Kollany Thirty-Five

1Kollany Thirty-Five

by The Technician

Kollany Thirty-Five is an Erotic Novel in Eight Parts.  It is set in the future on a deep space colony and follows the life of Princess Shumara Seven from the time that her plot to assassinate her father, King Humana One, fails to the day of her sentencing and judgement one week later.

During that time she endures a series of punishments that involve forced nudity, humiliation, body transformation, mind-control, forced masturbation, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, spanking, beating, flogging, donkey-girl forced labor, rape, bestiality, electro-torture, golden showers, freezing showers, snow torture, and being forced to eat cold oatmeal (gruel).   Through these many punishments and rewards, Shumara Seven discovers her true sluttish nature and eventually accepts and welcomes her final punishment and status.

Chapter Two - Judgement Day minus Six

Shumara’s first night as a prisoner in her own body did not go well for her.  Following her forced public announcement of her crime and her absolute debasement during dinner in the great hall, the control collar led her back to her room.  As it was leading her down the great hallway, she had attempted to use her body to try to escape.  She knew that her naked, perfect body had an effect on the guards as she passed.  So as she walked back to her room, with the small amount of freedom she had to move her eyes and her fingers she attempted to indicate that she would be “very grateful” to any guard who would remove the collar.  She even managed to gyrate her walk into a couple of pelvic thrusts before the collar re-tuned its control of her stride.  The guards, if they noticed, did not act, but the collar noticed everything and it did act.  When she reached her room, after placing her in front of her mirror to gaze upon herself until her tears were dripping on the floor, the collar then led her to her bed where it forced her to begin to finger and rub herself in a strange form of masturbation where the fingers, but not the mind were hers.

The collar knew exactly what her body wanted and exactly when to deny that final pleasure to her.  Throughout the night, her hands brought her to the edge of release and then slapped or pinched or just came up to her face and smeared her juices across her mouth and nose. If she could have spoken, she would have screamed to be allowed to cum... she would have begged to be allowed to cum... she would have offered to do anything if she could just cum.  But the collar kept her just short of final orgasm and allowed her heat to cool for a few moments until once again taking her to the very edge of the peak that she sought.   It was as if the collar or perhaps The One who controlled the collar was laughing at her attempts to escape by using her perfect sex.  Or perhaps it was showing her that her punishment would be shaped by her own actions.  If she attempted to use her sex to escape, she would be punished through her sex.

Just before dawn, her hands took her to release.  It was a thundering and explosive orgasm that had been building in her throughout the night.  It was an overload of pleasure for her body and mind.  It almost made the night of torment worth it, but then her hands again began their rubbing and prodding as the collar forced her to orgasm again and again and again and again.  Now, if she had been able to speak she would have screamed and cried and begged to be allowed to stop cumming, but instead her hands continued to rub and circle and tease until she peaked in another, now painful, orgasm.  Finally, after sufficiently punishing her feeble attempt at escape, the collar released her into a few hours of sleep before waking her to begin what would be her daily walk of shame.

During breakfast, the collar forced her to smile brightly and look each person in the dining hall in the eye as they passed by her solitary table or stared at her from where they sat.   Her cheery “Good Morning, Sir” or “Good Morning Madam” echoed almost continuously throughout the hall.  When the servant women from the kitchen gathered around the serving door to look at her, her neck shuddered in resistance against turning toward them and her mouth trembled as she tried to hold back greeting them, but the collar was stronger than her will and eventually she merrily chirped “Good Morning, Ladies” through quivering teeth. 

What her mind really wanted to scream out at the servant girls huddled in the kitchen door was exactly what she had screamed at them so many times before.  That was, “Wait until I get you over a kitchen chair.  I will pound your ass into shredded meat with one of the cook’s kettle spoons.”

Kettle spoons were large, very over-sized wooden spoons intended to stir a kettle of stew or soup that was cooking over the open fires of the kitchen hearths.  Shumara loved using kettle spoons as her chosen instrument of torture when she would spank or beat the kitchen staff.  She had even ordered several special kettle spoons made “for the cook” that hung on the wall alongside the fireplace for those occasions when she needed to vent her anger on someone.  The presence of those spoons in the kitchen was a constant reminder of the power and pain which she held over the servant girls and boys of the kitchen staff.

As Shumara pictured those spoons in her mind, she especially remembered tying the chief cook’s daughter, Jenny, across the serving counter in the kitchen and beating her until she could scream no more.  She had then left her there naked, with blood running down her legs,  for her father to find when he came into the kitchen to begin preparing the next meal. 

As soon as that image formed in her mind the collar buzzed slightly and forced her to stand.  It then walked her to the serving door which separated the kitchen from dining hall.  The serving women scattered before her in fear of what she had done to them in the past and what she might do to them now, even in her disgraced state. 

“I am ordered to request that all kitchen and serving staff gather in the kitchen at exactly two this afternoon.  I know that this is your break time, but I promise that what you will see will more than make up for missing your afternoon break.  I am further ordered to especially request that Junhara Six and her father Donhara Three be present.”   With that Shumara bowed to the assembled women and backed out of the room.

As she left the great hall to begin her tour of shame through the rooms and offices of the palace complex, the collar loosened its grip upon her slightly and allowed her to sob and cry out loud as tears flowed freely down her face and wet the tops of her naked breasts.  As she sobbed her way through the rooms and hallways, she was aware of the smiles and even laughter that accompanied her.  The humiliation was so intense that her skin darkened with a reddish blush until it appeared almost as dark red as the distinctive hue of the genetic class which cleaned the buildings and took care of the grounds that surrounded them.

It was nearly one o’clock when she finished her walk through the rooms and offices and the collar brought her back to the great hall.  All eyes turned to watch her as she entered and walked to her table where a large bowl of cold gruel awaited her.  Shumara had always hated even the smell of gruel when it was served to the servants and had never in her life actually eaten or even tasted it.  But the choice was not hers as she scooped spoonful after spoonful of the slimy slop into her mouth.  She hoped that she would be allowed to remain at her table for a while when she had finished, but instead her body rose and went to the front of the hall to the slightly raised speaker’s platform.  She stood in front of the podium and announced with a loud voice, “Superiors of me, I beg your indulgence to announce that I am to be punished for my past behavior with the serving staff.  If any of you wish to witness this punishment, it will begin at 2:00 o’clock sharp in the kitchen.”  Shumara Seven then lowered her arms to her side and stood there like a living statue as she watched the clock above the doorway slowly tick its way toward 2:00 o’clock.

A few moments before 2:00 she began a slow walk to the kitchen.  Many of the ruling class who did not have duties that required them to be elsewhere, had remained after eating to see what would occur, and all of the kitchen and serving staff were crowded into the kitchen to witness whatever punishment Shumara would receive.  Each of them had felt her wrath at least once and all of them were hoping that she would suffer at least as much as she had made them suffer.

Shumara walked into the kitchen and directly over to the four overly large spoons that hung on the wall alongside the fireplace kettles.  One of the spoons, except for its size, was a normal spoon; one was a spoon with holes drilled through it supposedly to allow liquids to drain away  but actually to make it sting more intensely when it struck against the flesh; one was flat, almost like a spatula; and the last was flat and slotted so that it was somewhere between a spatula and a fork.  The slotted wooden spatula raised instant welts in a distinctive pattern when it was applied to a persons backside.  The welts from that spatula-fork often scarred and remained as a reminder of the princes’ wrath for years.

None of these special spoons  had ever actually been used to stir the kettles in the palace kitchens.  These were Princess Shumara Seven’s “private spoons” and had only one purpose.  They were used to whip a servant’s ass until he or she screamed and begged for mercy.  When they were not being used for that purpose, they remained on the wall as a constant reminder of her power.

Shumara took the four spoons from the wall.  She gave one of them to Jenny Six and another to her father Donny Trey.  She then asked, “Who is it that cleans the coals and ashes from the ovens and fireplaces?”  A rather dirty looking wench stepped forward.  She was one of the lowest of the servant girls with the dark, almost gray skin of the servant class, but even darker and grayer.  She was chosen partially because she was the lowest of the servant class, but also because had very muscled arms from lugging wood in for cooking and taking ashes out to the soap house.   She was handed the spatula spoon.  Shumara continued, “And who draws the water from the well and brings it into the kitchen?”  A much cleaner, but no less muscled young woman stepped forward and was handed the spatula fork. 

Shumara then moved to the preparation counter in the center of the kitchen.  Several of the servants gulped or cried softly as they remembered what had happened to them when she had tied them across that very counter and had beaten them with those very spoons.  One of Shumara’s favorite “games” was to force them to hold one of the spoons in their hand or in their mouths while she beat them with the other spoons.  If they dropped it she would begin her count all over again.  Then when she was finished, she would make them stand in the great hall just outside the kitchen door, still holding the spoon wherever it was that she had placed it, until the next meal had been served and the hall had been cleared.  If the next meal was breakfast, that meant the servant girl or boy stood there all night.

Shumara  lay herself across the low counter with her breasts hanging free on one side of the counter and her legs barely touching the floor on the other side.  There were special eye-bolts at the base of the counter that Shumara had ordered installed and were normally used to tie her victim in place.  Two servants stepped forward with ropes, but the collar said through her voice, “It will not be necessary to tie me.  The collar will see to that.  Each of you is to administer 50 strokes as hard as you can.  Jenny Six, you are to go first.  After you are finished, place the spoon in my right hand.  The ashes servant will go next and then place her spoon in my left hand.  The water girl will be third and then place her spoon in my mouth.  Donhara Three, you will be last.  I think that by the time you have finished you will know where to place your spoon.  You may need to use some of the grease from the scrap bucket on the handle before you put it in place.  Afterward, I will take the spoons with me and burn them in my fireplace.  They will never be used here again.”

Shumara held her arms out to her sides and spread her feet as wide as they could go.  It was as if she was very tightly tied in place except that there were no ropes holding her.  The first stroke smacked against her ass cheek and resounded like a shot within the kitchen.  Her scream, which was even louder, surprised her more than it did those who were watching.  Evidently the collar had returned control of her voice to her so that the servants could hear her scream and beg for mercy.

Scream she did, very loudly, but she did not beg for mercy, at least not at first.  Instead she cursed and spit and declared that she would someday get her vengeance on those who dared to touch her royal body.  Pride, however, is no match for pain, and somewhere around the thirtieth stroke she began to beg.  “Please don’t do this.  Please I can’t stand it.  Please don’t hurt me like this.”

Her words, if anything, had the opposite effect on Jenny Six.  She sped up the tempo of her strikes and swung harder and harder with each swing of her arm.   Finally she reached fifty and stopped.  She was panting, sweaty and gasping for air, but for the first time in several years, she was also smiling.  In fact, she was almost laughing as she took the spoon and set it in Shumara’s hand and said, “Remember, former princess, if you drop the spoon, we start the count over again at one.”  Shumara wondered if the sound of joy in Jenny’s voice and the look of triumph on her face was what the servants had seen on her face as she said the same words to them.

The ashes girl stepped up directly behind Shumara and began swinging her spoon downward against Shumara’s upper legs.  Shumara bounced and kicked as much as the collar would allow and on the fifth strike, her hands opened and she dropped Jenny’s spoon.  Jenny rushed forward and picked it up and put it back in Shumara’s hand.  “You lost five on that one, former princess.  You will need to do better than that if you are going to survive this.”   Both Shumara and Jenny knew that Jenny’s laughter that followed was because she was again using the exact same words that Shumara had used the night she had beaten Jenny to a bloody mess on that very counter.

The ashes girl began once again and, as before, she struck vertically on Shumara’s legs and ass.  Shumara screamed and begged and squirmed but she did not again drop the spoon even when the ashes girl reversed the spoon and struck deeply in the crack of her ass with the narrow handle, once striking her tail bone and once striking her puckered anus with the very tip of the handle.  When the ashes girl finally finished, she placed her spoon in Shumara’s left hand, and the water girl stepped forward with the terrible slotted spatula-fork.

“I don’t know if you remember, former princess, but when you tied me naked to this counter, I was looking at the ceiling, not the floor.  If I am to do to you what you did to me, I need to turn you over.”

“No, no, please, not that,” blubbered Shumara, an image of what she had done to the water girl forming in her mind.  But then in a voice that was clear and crisp the collar spoke through her and said, “Turn me over and lay me flat on the counter.”  Several men servants stepped forward and she was soon laying face up on the counter with her head at one end and her feet at the other.

“That’s not how I was tied,” said the water girl and she roughly grabbed Shumara’s feet and spread them so that her legs were outside the counter and her feet hung down with her knees bent.  The result was that Shumara’s legs were spread so wide that her slit gaped open, and with her lower legs hanging alongside the counter, there was no way that she could draw her legs back together.

“That’s more like it,” laughed the water girl and she reached forward and tapped the side of the fork-like spatula-spoon between Shumara’s legs against her mons.  Shumara jumped slightly with the tap, but the collar held her in place.   After three more taps, one directly on the clit and one on each nipple, the water girl announced, “Now we begin,” and she turned the spoon in her hand.

The first full stroke landed solidly on Shumara’s left breast.  It was followed immediately by strikes that alternated from breast to breast.   Shumara’s screams became almost continuous as the flat, slotted, wooden spatula continued to fall repeatedly on her nipples.  When she thought that she could scream no louder, the water girl stepped slightly to the side and began pounding her cunt with blow after blow.  Her screams filled not only the kitchen, but the great hall and the great hallway beyond.  Just as she thought that she would lose her mind for the pain, she suddenly felt the handle of the spoon being thrust between her lips and teeth so that she was holding it in her mouth like a dog with a long bone. 

The water girl bent low over Shumara’s face and whispered, “I enjoyed that more than you ever did when you beat me.  I am wet between my legs and will dream of this whenever I am lonely in my bed at night.”  With that she laughed and reached down and stroked Shumara’s swollen cunt.  Shumara gasped in pain at even the light touch.   “I think you will remember it too,” laughed the water girl as she stepped back into the crowd.  Shumara felt herself sliding into a semi-conscious haze to escape the pain which consumed her body.

The collar brought her back to full consciousness, though, as a man’s voice boomed out.  “Former princess, you have a choice to make.  I know where I will leave this spoon if you remain as you are, and I know where I will leave it if you turn back over onto your stomach.  So the choice is yours.  Do I continue to pound you cunt and tits and then leave this spoon in your twat, or do you roll over and I pound your ass and legs and then leave this spoon firmly embedded in your royal ass?”

It was then that Shumara remembered that she had once beaten Donhara Three and left him standing in the kitchen next to his ovens with this very spoon protruding from his ass.  She did not answer, but instead began to turn her body as if to roll over onto her stomach.  The pain was tremendous, and alone she could not have done it, but the collar overrode her pain and forced her muscles to act.  That, and the help of several of the servant women, allowed Shumara to return to her original position with her now swollen breast hanging over the edge of the counter.  She had hoped that this would help her escape further pain to her cunt, but as she lay on the counter, she realized that all of her weight was now pressing down on the very area which was so badly bruised. 

“So be it,” spoke Donny Trey, and he began to strike her buttocks, legs, thighs and back.  He was older, larger, stronger, and filled with the memory of what she had once done to him and to his daughter.  Each stroke made a loud splat that was heard even above Shumara’s screams.  Each stroke also left a raised red welt with darker red dots that marked where the holes had been drilled in the spoon.  By the time he had finished, Shumara was no longer screaming, but instead just whimpered weakly with each blow.  When the fifty strokes had been delivered, the cook walked over to the bucket that sat on the floor next to his stoves and plunged the handle of the spoon into the greasy mess.  As he walked back to the center counter he stopped for a moment at his preparation table and sprinkled something red and powdery over the handle of the spoon.

“I greased this as the collar recommended, but I also added just a touch of spice so that you will not forget me or what you did to me and my daughter.”  With that he pushed the handle of the spoon roughly between Shumara’s legs and into her puckered asshole.  Her whole body vibrated as the cayenne pepper began to burn within her, but the collar soon reclaimed total control of her body and held her still.

Despite the pain she slid off the counter under the collar’s control and onto her feet.  She stood there with her arms held slightly out from her body, a spoon in each hand, one in her teeth, and one protruding from her ass like a stiff wooden tail.  She clumsily turned in a complete circle so that everyone could see everything and also so that she had to look at everyone as they smiled and laughed at her complete humiliation.  Then with a slightly stiff and clumsy walk caused both by the beating and by the spoon still stuck in her ass, she wobbled off into the great hall to stand outside the kitchen door where she had made many servants stand after being beaten by her.

The response of the various people who came into the hall for the evening meal was almost identical.  As each came through the main doors, they would catch sight of Shumara standing with her arms held straight out from her body, each hand holding a giant spoon, another giant spoon in her mouth and a fourth sticking out of her ass.   All conversation would cease as they took in the grotesque sight, but then smiles would form as they pointed at her and said, usually loud enough for her to hear, “I see Shumara has finally gotten a taste of her own medicine.”

Finally the meal was ended, the hall was cleaned and the servants had all gone off to their rooms for their night.  As the lights dimmed, Shumara, the spoons still in place, waddled through the great hall, down the hallways and into her room.  Once in her room, the collar again partially released control of her body back to her mind.  A clear voice spoke within her head saying, “As long as you do not attempt to leave this room or speak to anyone through the doors or windows, you may remain in control of your body.”

Feeling herself in control, Shumara immediately dropped the two spoons and spit the spoon out of her mouth.  She then gingerly reached behind herself and slowly pulled the final spoon from her ass.

“I sense conflicting emotions within you,” said the voice.  “You hate what happened and yet there is something about it that entices you.  I can sense that it was not what was done, but the fact that it was done in public that has humiliated you.  In fact, you secretly wish that they had done one final thing to you, don’t you?”

“I wish no such thing!” Shumara yelled out loud, even though she knew that there was no one with her but the collar, and it could read her thoughts.

“Don’t lie to me or I will punish you,” said the collar.

After a long silence the collar continued, “Or is it that you want me to punish you?  Do you want me to do to you what you secretly wished that they had done in the kitchen?... or even on a table in the center of the great hall?”

“Please do it,” whispered Shumara, her head dropping in shame at what she had just said.

Her face immediately resumed the fixed expression that indicated that the collar was once again in control.  Her movements were the measured pace of the collar’s control as she picked up all four of the spoons from where she had thrown them on the floor, lay back on the bed, and holding all four handles tightly together, thrust the spoons into her cunt as far as they would go.  Holding all four spoons together, she began moving them in and out of herself at a steady pounding pace.  Her breath came in shorter and shorter gasps as her hips bucked against her hands until finally with a scream that was the same and yet different from what had been heard in the kitchen she clamped her legs tightly around her hands and moaned and thrashed upon the bed.

“That wasn’t me, Shumara,” said the voice from the collar.  “I released control before you picked up the first spoon.  That was you.  And it proves that you did lie to me.  So, now comes your punishment.”

Shumara’s hands, now under the true control of the collar, again began their pounding thrusts.  She moaned and thrashed and yelled, “No, please no!”  But her hands kept pounding and pounding until she clamped her legs together in orgasm not once, not twice, but ten more times.  Finally, the voice from the collar spoke in her mind, “Sleep well, former princess.  Your body will heal overnight.  You have five more days of preparation, but I know already that it will be very difficult to come up with a proper punishment for someone such as you.”

END CHAPTER TWO OF EIGHT