next seemed not of the same but infinitely worse, as he wrapped the limber stick around the base of her buttocks, catching the crease of her thighs.

  It was a horror of a cane, long whippy and full of weight, especially the last few inches, which seemed denser than the rest and drove deep into her flank. She sucked in air as the flame burst in her tender under flesh, her head back, eyes staring blindly at the sky, as she fought to control her rebellious body. The pain rose and rose. Just as she prayed it would get no worse, for she despaired of enduring it, the cane returned.

  Again to the same place, and the last two only millimetres higher. She was barred heavily right under her 'seat' when she was finally allowed to rise and yield her place to the third victim. Her eyes were wet with tears, the sweat of agony was in her armpits, her lips were puffy from the pressure of her sharp teeth from her desperate efforts to stay down for the cruel flogging.

  Another two minutes, filled with the flash of the cane and the redheaded nymph's answering gasps and hisses of pain, and it was done. George dismissed them to Lady Hartington's attentions and went off to join with the rest of the group gathered on the green in front of the pub. It had been cruel, certainly, but not wantonly so. As she stood there, her buttocks still aching, the throbbing agony scarcely subsided yet; she knew he had been right. They had all three been subject to a rising excitement, bordering on hysteria, as they had faced the ordeal of self-immolation and their public exposure, near naked and impaled front and back. Now they were sore but calm. She began to understand a little more how the men knew them better than they
did themselves.

  Once again, Laura went to mount first, climbing up, quite naked, to stand on a small ledge just in front of and below her appointed seat. Lady Hartington stood on a pair of steps alongside, ready to assist.

  The girl picked up her 'fish-tail' costume, lying waiting for her and stepped into it carefully, one foot at a time, drawing it up tightly until the back just reached the edge of her buttocks behind, wincing as it came in contact with the fresh flaming brands across the base of her bottom. With Lady Hartington's help, the lacing was tensioned and tied off, until her legs were bound tightly together along their entire length, ankles, calves, knees and thighs, until she was no longer a biped but a single-limbed marine creature.

  Next she tugged up the front edge, straining until it just reached her shaven mons, and took the side flaps round her hips to join the clasp, just above her coccyx.

  Her buttocks were now covered, at least any part of them that overhung the bucket seat when she lowered herself into it, but the fish tail gaped behind, between thigh tops and her anal cleft.

  She reached behind and inserted her fingers in the divide of her buttocks, pulling the cheeks apart to reveal the small thick-rimmed crater of her anus glistening thickly with its anointing of petroleum jelly.

  Very thoughtfully, her underlip caught between her sharp white teeth, her forehead creased in a frown of concentration, she bent from the knees and sought the waiting, Vaseline slick apex of the phallus with her quivering anal opening. A couple of false starts and she had it located, the tip lodged. Slowly, oh so slowly, she eased her weight down, the snake head of the dildo depressing the whorled anus to start with, then gaining a little purchase between the raised ridges of the rimming, and wedging the sphincter open. Her frown deepened, her lip paled as she bit harder with the effort of will she was making and she let more of her weight come on the solid moulded stake. It responded by stretching her anal muscle further still and burrowing deeper. Sweating now, she kept up the effort and slowly, painfully slowly, reached the widest point, the utmost stretching of her muscular ring and then, suddenly, thankfully, she was past the greatest distension and contracting gratefully onto the lesser rod below.

  She let go of her nether cheeks, the impalement was automatic and inevitable from now on, and began to sink slowly towards the seat.

  As she did so, Lady Hartington manipulated the ball headed monster into her vaginal entrance and ensured both impalements proceeded together.

  With the widest parts passed, and her weight less and less supported by the thrust necessary to achieve penetration, the motion accelerated suddenly and she groaned as her impalements almost shot home the last few inches. As she reached the root of the rear intruder the flared base began to stretch her anal ring again, but there was no stopping it now. This far down, and at the angle in which she was crouched, she would never be able to get her weight off the rod and would have to endure as best she might as her cheeks flattened on the hard shaped seat and her anus renewed its protest.

  It was not the only protester. The pole was seven inches up in her gut, filling her, feeling as if it was in her throat, and bruising her entrails. As she panted and groaned, trying to accommodate the distension, Lady Hartington adjusted the vaginal plug until the ball end pressed firmly through the wall of her sheath against the glans of the anal shaft, and locked it tight. Now, even with assistance, she could not vacate her seat until the fixing was relaxed.

  Lady Hartington closed the access hatch below the seat, through which she had worked the front prong, and locked it, then took hold of the fins at the end of the tail. Laura straightened her bound legs, letting the last remaining weight come off her finny feet onto her seat, and the two impaling rods, and Lady Hartington threaded the strap sewn under the tail fin through a hole in the float and secured it underneath. The attachment gave her stability and she would not fall from her perch under any circumstances, though she had no illusions that her ride might be comfortable in any way, or that she night not suffer severely in the process of maintaining her position.

  Decency was preserved below, but only just, with the scales of the costume barely covering her vulval slot, leaving the polished dome of her pubic mound bare, as the minimal costume curved away to wrap her buttocks down to the edge of her seat. Decency, of a sort below but, above, her breasts were bare. Lady Hartington handed up the rest of the costume that she had worked on so hard during the weeks of preparation. It consisted of two pieces of artificial seaweed, each large enough to cover about two thirds of a generous breast and they were artfully irregular in shape but, in the centre of each, was concealed a cunning and diabolical clip. Its two sickle shaped halves were spring loaded, and she must open them and then let the clips close around the base of each nipple. Her cherries were already a little erect, but not entirely so. The long hard struggle to achieve impalement with minimal agony and without injury had dampened her natural arousal at being naked and about to be publicly exposed. She had to manipulate her dugs to get them sufficiently engorged and erect so that the clips could grip them securely at their base, where they would remain securely, rather than at the bulb or, worse, the tip, when there would be a risk that the barely adequate protection might fall or the nipple be injured.

  At last she was satisfied the blood filled nubbin stood out sufficiently for safety and pressed one hard teat into the wide held jaws. She knew what came next; they had practised this manoeuvre too during those long sessions on the training poles. Gritting her teeth, she released the spring and the sharply pointed serrations on the inside of the jaws bit deep into her tenderest flesh.

  She hissed through clenched teeth until the first wave of stabbing pain passed, then subjected the other nipple to the same abuse.

  Only now was she ready. She smiled wanly at Lady Hartington and nodded to show she had completed her preparations. The tweedy Lady of the Manor moved off to set up the next female sufferer.

  One down, and two to go. The next in line had watched Laura's desperate efforts to impale herself with mounting misgivings. When the girl gasped, as the anal dildo sank home, Jenny's own russet fringed sphincter had flinched in sympathy. She had already shaved her pubis, powdered her legs carefully to receive the scaly leg casing, and anointed the twin dildos of her own seat liberally, together with her anus and vaginal opening. Seeing Laura's struggles, she took up the pot again and stuffed another generous dollop of greasy lubricant into and around her wrinkle rimmed rear crater. Better safe than sorry! Now Lady Hartington was coming towards her and the frantic butterflies in her belly went into overdrive.

  At Lady Hartington's command, she clambered up to her allotted seat and stood on the ledge below it, taking up the fishtail costume.

  It felt cold and heavy, the thick latex sheath, with its moulded scales, clammy against her skin. She inserted one foot into the split fin of the tail without too much difficulty, but had to push hard, and wriggle her toes, to get the other in. The thick latex clamped her ankles together tightly and she pulled the rest of the tail up her legs to her thighs, shivering at its rubbery coldness on her bare flesh. Even with the rear lacing slack, it pressed her calves, knees and thighs together tightly. She wriggled her hips and worked it up to the under-hang of her buttocks, where they formed a slight crease at the tops of her thighs, a spot still marked and sore from her most recent beating.

  Lady Hartington gripped the laces and pulled them tight, working from ankles up, and buttocks down, until her legs were fused into a solid mass, the mythical mermaid without thighs or crotch.

  Now she took over her own encasement again, worked the upper part, setting the topmost row of scales to touch the hairless pout of her waxed pubis, fitting neatly into the creases of her thighs, where they formed a vee directed downwards towards her vulva. With the crucial slit just covered, the gold ball of her 'Christina' piercing gleamed brightly against her pale hairless skin. She tugged on the sides and held th
em behind her for Lady Hartington to grip.

  Grim-faced, the horsy aristocrat seized the ends and yanked hard, almost knocking the girl off her precarious perch, but making the clasps on the ends meet at the base of her spine with a very positive click, the final link in the rubber bonds that encased her from ankle to hip.

  The only interruption was the gaping slit giving access to her anus and vagina. She reached behind and put her fingers in the gap, plumbing the depth of her crack, then puling the cheeks apart.

  Now was the moment she had been dreading, when she must approach the twin dildos awaiting her, one springing rampant from the centre moulding of the seat, craning forward at a slight angle, the better to penetrate her, the other allowed to fall away for the moment, but the great ball end full of greasy menace, nevertheless, as it lurked in readiness to fill her vagina.

  Still holding her cheeks open, she bent her knees, lowering her buttocks and seeking out the thrusting conical nose of the rampant dildo behind her. Too high! The nose touched the bottom of her anal cleft above the cringing sphincter's insink and she raised her hips slightly to slide it down the crack towards its target. She could feel it creeping inexorably along the Vaseline coated groove and then it was pressing insistently at her portal, and would not be denied. She took a deep breath and let her weight fall harder on it. The point responded by depressing the delicate brown whorl that closed the space inside the raised rim that marked her for a Sexton wife. More pressure and it forced the pass, starting to open the bud and stretching the sphincter that controlled it.