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Chapter 10 The Farm
“Get up, whore,” said Ahmad placing the Hot Shot LS-432 cattle and hog prod between Christine’s legs. His arms flexed as he used the two feet of hard plastic baton to leverage Christine off the ground where she had collapsed. Christine whimpered as the prod dug between the folds of flesh covering her vagina. He’d skillfully managed to place the prod’s blunt end right at the nerve dense entrance to the orifice. It was a technique he’d learned years before in Abu Ghraib. An Iraqi doctor who was on Saddam’s personal medical team had used charts and live detainees to demonstrate where the female body was most vulnerable to electrical torture.
As she was about to regain her footing, Ahmad pressed the trigger. A one second burst of fifteen thousand volts left the Hot Shot’s capacitor and instantly traveled to her vulva signaling the circle of pain receptors something terrible had happened.
Christine’s eyes opened wider than anyone would have thought possible. Her hands involuntarily flew to her crotch as she fell to the ground. A screaming, twitching and naked Christine rolled over and over in the soft earth clutching both hands to her groin. Loose soil clung to her sweat covered body coating her as she lay twitching with involuntary muscle contractions.
The dark skinned men assigned as trainers for the eight women laughed and jeered in Arabic. When her violent muscle contortions subsided Christine filled her lungs and sounded a long plaintive cry of pain and frustration that carried for a quarter mile through the White Mountains. Since it was the first day and important to establish who was in charge, Ahmad placed the business end of the Hot Shot against Christine’s clitoris and triggered a second jolt. Over and over in the loose dirt rolled Christine, the muscles in her legs kicking wildly out of control.
Tiring of the show, Ahmad took hold of Christine’s curls and lifted her to standing. She was trembling with fear and whimpering in pain, her hands massaging her still throbbing sex.
“Fall again and I’ll stick it up your ass,” said Ahmad as he placed her hands on the heavy wooden pump handle. “Now, push.” Ahmad delivered a sharp and painful blow to her already striped backside with the quirt tied to his wrist.
Blinded by pain and exhaustion but terrified of more punishment, Christine’s cross trainers dug into the earth as she along with the other seven trainees began to slowly turn the giant wheel that brought well water to the surface filling the bathing pool. When the water tank was full, they would be allowed to bathe, eat lunch, and take a short rest.
Lex had told her the training was exceptionally difficult and brutal but Christine had not fully appreciated its severity. It was barely past noon of her first day and she was on the verge of collapse. Her back was raw from the small multi-strand whip or quirt her trainer applied without the slightest hesitation. The other women were in no better shape. Everyone’s backside was striped. Christine wondered how anyone could make it through the entire boot camp and emerge sane.
Her day had started peacefully. She had gotten up at six to drive the sixty miles to Peter’s isolated training camp in the foothills of New Hampshire’s White Mountains. Maurice was still asleep but Genevieve had awakened to feed Michael. In spite of their rivalry over Maurice, the two maintained an outwardly pleasant relationship. Christine blamed herself for Genevieve’s presence. If she hadn’t made a pig of herself during her pregnancy, Genevieve would still be in Paris.
Observing the care and attention, Genevieve paid to feeding Michael; she was forced to admit the girl made an excellent nanny. Her performance in the basement dungeon had shown she was also a well-trained dominatrix. Christine’s exclusion from the S&M session had reinforced her desire to attend Peter’s Boot Camp. Watching Maurice and Genevieve brutally punish the attractive female slave had made her realize what her weight gain had cost in her husband’s esteem. Christine would have been more than willing to take the woman’s place on the whipping bench and subject herself to Maurice and Genevieve’s worst cruelties.
“Who was the beautiful girl in the basement yesterday,” asked Christine her curiosity getting the best of her?
“Oh, I didn’t know you saw her. Her name is Michelle Dumont, a fellow countryman. She is a flight attendant I met on my trip to Boston,” said Genevieve thrilled to find out Christine was watching.
“She seemed to be enjoying what you were doing to her.”
“She was trained in Paris by a Mistress of some renown. Her capacity to withstand pain while bringing pleasure to her Masters is exceptional. I hope you weren’t upset by anything you saw,” said Genevieve lifting a tiny spoon of strained apricots to Michael’s mouth.
“No, not at all,” said Christine aware that as soon as she left, Genevieve would climb in bed with Maurice where she would sleep until Christine returned.
Arriving at the Farm’s gate, Christine had been impressed with security. An armed guard had carefully inspected her driver’s license and thoroughly searched her Lexus before allowing her to proceed.
The morning had begun with the eight women introducing themselves as they ate a macrobiotic breakfast in the rustic dining hall. A neatly typed handout documented the recipes and listed the calories, carbohydrates, and vitamins of each item. A tall thin woman introduced herself to the group as Alexia. She would not only be cooking their meals but also teaching the daily macrobiotic classes.
The eight were all in their twenties or early thirties, attractive, and suffering from a recent weight gain they were desperate to reverse. The rules were simple. Each would be assigned a personal trainer who would drive them unmercifully throughout the boot camp. Corporal punishment would be the principal form of motivation. They were totally at the mercy of the personal trainer; however, they were guaranteed no permanent damage would be done.
Each day after the first week a yoga instructor from a nearby New England Institute of Tantric Studies would lead a practice designed to increase the length and intensity of their orgasms. After the first four weeks, there would be activities where they could apply what they had learned.
They could leave any time they chose but the money they paid for the session was not refundable. Left unspoken was the women’s hunger for the severe discipline coupled with sex the Boot Camp offered.
“No way I’m going to leave no matter what you do to me,” commented Amanda one of the trainees when Peter explained the rules. “I need to loose weight and if my trainer has to whip it off my fat ass, so be it.”
Breakfast finished, eight foreign-looking men marched quickly into the dinning room. Their military bearing was obvious as was their contempt for the wealthy, overweight females who would be under their control.
“Mohammed and his crew are Sunni Arabs,” said Peter after he had paired each girl with a trainer. “They don’t like you very much and that’s why I chose them. They consider you unclean whores. In their eyes you as depraved females who use their body to tempt men from the worship of the one true God and his Prophet Mohammed. Touching you defiles them. If any of you thinks she can lighten her burdens by offering sex you are sadly mistaken. They will whip you senseless for tempting them.”
Christine’s trainer was named Ahmad. She guessed his age as early thirties. The long scar across his face was the only thing that prevented her from considering him handsome. He gave her a look of utter disdain when they were introduced refusing to shake her outstretched hand.
During the course of the training, Christine learned they were all former members of an elite Republican Guard unit that once protected Saddam Hussein himself. Because of the horrific crimes they committed against their fellow citizens, they fled Iraq after his fall from power. Christine also learned Peter’s statement about their unwillingness to engage in sex with the women was untrue. At least once a day and sometimes twice, Ahmad would grab her hand and take her somewhere private where she would perform whatever sexual act he demanded. Still, Ahmad always made it plain that his inability to control his desire for her did in no way increase his esteem. To Ahmad, Christine was nothing more than a common street whore. The kind he would buy in one of the brothels surrounding a market in Baghdad. He used her at his will. She was nothing to him.
On her first day he had followed her into one of the small temporary latrines on the edge of the track. It was after their run. She was out of breath and covered in sweat when Muhammad signaled they could relieve themselves.
God, I’m not allowed to pee in private thought Christine ignoring his presence in the dark confined space as she pushed her shorts down and sat. She’d consumed several quarts of water and had to go in the worst way. When she looked up, she saw in the dim light Ahmad had exposed himself.
“Suck it, unclean whore,” he said stroking his large uncut cock.
A weary Christine signaled her assent in the manner women the world over have announced their willingness to perform orally. She looked directly into his eyes as she opened her mouth and licked her lips while extending her hand toward his hardening member. Christine didn’t doubt any unwillingness on her part would lead to some form of horrific torture. And she was too exhausted and hurting to endure further ordeals.
“You are nothing but filth,” said Ahmad taking a step forward bringing his penis to her face. As she worked his cock and balls with her mouth and hands, he slowly whispered a long string of what Christine took to be Arabic curses or prayers, maybe both.
Christine was an experienced fellatrice with a gift for discovering what gave her partner the greatest pleasure. She’d read the advice of successful courtesans and street whores regarding the art of the blowjob. Most agreed an understanding of the male’s psychology was critical. Christine followed two rules. First make eye contact and secondly use that to convince them that having their cock in your mouth was a mind blowing erotic experience that brought you to instant orgasm. “Always act like having their weenie between your lips is the thrill of a lifetime,” an old New Orleans prostitute who worked the famous brothels of Storyville had advised in the 1920s.
“You have a beautiful cock,” said Christine looking directly in Ahmad’s eyes as she held it to her mouth and performed a three sixty swirl over the head. “And what magnificent balls,” she said lifting his shaft to elevate his testicles slightly allowing her tongue to tease the underside.
His large low hanging testicles proved to be his place of greatest sensitivity. A deep exhale followed by a throaty moan informed Christine she should pay particular attention to his gonads. Christine sensed his positive reaction as she sucked one ball between her lips pressing it gently against the roof of her mouth as her tongue massaged its underside. She alternated massaging his testicles with her mouth as her hands stroked his shaft.
It was only moments before his increasing breath rate signaled the imminent arrival of a climax. Keenly aware of the penalty for not pleasing Ahmad with a great finish, Christine grasped each testicle in her hands and pulled them down and away as her lips captured the underside of the mushroom head. Her tongue attacked his cockhead as she maintained manual pressure on his balls. A slight jerk of his body, a quick inhale, and a small spurt of semen on her tongue caused Christine to focus on his urethra.
Maurice had always marveled at her expert sense of timing when it came to aiding the extraction of semen. Her lips pressed the tip of the head down opening the urethra wider as she applied suction.
Ahmad’s hands took a vise-like grip on the sides of Christine’s head as he experienced the sensation of semen leaving their reservoir and traveling rapidly through his urethra. When his cock stopped spurting, Ahmad was left leaning against the side of the latrine breathing hard. Christine’s mouth was filled with semen she shifted back and forth over her taste buds before swallowing.
“Ah, that was delicious,” said Christine enjoying the sensation of the thick liquid traveling down her throat and entering her esophagus. She felt its warmth as it descended.
Ahmad’s next move surprised her. As Christine unrolled some toilet tissue to wipe her dripping sex, a hand clutched her hair as another grabbed her throat. Ahmad forced her head back to where she found herself looking up at the light entering from a small vent in the latrine’s ceiling. His strong fingers roughly grasped her lower jaw forcing her mouth agape. He pressed hard straining her jaw hinge. His face, a mask of hate, appeared inches over hers. She could feel his warm breathe on her face. He whispered something in Arabic that Christine did not think was a complement on her terrific oral technique. A large gob of spit slowly left Ahmad’s mouth falling into Christine’s open mouth.
Ahmad quickly closed his trousers and left the latrine. Christine spread her legs slightly and placed her fingers on her sex. She allowed Ahmad’s slimy sputum to rest on her tongue as she masturbated. She swallowed his spit when she orgasmed.
The next day Ahmad again followed her into the latrine for oral sex. But this time after he ejaculated he immediately went to leave. Christine grabbed his hand stopping him. When he looked back he saw she had tilted her head back with her mouth wide open. Muttering curses, he positioned his face over hers. A look of scorn filled his face when their eyes locked and he saw her need for debasement. Christine detected the movement of his throat and jaw as he gathered his saliva. Slowly he brought his lips to where they were almost touching hers then released his spit. For the remainder of her training, their daily sex act that evolved to include vaginal and anal intercourse always ended with the same final act of degradation.
Later that night when the women compared notes, it turned out they had all been forced to service their trainer. They were about to turn in when Amanda brought up the topic.
“Peter’s full of shit about their religion forbidding them to screw us. Mohammed couldn’t wait to get his cock in my mouth. And he blew his load like a high school nerd getting a hummer from the prom queen. It tasted strange and he wasn’t circumcised either,” said Amanda a pretty buxom blonde who was the most overweight of the group. She was a member of Peter’s Cambridge health club. An ambitious and successful trial attorney with one of Boston’s most prestigious law firms she saw her recent weight gain as snatching away the partnership she’d worked eighteen hours a day to acquire.
“I blew Ahmad in the latrine. He was so horny he made me suck him while I was peeing. They probably eat a different diet and that causes their semen to taste different. He wasn’t circumcised either,” said Christine. “Middle Eastern males normally aren’t cut. My husband, who’s French, still has his foreskin so I’m used to rolling back the wrapper.”
At that point the others agreed none of the trainers were circumcised and their semen had a different flavor.
“Mohammed’s was a fattie not a longie. I got a thing for fat sausages,” said Amanda. “I hope he wants something more than oral tomorrow.” All the women proved amazingly candid in discussing their sexual history. All but one, Deirdre, were married. None considered marital fidelity important. Each had a history of being involved in S&M relationships.
“Thick is definitely better than long because most of the nerve endings in your vagina are located around the opening. Their sperm tastes like some exotic spice from the East. It was more floral; no spicy is more accurate,” said Laurie, a dark eyed beauty from the same club as Amanda. The station manager where she was a newscaster had told Laurie to either lose weight or find another job. Appearance was critical and the television camera added ten pounds. The fact she was willing to engage in three ways with the station manager and his wife counted for something; however even willingness to endure the wife’s severe whippings didn’t make up for falling Nielsen ratings.
“Quantity is more important than quality. I once blew my high school basketball team after they won the state finals. It was all great,” said Deirdre the tough talking Manchester, New Hampshire girl. “Basically, they all taste the same.” Deirdre, the youngest of the eight, was desperate to lose weight for her wedding. For their honeymoon, her husband-to-be was taking her to a resort in Rhode Island that catered to the serious S&M couple.”
“Not if they been eating asparagus,” said Christine. “It makes their sperm taste like a vegetable garden.”
“Once I swallowed my husband’s load after he had just finished a meal where one of the courses was asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. I thought I was going to puke,” said Marilyn the only Oriental in the group. “All I could taste was asparagus.” Marilyn’s husband practiced the ancient art of rope bondage. She showed the other trainees pictures of her tied up in ways that seemed part art and part torture.
“My husband eats strawberries to make his semen taste sweet,” said Kay a redhead with enormous boobs who belonged to the club in Boston’s financial district. Being overweight did not suit the image of the high profile money market fund manager she hoped to become. She and her husband were both submissives who considered themselves the property of one of Boston’s most influential business leaders and his wife.
“The best thing is we’re not on a meatless diet. I’d bet Mohammed and his crew will graduate from blowjobs to fucks,” said Cynthia, a housewife who recently found out her dentist husband was sleeping with his hygienist. In order to save her marriage, she’d agreed to attend the Farm and achieve the same weight as her husband’s mistress. She’d also agreed to have sex with the two of them and to serve as their sex slave.
“Lex told me this place was wild but I had no idea how wild,” said Christine rolling over to fall into an exhausted sleep.
***
Each morning the women were weighed. That first morning it had been something of a shock the way it was handled.
“Everyone strip for weighing, quickly,” said Mohammed standing by a medical scale located in a corner of the dining room.
Peter stood nearby as the eight women removed their clothes. It was understood they would frequently be nude during their training. Still, Christine felt a slight erotic tingle as she slipped out of her clothes in front of strangers.
“One forty six point five,” said Mohammed reading the digital scale when it was Christine’s turn. Ahmad wrote the number down on Christine’s chart. Mohammed then painted the numbers in large letters on her front and back using a thick tar like substance that proved very difficult to remove during the nightly bath. The ladies quickly learned the purpose of the pig bristle brushes located in the large communal shower. Unfortunately they removed a certain amount of the skin along with the paint.
After their weight was painted on, the women were stood against a white backdrop to be photographed front, back, and sideways. The images were printed and stapled to the dinning room wall in the order they were taken. At the end of the boot camp, Christine was amazed at the differences between the first and last pictures.
The first day after breakfast, the naked women were quick marched to their quarters, a large room with eight single beds. The furnishings were Spartan. There was no privacy. They were given five minutes to stow the few personal items they were allowed to bring. The trainers confiscated any makeup or beauty products.
“Change,” said Ahmad placing a large bag of workout clothes on Christine’s bed. The bag contained shorts, sports bras and sweat suits. Five minutes later, she and the others were running through the woods for two miles. Any woman, who fell or halted, was whipped until she rejoined the run.
After a short break, it was an hour of calisthenics motivated by the liberal use of the trainer’s quirt. A water break was followed by an hour of classroom training in the basic theory of macrobiotic cooking. Alexia explained that only by adopting a healthy diet could they maintain the weight loss the Farm would help them achieve.
“If after you leave, you return to your old eating habits, you will gain every pound back and the hell you go through here will be a waste of time and money,” said Alexia in her opening remarks to the class.
After cooking class the women were marched double time to the Farm’s athletic field. They were divided into two teams for a one-mile relay race. Although Christine managed to win her quarter mile leg, her team lost. The losers were ordered to remove their shorts and bra then marched naked to the far end of the field.
“I don’t think those are for chin-ups,” said Marilyn who had lost the race by falling on the last quarter mile.
“Quiet,” yelled Ebrahim applying his quirt to Marilyn’s fleshy bottom causing her to cry out.
Except for the pairs of handcuffs hanging from each cross bar they do resemble the chin up bars we had in school realized Christine as they approached the end of the field. A short three-legged stool was positioned under each pair of cuffs. Christine sensed the growing erotic tension of the women as they approached their place of punishment. Any normal group of females would be terrified realized Christine but not us. I bet there isn’t a dry pussy in the group.
“Climb up,” said Ahmad gesturing for Christine to step up on the stool. It took only a few seconds to buckle the cuffs around her wrists then kick the stool out from under her. Christine found herself hanging painfully by her arms. Her toes barely grazed the ground as she swung back and forth.
“Winners punish the losers,” announced Mohammed pushing Amanda to a position behind Christine and handing her a large flogger made exactly like the ones employed to maintain discipline in Admiral Nelson’s Navy. It was a heavy, vicious looking instrument of corporal punishment.
The first blow landed with no particular force. For an experienced masochist like Christine, the pain was minor. The trainers immediately expressed their unhappiness with the punishment meted out by the winners.
“Harder, like this,” screamed Mohammed pushing Amanda aside as he took the whip from her. He carefully shook the tangle strands free so each could find its way to a place on Christine’s flesh. It was easily the hardest blow Christine had received that morning. A firestorm of agony raced across her shoulder blade. Her determination not to scream failed. She opened her mouth allowing a sharp cry of agony to burst forth. Christine’s body involuntarily contorted and twisted as she swung back and forth, her toes desperately seeking the earth. As the pain subsided, Christine attempted to distract herself by identifying the other trainees by the sound of their screams.
“Now, you,” said Mohammed handing the flogger back to Amanda.
Amanda’s second attempt was harder than the first but still nowhere near the force of Mohammed’s. Pretty much the same scenario was occurring under the other cross beams. The winners were not whipping the losers hard enough to satisfy the trainers. The trainers began to apply their smaller quirts to the thighs of the women to increase their zeal for whipping their fellows.
“I said harder, you worthless whore,” said Mohammed reacting by once again grabbing the whip from Amanda then lashing it across Christine’s back with real force. He then turned on Amanda and whipped the woman to the ground and continued to whip her as he cursed her in Arabic. Finally he stopped and pulled the near hysterical female to her feet. He gave her a second to recover herself then handed her the whip for another attempt. Mohammed screamed at Amanda urging her to strike harder. It was only at the last that the force of Amanda’s lash approached Mohammed’s. Ahmad placed the stool under Christine’s feet and she along with the others was taken down. Weeks later when Christine had another opportunity to be whipped by Amanda, she marveled as she screamed at how the woman’s technique had improved.
“The winners did such a poor job they too must be punished,” announced Mohammed.
Christine regained her composure as she watched Mohamed and Ahmad suspend fleshy Amanda from the crossbeam. Amanda had a rubenesque figure with the kind of curves most men found appealing. One five nine was painted across her back and chest. Christine found herself excited at the prospect of whipping Amanda’s large bottom. That shocked her somewhat. She had always been a pain receiver never a giver. When Ahmad kicked the wooden stool out from under the woman and she howled at the sudden pain in her shoulders, Christine felt no pity.
“Begin,” said Ahmad stepping aside.
Christine recalled the weekend when one of her macroeconomics professors she was sleeping with at the time, Doctor Marx, used her to teach a divinity student named Daniel correct whipping methods or as he called it, the Art of The Lash. Doctor Marx was an avid collector of antique whips and his collection, housed in a restored Victorian in Boston’s Lexington suburb, included several thousand whips from over sixty countries.
Working from memory, Christine took a position behind Amanda standing sideways. She planted her lead foot forward pointing toward Amanda’s pink bottom. The foot on the side holding the whip was angled away from Amanda. Christine rocked back and forth on the balls on her feet grounding and balancing herself. She drew her whip arm back bending slightly at the elbow while holding her free arm forward for balance.
“Whip her,” said Ahmad directing her to begin.
Christine rocked slightly back on her rear foot then shifted her weight forward as she brought her arm around in an arc. The flogger reached Amanda’s backside with all of Christine’s weight behind it.
The leather strands made a sharp cracking sound when they impacted Amanda’s flesh. Immediately, red strips appeared on the screaming woman’s shoulder blade.
“Good,” grunted a surprised Ahmad. “Now, ten more and harder.”
Following Doctor Marx’s advice to seek flesh not yet kissed by the whip, Christine reversed her stance to land the flogger on Amanda’s other shoulder blade. She took a moment to allow Amanda to recover so she would truly feel the pain of the next blow not allowing it to be blurred and diluted with its predecessor. Methodically, she alternated her stance moving down to her bottom. The final two were perfectly placed across each buttock. The soft flesh indented as the leather struck then turned bright red almost immediately. Poor Amanda was literally dancing in the air at the pain.
I wish I could keep on thought Christine as she stood out of breath enjoying the whimpering sounds Amanda made as she begged not to be whipped anymore.
“Time for a bath,” said Ahmad taking the flogger from her hand.
As Christine walked back with the others, she recalled how Daniel, Doctor Marx, and she had spent the afternoon whipping each other into a state of ecstasy. Daniel had surprised her by maintaining his erection while she vigorously applied a flexible bamboo cane to the shaft. It had ended with the three of them having sex together in his Jacuzzi.
The women were not allowed to redress but told they must pump enough water to fill the wooden tank that supplied the showers. This turned out to be a backbreaking task. It reminded Christine of something she had once seen in a movie. The water pump consisted of a large vertical center post that used a system of gears and pulleys to draw water from an artesian well. From the center post, four smaller posts extended horizontally about a yard above the ground. These four posts turned the center driving the pump. Two women were assigned to each post. Overcoming the inertia required two of the trainers to help.
The women were completely exhausted by the time they re-filled the cistern. Christine fell from exhaustion. That was when Ahmad introduced her to the Hot Shot LS-432 he always carried fully charged.
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