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PUNISHMENT
120 – Part 5, the first flogging.
The crew had finished warm
cups of coffee and cookies, and Della announced: “Let’s give him a drink of
piss, and we can get them to fit it into the first segment of the show.”
From a refrigerator in the
canteen, Della was handed a large jug of yellow-colored
liquid. It was the contents of both her and Karla’s bladders, their first
pisses of the day, therefore extremely pungent and extremely bitter tasting.
Della poured almost
three-quarters of a pint of piss into a glass and walked
out to the sweating slave, hanging before her.
When the camera crew and the
sound lady were in position, Della started: “Hi cockslut,
my watch tells me you’ve been hanging out here in the sun for almost an hour.
Must be getting thirsty, eh?”
Jason nodded his head and
spoke up clearly. “Yes, Mistress Della, very thirsty, very,” he said.
Della smiled. “Well, here’s
a nice cool drink for you, Jase, it’s my urine from
overnight, nicely chilled. Hope you enjoy it. Gonna
thank me?”
Jason nodded again. “Yes, mistress, thank-you so much for allowing me permission to
drink your glorious golden nectar.”
Della approved. A slave who
knew not to refer to his mistress’s urine as “piss” had obviously been
well-trained.
She pressed the rim, of the
glass to his pretty mouth and after an initial wince when the strong aroma of
the urine struck his nostrils, the lad gulped the
glass dry in three quaffs.
“Good boy,” said Della,
encouragingly. “Was that nice?”
“Lovely, mistress,” said the
lad, lying blatantly.
“Great,” said Della,
“because there’s lots more for you. Now, hang around for another hour and then
we’ll be back to start on your back!”
The crew indicated that the
sound levels and the pictures were all great, and the team marched back into
the cool of the canteen for more refreshments.
Later, Della checked her
watch, saw it was now 10.55am and the assembled company walked out to the
flogging-framed slave.
“Floggers, take your
positions,” said Della, closely following the routine Punishment 120 script. The two naked women walked behind the
sweating slave’s back.
“Now, Jase,”
said Della, in a friendly tone, “you can see the clock and it’s
reading 10.59 and 01 seconds. When it gets to 10.59.50 you will start counting
down from 10 to nought.
“When you get to zero, call
out nice and loud ‘Mistresses, please flog me’, got it?”
The slave nodded, looking
extremely miserable. Then, when the large computer read-out on the clock
reached 10.59.50 Jason started his count down to torture – a strict requirement
of the creators of the P-120 game and designed, of course, to add to the cockslut’s humiliation.
When the clock read 11.00.00
Jason yelled: “Mistresses, please flog me!”
But the two vixens behind
him dragged out the awful fear of waiting.
Both placed the triple-thonged lashes on his muscular upper back and traced their
tips down his flesh. Despite the searing heat of the Arizona morning, a shiver
ran through the naked slave.
Then the whips started their
whistling work. Sadie struck first, her right arm whirling down and lashing her
flogger across the slave’s broad, sinewy back. Three pinkish lines remained.
The next stroke came from
the Amazonian Audree, and was slightly harder, but
not much. The triple leather crack made a sweet sound to Della’s ears as the
thongs spread more tell tale ribbons of whip marks on the cockslut’s
firm flesh.
Della checked her watch and
saw that the two flagellatrixes were timing the blows
well within the 10-strokes per minute rule.
The first minute saw only
five strokes inflicted – both whipsters were keen on
tracing the thongs over the lad’s flesh between strokes – the second seven, the
third eight, and for the fourth back down to six.
These women, Della could
see, had built-in clocks in their heads when it came to stroke counting. In the
fifth minute they landed eight blows on him, the stripes were becoming redder.
Della did a quick mental calculation and found that at this rate, the two whip
mistresses would land more than 800 blows on the shuddering slave!
After 10 minutes, Della
called a halt, and looked up into the lad’s grimacing face.
“Like a nice refreshing
drink, slut?” she queried.
The teenager shut his eyes, then looked down at the beautiful face of the woman in
charge of his torments. “Yes, please, mistress,” he gasped and Della walked to
the canteen while the floggers continued their whip work.
Pressing the glass to his
mouth on her return, Della allowed him a minute or two to drink her and Karla’s
urine cocktail, then she nodded at Sadie and Audree
and the whips began to whistle anew.
The close-up camera soon
spotted tears rolling down the cockslut’s face. Karla
made a note on her pad.
Then, after about 20
minutes, a particularly vicious stroke from the black beast, Audree, drew a whimper from the lad. The next, from Sadie,
produced a murmured moan and then, after Audree’s
next foray onto slave flesh came the sound Della was
waiting for.
“Aieeeeee!”
screeched the youth, his body arching as the cruel crops cut into his flesh,
this stroke sending spurts of blood into the air as the leather finally cracked
his skin.
Della stepped alongside
Karla, and found that, according to the log the lovely 18-year-old production
assistant was maintaining, the stroke that had produced the boy’s first scream
was the 136th. Hmm, she thought, not bad, not bad at all.
The whip work went on.
Sometimes the flagellators slowed the tempo, with more soft, delicate strokes
over his burned, bruised, battered and now bleeding flesh, just tracing the whips
in teasing, taunting traces before flaying the flogger down across the welted
marks with gusto.
By the hour mark, the slaveboy had sucked down another large glass of urine,
doing it now with enthusiasm because, Della reasoned, he realized that while the
lovely TV frontwoman was feeding him the
strong-tasting liquid, at least his back wasn’t being flayed.
The second hour saw an
increase in his screams. The yells became more vibrant, more piercing,
higher-pitched, louder and even louder, as the cameras recorded every
blood-spurting stroke, every drop of tears from his big blue eyes, every
mouth-wide bellowing of agony.
And then, it was over. The
two flagellatrixes stopped, their bodies
sweat-covered, their breasts heaving, their pussies
pulsing with the excitement of their agony-inducing accomplishments.
Della stepped back to the
lad and pressed yet another glass of urine to his lips. Then, with a stroke of
his sweat-stained blonde hair, she smiled at him.
“Now you just hang about for
another two hours, there’s a good cockslut, and the
girls will be back to bathe your wounds.” And with a quick squeeze of his
prickle-punished scrotum, Della walked away from the sobbing slut.
In the cool of the canteen,
the lovely TV presenter, her crew and the two whip mistresses, tucked into a
lovely salmon salad, washed down with some foamy jugs of beer and, for Della,
an excellent bottle of chardonnay.
From time to time – three
times in all, during the two hours the blubbering boy hung from his straps in
the hot sun – Della presented him with glasses of urine, each cooling gift
faithfully recorded on camera.
During each “drinks break”,
Della took the opportunity to have a little chat with the suffering slave.
One “little chat” went like
this:
Della: “How’s your back,
cunt?”
Slave: “Awful, mistress, it
burns like crazy.”
Della: “Know what’s coming
next, don’t you, cunt?”
Slave: “Yes, mistress, the
horse urine.”
Della: “Right, and if you
think you’re in agony now, wait till the horse’s piss hits you!”
Finally, the clock had
almost reached the six-hour mark, and the floggers made their way out to the
suspended cockslut and stood by their buckets.
Della gave the lad another
glass of her urine, then smiled sweetly at his
scrunched up face.
“Now it’s time for your
soaking, slut,” she said, her words being faithfully recorded for the P-120
viewers.
“Sadie, you go first!”
And the lush-breasted little
teenager picked up the big bucket and stepped up onto the chair which had been
placed behind the slave’s burned, bloodied,
criss-crossed back and tipped it until the urine was in danger of spilling.
“Feel this, cunt!” shouted
Sadie, and a stream of dark yellow horse’s piss slopped from the bucket and
into the teen’s wounds.
The cameras got the scene.
It was almost as if the 18-year-old had received a few millions volts of
electricity. His body threshed, thrashed, jerked and bucked wildly in his
bonds, his screams echoed throughout the large compound.
The girl stepped down, and
Della saw that possibly only a fifth of the bucket’s contents had been emptied
onto Jason’s welted back.
Slowly, the lad’s screams
faded, his jerking body, still shuddering slightly, calmed until, as last, his
glistening figure was still.
“Here comes Mistress Audree, cunt, get ready for some more
agony!” Della cried, and the black beauty advanced on the suspended slut slave.
The naked, big bird climbed
onto the chair and made the cockslut suffer.
“Beg me for it, mother
fucking cunt!” snarled the black woman.
“Please, Mistress Audree, please pour the horse’s piss on my back, please,”
came the sobbed pleas. And the woman obliged, pouring a stream of urine
carefully over his battered back.
“Aaaaaaargh!”
came an agonised cry, and then the screams started to
erupt again as the cockslut felt the strongly salty
urine burn into his wounds, his body once more threshing wildly in his bondage.
And so the boy’s torments
continued. At regular intervals either the pretty blonde guard, Mistress Sadie,
or the stunningly-built body builder Mistress Audree
would, at the order from Della Domina, climb onto the
chair with her bucket and empty more horse urine onto the bucking young slave.
At last, his two hours’
final torment was over, and Della rewarded him with one last suck of a filled
glass of her and Karla’s cold urine combination.
The lad was left, quivering
in his bonds, as Della stood in front of Karla holding an electronic autocue
for her summing up of the day’s proceedings.
“Well, P-120
fans, that’s it for cockslut Jason’s first day
of punishment. And now, the numbers those of you who’ve had a bet are waiting
for.”
Della looked at the autocue
and announced: “Jason received a grand total of 794 strokes across his back. I
wonder how many of you picked it?
“His first tears were
recorded 15 minutes into the punishment, his first
scream came at 21 minutes.
“Moving on to glasses of
human urine, he drank a total of 15. And the horse’s urine was poured onto his
back in 12 slops.
“Congratulations to you
lucky winners, and now, for our finale let’s hear from our plucky young cockslut!”
Filming stopped and the
cameras were set up again while Della stepped beside the wincing, panting and
still shuddering cockslut.
“Well, Jase,”
said Della, in her cosy, snug “nice to talk to you” manner, “how are ya feeling?”
The lad gasped, then
spluttered: “I’m in agony, Mistress Della. My back it’s burning, it’s like a
million matches burning in my flesh!”
Della laughed. “Don’t worry,
big boy, tomorrow’s the caning on your beautiful butt. That’ll be nice, won’t
it, cunt?”
The lad swallowed deeply and
replied with another shudder running through his pain-wracked body. “No,
Mistress Della, I don’t think it will.”
Della laughed in his face
once more and tweaked his testicles.
“Course it will, slut,” she
assured him. “Know why?”
The teenaged slave slut
shook his head and in barely a whisper, but a whisper Claudia reckoned the mic picked up perfectly, asked: “No, mistress, why?”
Della roared with laughter. “Because it’ll take your mind off the pain in your back, stupid!”
Then, turning directly to
the camera, Della signed off: “See you next week, Punishment 120 fans!”
To be continued.
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