He was most chivalrous about helping me up off the floor. I’m quite sure he felt sorry for me. Men are queer mixtures. But his sympathy was not such as to interfere with his plans. However, he did give me a lovely drink before he had me kneel and then stuck his fly in my face.
I hadn’t been back in my cell five minutes before the vulture showed up. I wondered what she wanted. Anyway, she had a private place of her own where she took me. Seems as though she was in the senior executive class too. Imagine little Terry’s feelings when she was bunged into the living room and there were the other two vultures waiting. They had me naked in not time. I hoped one of them might buy my sack. Then they undressed themselves. ‘I’ll draw a veil’ as they used to say in Victorian novels. They could never have made the grade in Hollywood. I don’t think all three of them could have inspired one good male erection.
Vulture number one produced their universal panacea: a whip and a bottle. They gave me a bit of the bottle. I was to get the whip if I didn’t behave. The marks I already had aroused no comment. Probably when they were girls they’d been well decorated too.
They sat in a row. Three obscene Buddhas. I was instructed to go up and down the line. I was to get the whip only if I failed to sense and deal with a quivering orgasm. None of them wanted to be left on the hook. I prayed that once would be enough.
It wasn’t. I know I’m good at this. Dammit! Dorinda’s told me so many times. You know that pride in workmanship thing. Well, it didn’t help me now. My poor tongue. Have you ever had a tired tongue? Sounds absurd. Well, I had one then. The old biddies weren’t too keen on letting me have a rest. But I think they were a bit grateful so I missed most of the whip, except for one dear old soul who enjoyed flicking it at my slit while I stood to attention.
Once more I ended up in my cell. I was about ready for beddy-byes when another joker showed up. This time I had to discard my sack and let him such about everything I had. The bath I had back at old Rabin’s seemed quite wasted. My new client could have washed the statue of Liberty. I was quite surprised when he made me lay down and proceeded to give me a bit of pleasure. I’ve thought of him ever since as ‘ox tongue’. He was well endowed. Practice, I suppose. Anyway, my evening in that lousy cell turned out to be better that I expected.
But I went to sleep in tears thinking of Mark and Dorinda.
It was in the middle of the morning when the star of the show was let out to her fate. I shouldn’t joke. But they made such a production of everything. First off there was quite a to-do. The chap who’d given me a bit of fun the night before had enjoyed his bit of fun too. He’d locked my ankles together with a spare pair of handcuffs. Oh sure, they’ll go around a girl’s ankles. Then he’d gone off shift. Seems like his handcuffs weren’t standard. No one could find a key to fit. I’d sort of figured out he had a sense of humor. Anyone following him would have had a hell of a time making any use of a girl with her feet locked together. I'd actually been grateful. They’d been almost as good as a chastity belt.
Anyway, they sent someone for the key. When I could walk again they started the procession. Everyone was there. A girl was to be whipped. Naked. Tumescence was rife. I was a sex symbol. Unfortunately it was the wardress who was to do the job. I’d have preferred a man.
They had a post. Very simple. I was hoisted up by my hands far more than willing, until I could drape my locked wrists over the top. Then I was gently lowered until I found myself standing on tip toe. My hands linked on the other side of the pole and the handcuffs snagged on a hook so I couldn’t pull’m down. It was perfect for that what they intended to do to me.
It’s the kind of whip that counts. I looked this way and that until it came into view. I almost curled up inside. The damn cane was about five feet long. Some sort of native cane or something. My sentence was read in a very official manner by an elderly gentlemen who, I am sure, was enjoying his finest erection in years. My bit of sacking was torn away. I mourned it not. But there was little Terry stark naked with a very large female with a very long cane just to the rear. I mean… After all…
Do you like first hand descriptions of a girl being whipped?
I suppose I could manage one. You know, stroke by awful stroke. They did it very well in that book ‘Nell in Bridewell’. But I couldn’t possibly go into all those turgid exclamations. The damn girl always sounded to me like she was a silly ass. Actually, a girl does not think a lot in such circumstances. She is far too busy hurting. You just go from stroke to stroke wondering if it will be the next one that will kill you. There is no possible belief that you will survive. You are just a cracked record saying over and over: "No, no no."
You scream a lot too. You can’t help it. They didn’t seem to mind. It sustained their erections and proved my whipper wad doing a good job. How did I scream. That damn switch or cane or whatever the vulture was using on me was a new experience. It wasn’t a cane and it wasn’t a whip. I was getting the worst of both worlds and I was getting it from my knees to my neck. A cane is supposed to be for a girl’s bottom, not the rest of her. I’ll never forget how I tugged and heaved on my handcuffs. They cut me back as though it was a game. I knew my wrists were bleeding. But I did not feel the pain right then. All that mattered was that I jerk loose. Impossible. Oh sure. Tell that to a girl fixed the way I was fixed. If I’d been tied there by my nipples I’d have jerked them loose. I was frantic. All I knew was pain.
So you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t do too well on the graphic description. I just hung there screaming and squirming while the vulture cut me here and cut me there just as she pleased. I was just a piece of pretty female flesh, delivered to the butcher.
I was left like that for a long time after my whipping was done. I remember wondering if Rabin got extra cash for my suffering. Not that it would do me any good. A slave does not get paid. When they lifted me off the post I could scarcely stand. But I was all ready for transit. My faithful handcuffs were still on my bleeding wrists. All they did now was loop a chain around my tummy and fasten it tightly with a padlock that also went through the single link of my cuffs. So now I couldn’t do anything at all. I just had to hold my hands at my waist. It was a rotten helpless feeling. I wanted to scratch my nose. I wanted to tidy my hair. I couldn’t do anything. But those who handled me as a prisoner in transit sure could. My poor little quim and my rosebuds were pinched and cupped until I would have given anything for one of the silly twits to have finished what they started.
It was quite a long ride. I was in a closed van, my ankles chained to a ring in the floor. Wicked little Terry mustn’t have a chance to escape. There was another poor girl in there too, fixed in the same way as I was. We tried to talk. But no go. So we just smiled and smiled and smiled and tugged away at out chains to show we were sisters under the skin and all that rot.
The prison was worse than the other place. I got washed and disinfected. Their idea of wash was to chain me to a ring in the wall and play a hose on me. The water wasn’t all that cold. But it sure had a force. It hurt. The bitch who did it to me made me stand facing her with my feet apart. Then she gave me a full force jet on my quim. I just couldn’t stand it. But she made me do it over and over. It was a good introduction to my new home. Ten years. I tried not to think about it…
I got a scrap of a dress. It hid the essentials. But is was a woman’s place. We could just as well have been naked in that climate. I think they only made us wear it so we’d have something to be ashamed of taking off. It’s funny. No matter how many times you’ve done it you get a fresh flush every time you strip before someone else. Even a woman. I never felt that way with Mark and Dorinda.
Then I was back at attention in front of a desk. She was a great big Nazi looking type. I got a lecture and then off came the dress and I was bent over to get ‘The Welcome’. A nice proper caning to get me properly oriented and mentally adjusted.