 |
|||
|
|
Lexibelle knelt on the rough wooden box, her naked body bound to the stocks by her neck and wrists. She was pinned to the vertical post that neatly divided her fair-skinned breasts, forcing her tender tits to rub against the rough wood every time she moved.
She could only wait, and think about the events that had brought her to the discipline stall to be punished as leather strips were tied to her toes.
After the completion of her inspection, she had been gathered with the other assignees and marched, naked, into the fields to work. There, they had rolled hay until sunset, each team rolling and bundling the stacks of cut reeds. It was back-breaking work pushing the large masses of straw, and everyone had quickly gotten winded, the sweat coating their bodies as they labored in the fields. The stumps of dry reeds had cut and punctured their bare feet, adding to their misery.
The dry grass stuck to her glistening skin as the chaff wafted through the air, the cut stalks jabbing into her bare flesh every time she moved. All of the girls were in pain and exhausted but they had dutifully kept pushing the yellow-brown stacks. A few of the girls had been enthusiastic about the work. Sarah, a dancer, had worked impressively hard. But Lexibelle had spent too much time scratching at the stalks that dug into her fair skin, rubbing her bare feet, and she had been the last to finish tying off her bundles.
She had cried when they told her she would be punished for failing to work diligently.
The guards had dragged her back to the stables while the other assignees had marched to the showers. She had pulled against the shackles around her wrists the entire way. Strong arms and the kiss of a guard’s baton had gotten her into the discipline stall.
After the door had closed, Lexibelle had accepted her fate.
And now she was in the punishment stall, bound in the kneeling position to the stocks, her warm breasts pressed against the dry wood, her nipples soft and inviting. Her young legs were bound together by the short leather strap cinched around her ankles. The length of leather string wrapped around her toes had been passed outside her thighs and tied off to the post, pressing her knees together, allowing her very little movement.
And then she had heard the door open, with the promise that Mr. Leighton would return soon.
Time seemed to be standing still for her as she knelt, waiting for him; waiting for her punishment session to begin.
She felt the pain creep into her knees, her legs pressing her body weight against the small contact points against the wood. The longer she was forced to kneel, the more it hurt. She shifted slightly, the leather around her neck tightening, threatening to choke her against the top of the yoke. Her hands were lashed to the ends of the pillory, and she could see that they were beginning to turn purple from the bonds wound tightly around her wrists.
She began to cry.
She heard the door open, then someone moving around behind her; shoes shuffling on the floor as her tormentor prepared for her session.
She knew it was time to begin.
She felt something hard tap against her aching foot, letting her know how vulnerable she was, her pale soles presented openly to her unknown assailant. She shifted slightly. Another tap; another blow to her feet. She wiggled her toes, trying to escape the annoying sting. Another tap. She wiggled again, trying to get away.
Another tap, and another, repeating in the same spot, tiny flames shooting across the bottoms of her feet.
She squirmed against the pillory, her young body twisting in response to the taps. Her toes were bound so that she couldn’t avoid the tapping that struck the tender parts of her sore insoles over and over again. Each blow seemed to reverberate along the full length of her legs and directly into her cunt.
She tried to turn her head, straining to see who was beating her, but the noose around her neck held her tight against the post. Her feet twitched, trying to avoid the incessant tapping, her toes wiggling in frustration as she twisted on the platform, her hands and neck bound to the stocks.
Tap, tap, tap. So simple, yet so painful.
She squirmed, the pale flesh of her breasts pressing against the post, her soft pink nipples threatening to rub against the rough wood as she twisted her body, trying to avoid the blows.
The tapping was harder now, smacking audibly against her tender feet, causing her to rise up, to press her breasts against the platform, the leather around her wrists and neck holding her fast to the stocks. Her mouth opened to shout her protest, but she knew it would be useless to cry out. She settled back onto the platform and tried to absorb the pain as much as she could.
The blows kept coming, incessantly beating against her feet. Moisture pooled in her eyes, and still the tapping continued, striking firmly against the bottoms of her toes and instep as she writhed on the pillory.
She wondered if her feet were being marked with long thin lines spotted with purple. She imagined the bruises forming along the bottom of her arches. She wondered if she would be able to walk afterwards.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her feet were throbbing. Her toes were dancing in the air with pain. It hurt so much.
And then it stopped.
Her heart thumped strongly in her chest, pushing her blood through her body, her breasts quivering with each gasp she took. She was blinded by the moisture in her eyes. A tear fell along her nose. She tasted its salinity against her parted lips as she blinked, trying to clear the blurring fluid from her vision.
She felt warm from the stress placed on her body, a glow covering her skin as she twisted on the pillory.
She felt a tingling in her pussy. She knew she was beginning to grow moist; that her little bud was trying to peek through the folds of her cleft as the petals her labia began to blossom.
She pressed her knees a little tighter together. She didn’t want her tormentor to see her arousal.
She heard more shuffling. Whoever was in the room with her was reaching for something else; something new to use on her.
Then she felt something smack against her outstretched bottom, her breasts trembling from the impact that coursed through her, the twin curves of her ass prominently displayed to whoever was torturing her. It startled her, and it hurt, but at least not as much as the beating on the bottoms of her feet.
She heard a slight whoosh, followed by the smack against her upturned rump. She yelped from the sudden pain. This was meant to hurt. She’d been spanked playfully on her birthdays, but this was different. There was no laughing here; no cake and ice cream afterwards. She was naked and bound to the post, her ass on display to an unseen figure who took his time planning where to strike her.
She arched her back, trying to pull her young breasts away from the rough wood that divided them, anticipating the next painful blow.
Another whoosh. Another a smack. Another yelp as her body twisted on the pillory. She knew that’s what he wanted, to hear her cry out in pain, to let him know that he was breaking her.
Another whoosh, another smack. The curves of her pale mounds bobbed just below her outstretched arms, the soft mass shuddering from the blow, her pale nipples peeking around the post as they trembled in the air. This time she didn’t cry out. She was fighting it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Another whoosh, another smack; the paddle finding fresh skin just below the nape of her ass. A grunt of pain escaped from her throat. This one was harder and pushed her chest against the post, the soft skin of her breasts curling around the hard edges of the wood.
Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. A quick succession of swats now, each one covering a different spot on her prominent ass, turning the pale skin pink with anger.
She twisted and pulled at the bonds around her neck and wrists, trying to move away from the irritating smacks that fell against her ass. She winced and gasped and flinched but did not cry out. Her young body writhed against the post as she absorbed the blows inflicted on her. Tears fell against the yoke just below her chin, staining the dry wood with tiny dark drops of moisture.
A louder whoosh. She jumped, expecting a painful swat that didn’t come. She whimpered with fright. Her reaction had told him what he wanted to know; that she had learned to fear the discipline stall.
Then she felt a hand cupping her sex, feeling her heat between her legs. Knowing fingers massaged the engorged tissue guarding the entrance to her pussy. She pressed her legs together, trying to protect her sex from the unseen intruder. She jumped against the post as a stranger’s finger found her clit, rubbing it, teasing it, the inflamed nub coming out of its hiding place and demanding attention.
She twisted and tried to move her hips away from the strange hand probing between her legs, but the tickling fingers followed her limited movements. She could only squirm as her tormentor continued to play with her genitals, watching her writhe deliciously at the sensations beneath the curves of her hips.
Something spanked her hard on her ass, even as her tormentor fondled her sex. She squealed and squirmed from the pain of the paddling and the pleasure of her fondling. Her breathing was coming in quick gasps now, from the pain of her torment and the pleasure of the stranger’s touch. Her body glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. She relaxed and surrendered her body to her tormentor.
Curious fingers continued to probe her nether regions, stroking the warm soft tissue, soothing the nerve-rich folds tucked within her slit.
Another swat. She moaned but didn’t flinch. She was distracted by the feeling between her legs, the unseen hand pressing against her clit. She began to move her hips differently now, no longer trying to avoid the paddling, but rather trying to draw the stranger’s touch deeper into her.
Another swat. She gasped sharply; her arousal heightening her sensitivity as she rode the waves of pleasure building within her body. The muscles of her legs twitched as she struggled to rub her sex against the stranger’s hand, her breasts bouncing as she tugged at the restraints around her wrists and neck, her body flexing against the rough wood of the pillory. The hand felt so good; finding her special spots; knowing exactly where to go.
Her breathing came in quicker gasps now. She closed her eyes, feeling the waves beginning to build in her body, her hips flexing as she tried to hump the pleasure-giving hand between her legs.
And then it was gone.
She squirmed against the air, trying to find the wonderful hand, searching for the touch that would push her over the edge. She whimpered, begging for him.
Between her gasps, she heard the shuffling footsteps move away. Then the door opened and her tormentor, her unknown lover, was gone, leaving her lashed to the pillory in a state of extreme arousal.
She moaned in frustration as the door closed, leaving her alone in the room.
|
|
|