So now it was up to Jenny. Well it seemed only fair. She had been a little hurt in any case to be treated as the weak sister, and now, willy-nilly, she would have to prove herself. With butterflies in her belly and an acute awareness of her nakedness and, especially, her bare tender buttocks, in front of a crowd of strangers from all over the county, she walked to the front of the dais and called as Tom tossed the coin. Tails! Ouch, she would have to go first. Still, it was only three, although that was a beastly cane the men had selected for the tiebreaker.
Long, lean and whippy, its honey coloured gleam spoke of more than mere sting on tender buttock flesh. Indeed, it was up to penal standard in all respects. She shuddered at the thought of a whipping of any length given by a man with such a stick. It was going to be bad enough with a woman's lesser strength. A sudden wave of fear and revulsion swept over her and she recognised that hatred of the cane that Renee had spoken of so bitterly. Now her own conditioning was approaching the point where she had only to see a rod to tremble at the sight of it, imagining it impacting her tender seat, raising thick hot welts on her defenceless rump which she would have to bare and bend so that it was totally exposed to the searing kiss. Now like Renee, and probably all the other Swives if she could only ask them, she found she dreaded the cane above all other instruments for the discipline of females. It cut, it stung, it sent waves of fire through her soft hinds as it struck, it left them stinging for an eon afterwards, it bruised her deep, so that she walked stiffly and awkwardly after a full correction, advertising her state under her skirt to any woman, and most men, she met in the village. It left her grunting and shifting on her chair when she sat, even days after she had suffered the actual cuts. No the cane was a beast among correctional instruments, tighter far than the strap or slipper, that spread their impact over acres of pneumatic posterior, allowing it to absorb the shock, or the friendly warmth of a masculine hand which, even at its horniest, was at least the human touch. Well, like it or loathe it, she was going to get the cane again, and in measure only limited by what she could endure. She prayed her opponent detested the rod with equal fervour and would not hold out for more than a couple of dozen strokes. Beyond that she was uncertain of her own endurance.
Well. She would find out soon enough. The last pair were being called to the front of the stage to perform their humiliating and painful pas de deux. As she took her place, back to the crowd, and bent to grasp her ankles, she felt more exposed and vulnerable than ever before. It wasn't as if she was unused to being naked in public, heaven knows a girl in Sexton went bare as often as clothed, or so it seemed, but that was usually confined to residents of the reclusive valley, where all shared in the knowledge of woman's position there and the girls all shared in the nudity. This was different. Although not trumpeted abroad, news of the annual festival got around and there was a sizeable sprinkling of strangers among the crowd pressing up against the raised stage to catch a glimpse of female pudenda and flesh, voyeurs licking their lips over the girls' bare bodies and imminent immolation under the rod. She blushed crimson all over, a slight stirring of the breeze cooled her wet vulva and parted bottom crack, reminding her how totally and humiliatingly open she was to their hot gazes, how entirely exposed her pouting sex was between her spaced thighs, her anus still dilated from its rude impalement and rough ride on the float. She felt all buttock and bottom, quite apart from the threat of the rod that the girl from the Cock and Hens was swishing in fierce practice strokes that cut the air with an intimidating ripping sound and soon would be cutting her bare bottom flesh.
Thrrrrup! It caught her low on her cheeks, almost where they joined her thighs. She dug her nails into her ankles and bit off the cry that bubbled in her throat. This was a contest between girls, not a punishment from a master, and it would only encourage her opponent if she showed any sign that she was having any difficulty absorbing the stroke. Better to try and bluff her into thinking that all her effort was in vain.
Thrrrrup! Another beast but there was only one more to come before she could straighten and take her own turn on the right end of the stick.
Thrrrrup! The bitch! She was cutting low all right. Those three were all just where she creased under her bum, and they hurt like hell. Still, there was the blessed order to rise and she straightened painfully and held out her hand for the rod.
Her opponent, Beth, looked none too happy to hand it over but reluctantly let it go and advanced to take her place, bending and gripping her ankles, opening the crack of a well-developed bum, with slightly fatty cheeks and a wide pelvis that left a sizeable gap between her slim straight thighs. God she thought, looking at how the pose opened Beth's anal divide to the avid viewers, did I look like that? I must have done, I suppose.
The action of bending meant that everything Beth had was on view. Her vulva gaped and glistened, her cheeks were pulled apart by her pose and the rolled rim of her treated anus proclaimed her a Sexton wife as clearly as if she wore a placard with her status written on it. Even her breasts, with their turgid gold ringed nipples, showed through the wide vee of her legs, though pulled by gravity to show their soft white under-sides. A girl couldn't get more exposed than that.
Enough, she thought, I've got to get this bitch to say she's had enough and the sooner I lay some welts on that fat arse the better. She drew in a breath, and counted to ten slowly to settle herself after the waves of mortification that had swept her as she'd looked at Beth's degrading pose and recognised that she had made the same sexual spectacle of herself a moment before. Calmer, she eyed her target carefully, and then wound up and let the rod fly in a sizzling arc into the ripe buttock flesh that Beth so generously displayed.
It seemed to physically shake the bending girl, lifting the soft cushions of the buttocks with its force. They shivered as they dropped back but, otherwise, the girl gave no sign of having been hurt. It appeared that two could play the confidence game. Methodically, leaving ten-second intervals between her strokes, she laid on the remaining five. By the end she had the satisfaction of hearing Beth grunt and gasp, and there were tell-tale twitches in the muscles of her inner thigh as she awaited each cut to her scalding bottom, but that was all. Now she would have to take a full six herself.
Grim faced she handed over the whippy cane and, once more, felt the shame of bending and presenting her bare buttocks and blatantly displayed vulval fig and rimmed anus to the avid gaze of strangers. It was an even more degrading experience this time, her mind's eye still filled by a picture of Beth's naked exposure and the knowledge that she was now the target of those eyes. Her embarrassment and humiliation did not last long however. Soon all such thoughts disappeared beneath the waves of pain and anguish that flooded her stretched bottom cheeks as Beth laid into her with a will born of determination and the desire for revenge for the hurt she herself had just suffered. As each cut burrowed into her cringing flesh she realised that Beth was working her lower and lower, and that she was taking the penal weight cane more on the tops of her thighs than in her actual buttock cheeks. Despite herself she was whimpering before the six were through and she offered tearful eyes to Beth as the latter handed over the cane prior to bending and presenting her own full seat to the rod.
Less than a dozen, and she was suffering. She'd have to make Beth feel every stroke if she was to have any hope of outlasting her. She increased her run by half a pace and dropped her shoulder to put every ounce of her weight behind each stroke. The rod was biting deep into Beth's generous gluteae, sending the thick slabby rump dancing with the shock of each cut, gratifying welts now standing proud of the pale skin. There were other signs too that she was hurting the girl, a certain urgency to her grunts of pain, the tight clenching of the buttocks after each stroke, white knuckles showing how she was gripping her ankles like a vice to keep herself from rising as the rod swept in each time to lacerate her bottom again. But as the last stroke sank in and she was allowed to rise, only a slight wetness around t
he eyes betrayed any real hurt.
Once more she had to bend and expose her cunt to coarse comments from lecherous visitors, though the embarrassment, while still strong, faded into less significance in the face of the imminent threat to her increasingly tender hinds. She had to hang on tight to slim ankles to stop herself rising and running from the platform before the stinging rod impacted on her seriously sore flesh. Beth was still concentrating on her thighs, paying only token attention to her buttocks proper, laying the rod into what was fast becoming a single swollen belt of purple bruise, more on the tops of her legs than on her rump itself. One! Two! Three! Beth was laying them on with terrible precision on the tortured track. Jenny was whining and whimpering now, as she tried to absorb the searing cuts without conceding too much encouragement to her rival, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with the tumefied flesh, now swollen and tender, taking the full impact of that horridly stringent rod. She stuck it out without actually screaming her hurt aloud but when allowed to rise she did not at first take the proffered rod from Beth's hand. Instead she felt gingerly behind her, testing the hot raised bruise that decorated the tops of her legs. It stung like a viper's bite and pulsed and throbbed incessantly. Even the touch of her own probing fingers caused her to gasp in pain and she could feel the heat as she explored the wounded thighs, the merged welts standing proud, as thick as fingers, from the surrounding flesh.
It was obvious she could not take many more like these on this vulnerable strip of flesh. If Beth would only beat her on her padded bottom cheeks she knew she could hold out much further but this was getting too much for her. She considered appealing, complaining that it wasn't fair to keep whipping her there, off her bottom's limits as it were. But no-one had appealed before in the contest, nor in any other similar circumstance she had witnessed since coming to Sexton and it was pretty obvious it just wasn't done. She would have to grin and bear it but perhaps, she thought as she accepted the whippy cane that Beth still held out, she could try something of her own. She'd noticed from the first moment when Beth had bent and presented her own fatty hinds for the first dose of rod, that the girl had a wide pelvis and slim thighs that left a marked gap between them. Now, as she took position, legs spaced to brace herself, buttocks lifted by her ankle gripping bend, her plump fig pouted blatantly between her thighs, set so low and with such meaty lips that it reached through the gap at the top of her legs and nearly projected beyond their limits. It was one of the most prominent quims she had seen on a woman and a cause of much comment from the crowd, some admiring, more merely obscene. Could she take advantage of Beth's possible weakness? Why not, she thought, the bitch is cutting my legs off. I'm entitled to whip her cunt if she sticks it out like that.
There were risks though. It was just possible, though unlikely, that Beth might appeal for a foul stroke if she tried it. More likely, she might respond in kind. Her own red haired pussy was pretty vulnerable to attack from behind, set as it was between equally well-spaced thighs. What the hell! She had nothing to lose. She couldn't go on taking them on her legs like this and a cut to the cunt might be almost a relief. Nothing could have illustrated her desperation more clearly than the latter thought. In that mood she gripped the vicious length of yellow rattan firmly and addressed her target, trying to keep the element of surprise by tapping gently on the right buttock, but keeping the point well on its fullness and much lower than she had been hitting. She shuffled her feet slightly backwards and drew back her arm. When it returned, with a belly clenching ripping sound, she had drawn her body back slightly and lowered her shoulder just a touch and the rod wrapped itself round the base of the left buttock and its tip, grazing the inside of the right cheek, bit unmercifully into the fatty labial plum, exactly as she had planned. Beth went rigid, her mouth opened in a silent scream as she realised what had been done to her, then she choked and gurgled in her pain, with her head thrown back, as its full intensity hit her.
Perhaps she had been too hurt to take it in instantly or she put the horrible blow down to an error on her adversary's part; an unintentional miss-hit. Whatever the reason, she pulled herself together and dropped her head to ready herself for the next stroke. It was an exact replica of the first.
Now there could be no doubt among either victim or spectators about what was afoot, and a buzz of excitement ran through the audience, while Beth visibly cringed from the stroke to come. Already her plummy vulva had swollen alarmingly under the first two cuts. How would it hold up under four more? In the event the point was never tested. Beth held bravely on while the third stroke tore into her tortured quim, biting into the swollen labia and whimpered as the next approached. Her fear was intensified by the feel of cold air on the wetness of her vaginal opening, the swollen labia having parted and left it exposed to a direct hit from the searing cane tip. Her opponent had already spotted the opening and was not about to waste it. She belted the rod down, aiming for and finding the weakness in Beth's pathetic defences and the rounded end of the rattan rod disappeared into the pulpy gap in the labia and, as luck would have it, impacted directly on the tiny hole of the girl's meatus. Under the horrible bite into the mouth of her urethral tract her bladder gave way, and she collapsed to her knees in a small pool of her own golden urine.
Renee and Laura swept up the victor and bore her off to the bar.
"Do you think I cheated, hitting her like that?" the latter asked, still tearful but fortified by a stiff drink.
"Oh, darling, of course not," Renee reassured her. "She was the one making it a no holds barred match, whipping you on the legs like that. If she wasn't prepared to whip your bottom like a Gentlewoman she deserved all she got."
There wasn't time for more discussion, as their men bore them off in triumph to the Bay Tree for a victory dinner. When they placed their still naked charges on their knees beside them, to be fed delicacies from their own plates and dosed them liberally with the best wines in the restaurant, it was not an act of discipline, as so often the case when a naked Swive knelt docilely by her man, but an act of kindness. None of the three would have liked to put her wounded bottom on a chair of any sort, not even if padded with a pair of cushions.
The next day though they were sent to clean their mounts. Their pinched vaginal linings and trapped clits still ached in mute testimony to the abuse they had suffered on the rocky ride through the villages and country lanes that connected them. They blushed to see that not only the vaginal plugs but the seats as well, were encrusted with their female secretions, flowing freely in response to their publicly naked display, and the masculine attentions they had received. Despite the pain and discomfort that had accompanied them on their humiliating outing, their vibrant female natures had triumphed again.
Part Six: Flogged
"That girl of yours has come on remarkably well, Henry," the tall man nursing the large brandy and soda remarked in a conversational tone, "I'll be the first to admit I had my doubts when you first brought her to Sexton, but these last three years she's shown a remarkable adaptation to the life. And she's such a stunner. I haven't got over the weekend you lent her to me to fill in for Meryl. She was quite delicious."
"Nice of you to say so," Henry replied. "Anytime you'd like a repeat visit, just let me know and I'll send her over."
"Oh, I wasn't angling for favours," Richard assured him, "just commenting on how you never can tell with women. She was so sure of herself, so confident in her profession, such an altogether twenty-first century woman, it was difficult to imagine her not just submitting to a man, but revelling in it too."
"Don't know about that," Tom contributed, coming out from behind the paper he had been studying. "It's my experience that that's just the type that does go overboard. Your little milk and water soft feminine type is often the most difficult to tame; too selfish and self centred by half beneath that weak woman exterior. The career girl appears the harder nut but once you've cracked her, she makes the best kin
d of woman to serve a man's needs. Perfect pets. Just look at Renee, Laura and Henry's girl. They all came from that stable and what a fantastic threesome they make."
Richard raised his glass in salute.
"I'll drink to that," he declared but Henry seemed to have reservations.
"Sometimes I think we've been almost too successful," he remarked thoughtfully. "My girl has thrown herself into the part so thoroughly she sometimes seems to be leading me, rather than the other way around."
"Ah!" sighed Richard. "That's what it's come to has it? Well cheer up old chap. You're not the first man to come up against that particular difficulty. Serious, I grant you, but it is curable. A good formal flogging will usually pull them back into line. Quietens them down no end you know."
"Oh, she gets beaten hard and regular," Henry answered him, "I'm sure you've noticed the results on Friday nights. I don't think that it's going to change anything much if I just take a whip to her back, instead of a rod to her bottom."
"Quite so, not you!" Richard hastened to explain. "No, you mustn't do it yourself, that'd never do. What you have to do is send her for a proper judicial flogging. Meryl got that way once, making demands on me to satisfy her needs rather than mine. Sent her to Marindorra to be flogged and she came back transformed. No trouble ever since."
"Marindorra? What else goes on there then?" Henry enquired.
"Oh, they have an excellent house of correction for women over there," Tom informed him. "That vicious Doctor Greta, you know, the German bitch who does the business with Sexton wives, she's the medical superintendent there."
"Didn't enquire into any of the details of the process when mine was done," Henry admitted, "just interested in the results. A house of correction you say?"
"You bet. Some sort of ancient Episcopal foundation I believe," Tom replied, "provided for the needs of the principality and did a brisk business as well in the erring wives and daughters of European aristocratic houses. Quite secular now but still provides the same service for the remaining independent minor states in Europe and still takes in sinful females from the families of the rich and famous."
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