Painful Prize

by Stephen Rawlings

  As Liebvicz progressed downwards more tender meat came under attack. First the tip of the thick leather thong burrowed into the opened and defenceless armpits, provoking even more anguish in the hanging girl, then the breasts, even though they were pressed against the post, were vulnerable to a leather serpent curling round her side, and leapt and juddered under the searing bites. Angry splodges of dark bruise soon sprang up on the tender sides of the vulnerable mounds even touching the turgid nipples on occasion and dragging sharper grunts of pain from the hanging girl.

  Clinging to the picture she had conjured up of her beloved Henry thinking of her, as Renee pumped his cock in time to the lash, she kept to her own rhythm of contractions on the spiked dildo, trusting Renee to be keeping time with her. Her friend had suffered under rod and whip so often it would be instinctive for her to know at just what pace the pain would reach its apogee, that point when an expert whipper would strike again.

  The light was strengthening now, the weak rays of the morning sun falling across the taut tormented back, throwing into relief the rapidly rising welts that ran across them. The bruises were darkening and swelling until they stood proud of the whipped flesh, the purple of the blood from crushed capillaries brightening in places where ruby specklets appeared on the traumatised weals.

  She had clung on to her cries until now, merely grunting and gasping, whimpering softly as she waited in between, but the next caught a nipple, cruelly abrading the tender teat and she could hold it in no longer. As the scream passed through her throat she caught it and converted it into a word, shouting out the name of her lover who had condemned her to this torture.

  She fell into a pattern, trying to ride the flogging rather than resist it, screaming Henry's name to each blow, clenching down hard on the studded shaft and accepting the pain it generated into her belly to sweeten the bitter lashes to her back and sides. She was strong and determined but the lash was heavy and enervating and she could feel her strength slipping, even though the heat in her belly was rising. She was losing count in the trauma of the whipping and could not guess how much more she must endure. She hoped Renee was keeping better score. As the final blow fell and she croaked Henry's name for the last time, a hot red glow erupted in her belly, a red mist fell over her eyes and she hung in her bonds, barely conscious that it was over.

  Back in Sexton, Renee also lay slumped. Henry had not lasted the course as well as his love. Two dozen of Renee's vacuuming clutches were more than he could endure and on the twenty-second he had groaned and shot his load of hot sticky jism into Renee's convulsing cunt for, perfectly trained as she was, she automatically entered her own spasms at the same time as the man she served. As the flogged girl collapsed against the post that held her, the turgid teats of Renee's firm bare breasts were already pressed tight against the soft curly hair of Henry's chest as they lay together, spent.

  Meanwhile the girl, whose imagined cries and writhings under the whip had sparked their fierce explosive ejaculations, was taken down from the post on which she had been so cruelly thrashed. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around her wounded breasts, covering the lumpy contusions that disfigured their sides and cradling the twin pointed peaks, one so distorted, where the whip had caught it, as to be unrecognisable. Her back was the worse for wear as well; not open splits and freely flowing blood, the institution was too careful of its charges to inflict lasting damage, but the welts oozed stickily in a dozen places, where the stroke had been too much for the underlying vessels, and specks of blood had found their way to the surface through the pores of the skin. Weak and in pain, hampered by the cruel dildos still distending her rectum and vagina and the angular links of the sharp steel chain digging into her vulva, she could hardly walk, and a guard had to support her on either side to get her back to the preparation room.

  Greta took charge of her once again. Stripped of her gown, her waist belt was removed and the chain drawn out of her flesh. She whimpered as it was withdrawn, the links having bitten deep and the crushed tissues beneath them protesting violently at the return of circulation. The removal of the dildos from anus and cunt, those twin punishments for her 'presumption', drew more squeals and gasps as the studs rasped the tender lining of her vagina on their way out and the anal plug tried to suck the rectal tube inside out on its exit. At last she lay, gasping but unencumbered, face down on the examination table.

  Greta looked over the thick dark weals with evident satisfaction.

  "Liebvicz did a good job there," she pronounced. "Made you feel them, I'll wager, but you won't have any permanent scarring to speak of. Maybe some faint marks to carry around for a while but she's laid them on beautifully symmetrically and they won't diminish your attractions. Still, they'll be the better for a little attention. Hang on in there. This may sting a little."

  If she had been a little more aware, and not still wrapped up in her pain and thoughts of the distant Henry, savouring her sacrifice, she would have flinched from Greta's promise of a little sting. When that icy hearted maiden admitted there might be pain involved in the treatment, a girl had better look out. As it was she squeaked in shocked surprise, and writhed as Greta applied a caustic solution to the broken skin of her back, and squealed again as the fingers reached beneath her to anoint the battered teat.

  "Don't make such a fuss girl," the white-coated doctor admonished. "It's just styptic to close the skin. Time's running out and you'll have to get dressed. You don't want your clothes sticking to your back."

  Minutes later a guard arrived to summon them to the Superintendent's office. They found the officer once more at her desk.

  "Will she live?" she asked the doctor, ironically.

  "She'll do," Greta confirmed. "Superficial scratches only. Tough, healthy one this. Could take a flogging every month without too much damage."

  "Well, one's enough for now," the official declared, "though any time your man thinks you'd benefit..." She left the invitation hanging in the air.

  "Anyway," she continued, "the van is here to take you to the airport. You'll need these before you go," and she pushed a small package and an official looking envelope across the desk.

  "Eh, thank you Ma'am, what are they?" the whipped and still wet-eyed girl asked.

  "Your certificate of correction to confirm the number of strokes, the conditions under which they were applied and a video as evidence for your master of your behaviour under correction," the Superintendent informed her. "You should hand them over as soon as you return. Meanwhile, I'll wish you good-bye. The van is waiting."

  The journey back seemed at least as long and arduous as the trip from the airport, less than twenty-four hours before. Was it really only that long since she had come up this way, manacled in the back of the black van? At least she was not handcuffed this time, and she as able to kneel on the seat with her back to the driver, her arms clasped round the back of the seat, wincing from time to time as the jolting of the van bounced her wounded breasts on the hard moulded plastic of the utilitarian chair.

  At the airport she found the company jet that had brought her waiting to depart and was led on board and handed into the care of the tall, sophisticated attendant without delay. With great reluctance she allowed herself to be sat in her place, the seat belt fastened, her throbbing back against the meagre upholstery of the seat.

  Once airborne however, things changed. She had left Marindorra with adequate medical attention, but no chance to take any care of her appearance, other than to resume her own clothes. Even that was a strain as, against her wishes, she had been made to put a bra around her sore breasts and aching sides. Her face was still streaked with tears and the sweat of her agony, her hands stained similarly with her perspiration and the oily residues left on both post and manacle cuffs by the generations of women who had been flogged there. None of this seemed to faze the stewardess and she rapidly came to believe that the girl had seen more than one wom
an returning in this state from a judicial flogging in the principality. For all Jenny knew she may well have made that painful progress herself at some time. In any case, she took in her passenger's state without batting an elegant eye-lid and produced soft hot facial towels, hairbrush and comb, and even some basic make-up. She had recognised at once the soft and docile state the girl had been reduced to by her ordeal and took over completely, brushing her hair, wiping her face, hands and neck, applying make-up with skilled and practised care.

  She was not unaware of her patient's discomfort either. She had noticed the painful flinching as the girl had set her back to the seat and had come up with a small padded roll to place at the base of her spine and a horseshoe shaped neck pillow which, between them, served to keep her welted back from pressing on the seat. There seemed little doubt after that that she understood exactly what her passenger had endured in Marindorra, and her condition under the dress that covered her. She even offered an analgesic tablet to ease the pain but, though still putty-like in other respects, Jenny shook her head.

  "It wouldn't be appropriate," she explained.

  The hostess smiled understandingly and took the tablet away.

  A chauffeur driven car awaited her at the airport to take her home, where the driver waited outside, saying he had instructions to take her on when she was ready. Still in acquiescent mood she didn't argue but went inside to find a note telling her to change and come as soon as possible to the Trident where Henry and Renee would be waiting. Her clothes were waiting for her.

  She found them laid out on the bed and thought she recognised Renee's hand in their selection. Very much the bare minimum. High heeled pumps, not quite her tallest, but quite enough for her weakened condition, hold-up stockings and a soft clinging dress. No underwear but she hadn't expected any under the circumstances. A punished girl at the Trident always went without panties and bra for the good of her soul and to give the other women a view of what might be laid on their own buttocks if they fell below perfection. Except that this time, it was not her buttocks peeping knickerless beneath some pelmet of a skirt that would bear witness to her correction. The dress had the simplicity that shouted big bucks, a slinky sheath, reaching down to her calves, but not quite revealing her nipples. What there was of it in front was supported by two silken strings that crossed behind her neck and ran on down to meet the sides of the deep wide opening at the back. Indeed, the gown did not have any back as such, being scooped out to her sides, and down to a fleeting glimpse of the top of the crack that divided her pert buttock halves. Only the tension of the two crossed laces kept it from sliding off altogether and every inch of her hot raised purple welts was blatantly on display, even to where the sides of her breasts exhibited the blobby bruises where the sergeant's leather had wrapped and bitten deep. There was just one more part of the outfit and, she was sure, it was that which had made Renee choose it. It was a modest, almost puritan, fitted jacket, of the same turquoise silky material, that came to her wrists, dropped to the ledge of her buttocks behind and rose demurely to her collarbones in front. With the jacket closed, she was completely covered and ready to attend the most conservative gathering, with it off she was as near naked as made no difference, given that all attention would be on those parts of her where her flogging showed.

  The Trident was as crowded as ever on a Friday night, when few residents of Sexton Hinds resisted the impulse to watch corrected femininity, its bottom still hot from the rod, writhing on its seat. A loud cheerful hum of conversation filling the bar. It stopped as if switched off as she appeared in the doorway and every eye in the place turned to see. For a moment she stood tall, quiet and graceful, glowing with an inner light, then slowly peeled off the jacket and laid it over her arm. A hiss of surprise rose from those nearest her, a sound that spread along her path as she began slowly to walk across the full width of the large room to where Henry and Renee awaited her.

  With the jacket gone, there was nothing to hide the vivid plummy ropes of the thick dark welts that ran, ladder-like, down her back, from nape to waist. She carried herself stiffly, in obvious pain, her complexion a little pale beneath the make-up, but with dignity and poise, as if making a statement, not of defiance but the opposite to that sinful weakness. Softly radiant she emitted an aura of total femininity devoid of all harshness and belligerency. Slowly she crossed the space separating her from her lover and dropped on one knee to take his hand in hers and press it to her lips. Henry watched her come with pride and affection, received her homage and, as her warm lips left his hand, drew her very gently to her feet and, careful not to press her too hard across her wounds, placed his hands on the twin juts of her swelling buttock cheeks and kissed her long and hard on the mouth she tilted up to him. The whole room burst into loud applause.

  When Henry finally released her, half swooning, from his passionate embrace, she found herself in a pair of equally loving female arms, two firm breasts pressing on her own as Renee took possession of her lips.

  "Oh, darling, how lovely to see you back," Renee breathed into her wet and warm mouth. "Now turn around and let me see what they did to you."

  "In a minute but, first, I've something for Henry."

  She took the certificate and cassette from the pocket of her jacket and gave them to her lord and master.

  "We'll watch it together sometime," he said.

  "And me too, please," Renee begged.

  "Hmm. I understand you may well have one of your own soon," Henry answered her with a sly grin.

  Renee flushed and turned back to her friend.

  "Come on darling, let me see."

  "I'm not stripping right here for you to gloat," came the answer but, all the same, she turned and let Renee see the full impact of the damage to her back. Immediately another woman stepped up to share the view and, from that moment on, she existed in a daze of admiration and questioning. By the time it was time to eat she was nearly fainting from tiredness. She had been roused at dawn, purged and penetrated by devices designed to torture a woman severely on their own. She had had to endure them while under the sergeant's whip, flogged virtually to the blood in a chilly dawn, then rushed back to her friends so that they could see, and benefit by her condition, while the welts were still hot and fresh. Exhausted, she sank into her seat.

  Food and wine did a little to revive her and she pressed Renee for details of her night with Henry and, especially, how she had milked him that morning at the same hour that she was suffering on the post, the sergeant's leather cracking methodically on her bare back, the studded dildo playing havoc in her tortured vagina.

  "I tried my best," Renee assured her, after an almost blow by bow account of her passionate night with Henry, "and I really thought he would go the distance and hold up for the full two dozen but, well, I was pretty excited thinking of you myself, and I think I must have got carried away a little. I'd just counted to twenty-two when I felt him spurting inside me. I couldn't stop him so I let go myself and joined him. I hope you don't mind."

  "Of course I don't," her friend assured her, "I'd have done the same in your place."

  "You may get the chance sooner than you think," Renee said, a fleeting shadow crossing her beautiful face.

  "What do you mean?"

  Renee hesitated a moment.

  "Tom was so impressed by what you've done, and so jealous of this," she added, kissing her again, and this time thrusting her tongue deep into her mouth, to make quite clear she referred to the Sapphic rites they increasingly shared, "that he's suggested I should go out next month myself."

  "And what did you say to that?"

  Renee had the grace to blush.

  "Oh," she said demurely, "I just said, 'you're the master and, of course I shall do exactly what you say'."

  For the first time since her arrival at the bleak doors of the House of Correction in Marindorra, twenty-four hours before, J
enny was able to raise a genuine smile.

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