"Put on your dress," he said, kicking the ripped garment to her. "Or what's left of it," he added with a smirk. "No, I'll keep the bra and panties for now."
He snatched the undergarments from her.
Carla moved slowly, wiping the tears from her eyes. How her tits and ass and cunt ached from the belting! The fiery blows had enflamed her skin, making every part of her body sensitive to the slightest touch. And what was so odd was the sensitivity of her cunt. Carla pulled the dress over her head, trying to cover her body modestly with the torn garment.
"Get up. Don't try anything or I'll make this belting look like a nun's picnic."
No wonder there were no school games here. It was a sadist's haven, run by this maniac, probably using the girls for his pleasure. And she was going to send her daughter here? Never!
CHAPTER TWO
"You know something about medieval history?"
"N-n-no!"
She was standing in what appeared to be a basement. They had walked through the empty administrative offices, their footsteps echoing eerily in the darkened corridors. Then they had walked through a rear door, crossing the small courtyard before entering another red-bricked building. This was an edifice Carla hadn't seen on her brief tour that afternoon. There were no windows, the building having the outside appearance of a large city incinerator.
"This used to be an old prison, they tell me," Mike said, holding her back by the shoulders and indicating the area with a sweep of the hand. "They used to put incorrigibles in here the army, that is. We've turned it to other purposes."
Carla could only imagine what those purposes were. A sudden rush of fear overwhelmed her once again as she thought of the belt, the way it had reddened her flesh and how its sting was still felt around her rump.
"I took this over several years ago," Mike continued, shoving her roughly forward between her shoulderblades while slamming the door behind her. Carla stumbled forward, sweeping the hair from her face, regaining her balance. Mike was quickly behind her. "It was going downhill. The woman who ran the place didn't know how to manage kids these days. You need a firm hand, firm like mine, Carla."
He stroked the back of her head, then curled his fingers and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Carla let out a short moan, her teeth chattering against one another. No. No! She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of crying put again.
"Keeping quiet? Good. I like that kind of strength. In here."
He let go of her hair, shoving the woman down another long corridor. Small yellowish overhead bulbs lit the cement corridor, a musky smell filling the air. Taking the keys from his belt, Mike opened a large green wooden door and motioned her inside.
"Here?"
A cold sweat broke out on Carla's forehead. As long as they had been walking, as long as they hadn't yet reached their goal, there seemed to be time to hope something would happen – someone would come to her rescue, notice her shuffling in front of this maniac, bare-footed, her dress ripped in several places, her hair ruffled around her shoulders. But now all hope sank as Carla stepped over the small concrete rise in the doorway.
Mike turned on the light.
"My… my God! What is this," she stammered, looking around her. She felt her hands and feet turn icy while more perspiration dotted her forehead. It was something straight out of a medieval story, just as Mike had said. The Middle Ages lived on here, she thought as her eyes swept around the walls, taking in the instruments of torture hanging from them. There were frightening-looking whips, riding crops, masks, gags, leather thongs, what appeared to be bridles, and other things that terrified Carla. And there in the middle of the room was a large wooden keg with a small brass faucet embedded in it. Mike put the keys back on his belt, closing the door behind him.
"You don't need that any more," he said, running his fingers over her dress, then tearing it from her body.
"Remember me talking about medieval history? They used things like this in those days, and in this country for a long time," he said, pointing to what at first was an unfamiliar object to Carla. It was a small wooden wall of about four feet in height, two large holes opposite one another, bored into the wood with two smaller ones about two feet above those. Hinges had been attached to one side of the bored-out wooden device, apparently making it possible to lift the areas around the holes together or separately. A pillory! Of course! She had seen pictures of those things in picture books when she was a little girl going to school. The pilgrims used them in Massachusetts for thieves and whores. Was he going to push her into, it?
"I think you've guessed what I'm going to do with you, Carla. Come on, follow me," Mike said, taking her by the right arm and pulling her forward.
"N-n-n-noooo!"
She whimpered, tucking her ass back, trying to dig her bare feet into the cold concrete floor while struggling against the big man. It was futile. His fingers bruised her flesh, leaving long red marks on her skin as he tugged her forward to the pillory. Quickly, he swept her up in his arms, kicking the lower hinges open and thrusting in her legs through the larger holes. Carla tried pulling from his grip. The device crashed down with the sound of a slicing guillotine, making her flesh crawl with horror.
"Now for the arms."
Carla was no match for his strength. In a moment he had opened the top portion of the device, shoving her wrists through the hole, forcing her forward until her elbows were well into the curved grooves. Again he slammed the wood down, locking it in place. Only-now did the full force of her fear and panic descend on her. At least there in the office she could use her arms and legs to defend himself. At least there she could twist around, hiding her cunt, her ass, her tits from the belting and kicking. But now Carla saw she was completely held in place, unable to move at all, held in place by the pillory.
"Stop this! Stop this!"
She bounced her ass up and down, her plump reddened asscheeks jiggling against one another. She screamed and pulled back, trying to break the brass hinges still holding her fast. Carla saw she couldn't even tip the pillory over, the device as braced by wooden two-by-fours on either side at the bottom to steady it. The only thing not braced was her ass, sagging down from the pillory, prancing invitingly up and down as if waiting for another belting smack. Mike watched her approvingly, taking her chin in his right hand and squeezing his fingers. They were pressing right at the junction of her upper and lower jaw. Carla stopped her writhing and screaming, a shock of pain racing along her facial nerve and making her cheeks shudder. The agony was like a ragged saw cutting into her brain. He pressed harder, laughing at her, watching as her eyes rolled back into her head and her body shivered with pain. It was an agony the woman had never experienced before, her body revolting from its source. She bounced savagely against the pillory, the muscles in her arms and legs pressing against her skin while her ass checks worked against one another. For a moment she thought Mike would surely crush her skull in his hand. Then, with another snorting laugh, he let go, smacking her reprovingly across the face.
"Uhhhhhh!"
Her chin struck the top of the pillory, the force of the blow rattling her teeth. She stared at the big man as he rubbed his crotch, the outline of his fat cock apparent now.
"You show spunk. You're better than some of the girls I get in here," he continued, dragging the wooden cask over until it was right next to her. Carla eyed the object warily, moving her jaws, making certain he hadn't shattered anything in her skull.
"What's… what's in there?" she ventured, feeling that somehow she and that thing were going to be attached.
"Beer. Surprised?" Mike said, noticing her look of amazement. "The girls here don't brew it, of course. Some of the local ranchers around here gave me a recipe one day, shortly after I took this place over. Sometimes we indulge in it – at parties when we invite the students to join us."