Ch 4: The punishment.
When Parker whips me however, there is no one to enjoy it. He definitely does not. I know that he does not get erect during a session. Mr. Marshall is not there either, and neither is Paul. I have asked Paul if he sees the sessions, or if they are taped and he said no. He does know what happens in them, although, when he sends me, he does not know if Mr. Marshall will use me or not. It is so frustrating. If at least Paul could see me being whipped, it would at least count for something. I strangle a sob. I lift my eyes and Parker stands in front of me.
In his hands, the whip.
Oh my God. It is been a long time since he’s used the whip. Hanging from the beam, spread eagled, I tremble, and I start crying. I cannot contain my tears. The anticipation, the fear, the tension of these past few days, since Paul told me “You have an appointment with Mr. Marshall on Thursday” have caught up with me, on seeing the whip.
I am to be whipped mercilessly, until all of my body is covered with red stripes. And for what? No one who cares is here to see my pain; no one will see me struggle. Not even Paul, who is away for a meeting. By the time he comes back, all the marks will be gone. I cry and cry. Parker lets me cry without interruption until only intermittent sobs shake my frame. He has his first and only nice spontaneous gesture to me. He brings some Kleenex and puts them to my nose. With his help, still spread-eagled, I manage to blow my nose. I try to smile at him.
“Thanks” I whisper.
He moves behind me. I can no longer see him. He waits for my signal. He will not start until I ask him to. The cruelty of this is incredible. For every phase of my torture, for every body area that is to be whipped, I must ask for it, to make me a willing accomplice, no, an instigator, of the torture that will fall upon me. I can barely speak, but I must; otherwise I may hang here until the morning. I gather whatever willpower I can muster.
“Please whip my back” I hear myself say.
The bullwhip cracks. It hits just below my neck, across my shoulders. The tip flicks the side of my right armpit. It hurts like hell. I scream. He waits, as the pain rises in a crescendo, peaks, and starts to subside. Crack! A second slash, just below the previous one, and a scream, heart rending. Again a pause, and a third stroke, and a fourth, and a fifth. I scream for the lash, and cry between lashes. He works his way down my back, as he reaches my waist, I swear to myself, for the hundredth time, that I will never again come back here. But I know that I will.
He stops after whipping my waist. I continue to cry, for a long time. He gives me sugared water. I hadn’t even realized he had left. I drink the water greedily. Screaming and crying is thirsty work. He moves again behind me. How many lashes have I received? I lost count, but I can remember. Twenty to my back. Eighty more to go. I feel like I will die here. I cannot survive eighty more.
“Please whip my thighs”
Ten to the backs of my thighs, five to each thigh. The whip curls around the thigh and the tip snaps against the tender skin of the inside of the thigh. The pain is unbearable.
He moves to front and to my right.
“Please whip my thighs”
Ten more strokes to the front of my thighs. Again, the worst is the tip of the bullwhip snapping at the inside of my thighs. I manage to take these ones only with whimpers. I know the worst is yet to come.
“Please whip my ass”
Twenty lashes to my ass. I scream for all of them. The tip of the lash twirls around my hips and hits the soft, tender skin of my belly, or it snaps at my pussy. I scream and cry. I try to keep count, to keep a certain measure of control but after the fifth whip, I lose it. I scream and thrash my head about. My voice is hoarse. My muscles cramp as I try to thrash against the unyielding ropes. Finally when I think my sanity is about to crack, he stops. Broken, my head falls on my chest, twin rivers of tears flow from my eyes. He gives me some more sugar water. I realize it’s been sixty already. We are more than halfway there. But these were the easy ones, back, thighs, ass. I shudder again as I think of what yet remains. Belly, breasts, pussy.
He stands to my right.
“Please whip my belly”
Ten strokes to my belly. Slowly, one after the other, he gives them to me. Letting me savor each one, I scream again, and again. I just want this to end. Then he stops.
I cannot say it. I cannot bring the words out. He stands there, whip in hand, waiting.
I look at him, pleading with my eyes. “Do not make me say it” my eyes ask. He looks back at me, not unkindly, but he says or does nothing. My head drops again on my chest. I say the words, barely more than a whisper.
“Please whip my breasts, hard”
“As you wish” he answers.
The first lash is pure agony. The bullwhip hits my right breast first, and then curls around my left. I will get twenty lashes to the breasts, ten from each side, and I have to ask for each set. The second lash is a snake of fire that curls around my breasts. I scream louder and louder. Parker lets me finish screaming before lashing again. He never relents. I must feel the full effect of each lash before he releases the next one. After a while he stops.
It takes me a few minutes to realize that he is no longer lashing my breasts. I catch my breath, and he brings me water yet again, and again, I drink it up. He moves to the left side. Through a wall of agony I realize that the end is near. I just need to ask for it. I gather my strength.
“Please whip my breasts, harder”
“As you wish”
And he does. The lashes hit me harder, and find the nipples more often than not. My skin shines with my sweat. The sweat mixes with blood where the whip has nicked the skin. The salt in the sweat brings another dimension of agony to my ordeal. I continue screaming until it is over.
He gives me water again.
Now comes the worst part. The last ten lashes, to my pussy. As I hang from my wrists, he brings a sawhorse like contraption to the room and sets it in front of me. I am to be fastened, on my back to the padded surface of the sawhorse. With my legs held back, bent at the knees and wide open, my pussy hangs over the edge of the sawhorse. My arms will be fastened along the legs of the device.
I have been there before. He will stand slightly to my left or to my right, behind my head. The lash will hit my breasts first, and then curl around and the tip will cut into my pussy.
It is very well thought out. There is nothing to protect my pussy from this violation.
Parker lowers me and unties me from the beam and frees my ankles. I lie on the floor, like a sack of potatoes. I cannot move. My shoulders are so painful I can’t move my arms. All of my body hurts. He picks me up and lays me with some care on the contraption. He ties my arms first, and then my legs. My head hangs over the edge of the device; I notice I am in a perfect position to be deep throated, if Parker had any interest in women. He is however very professional and takes his place, above me and to the right. The first five lashes will then hit my right breast before curling into my pussy.
Sobbing, I take a deep breath. There is nothing for it. I must say the words. It must be done.
“Please whip my pussy, as hard as you can”
“As you wish”
All the agony I’ve suffered cannot compare with what comes now. I feel the lash along my right breast, followed by an explosion of white pain in my pussy. The pain is such that for a few seconds I cannot react to it. I cannot even really feel it, as sensory overload takes over as it peaks. Then I scream, like I’ve never screamed before. As soon as the pain starts to ebb, a second lash, more painful than the first, and then a third and a fourth. The fifth one, I almost don’t feel anymore. Between my screams I notice Parker on the other side. Waiting.
I must be strong now. I must say the words.
“Please whip my pussy again. Make it bleed”
“As you wish”
He changes whips. This one is also a bullwhip, but it has small pieces of sharp metal woven into its tip. The last five strokes will be with this one. They are just as painful as the previous ones, but they tear into my insides. After the third one, I feel blood splashing on me. After the fifth one, it is over.
I lie on the sawhorse, my pussy shredded, bleeding. Parker gives me a break and then he unties me, picks me up and takes me to the room. Before laying me in bed he gives me a warm shower. I am curled in the bottom of the tub while he does this; I cannot stand. One last torture remains before I can sleep. He takes a bottle of disinfectant and sponges me all over with it to prevent infection where the lash has cut into my skin. My skin is on fire and, when he reaches my pussy I think I will die. But I don’t. He gently picks me up and deposits me in bed, pulls the crimson satin covers over me and turns off the light. I cry myself to sleep.
In the morning, he brings me coffee and two croissants.