Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get The Blues

The four students in Madame Cervoix’s ‘Oral Skills for Slavegirls’ class were awaiting the start of the third lecture. They were in their usual positions - kneeling on the floor, naked, chained and plugged with the fiendish anal motivators. They talked quietly, as they were permitted to do so.

Suchita and Eva were discussing the operation that both had had since becoming slavegirls - the removal of the prepuce. Eva had also been subjected to a labiaplasty - the trimming of her labia - to create a very neat and attractive outer appearance to her sex.

“Since the operation,” Suchita complained, “my clitoris is constantly on display. In fact my Master calls it HIS clitoris. I’m so ashamed of how easily I am aroused. Sometimes when I’m locked in my hanging cage he’ll just blow on it as he walks past me. It makes me horny, but with my hands fixed behind my back I can’t do anything about it. Actually I’m glad my hands are tied, otherwise I would just play with myself until I cum.”

Eva gave her Indian friend a sympathetic look. She understood all too well what her friend was going through. Her own protruding clitoris was pierced laterally with a titanium ring. It was the focal point of her hairless and cut back sex.

“I have the same problem. My Master calls this ‘the Devil’s piercing’. It drives me crazy. I’m always thinking of it, always secretly wishing that somebody would touch it. Sometimes he locks a long chain to it and uses it to secure me to something. One time he even chained me to the maid’s vacuum cleaner and I had to follow her around the house while she cleaned.

Today, as a punishment for a minor infraction from last night, Eva’s master had fitted her with a crotch tie. A thin leather cord went around her waist then tightly front to back between her legs. The cord went down through Eva’s clit ring pressing hard against her clitoris and deep between her labia. It was no wonder she was looking hot and bothered!

Jessica and Kate listened to their fellow students with sympathy, curiosity (and secretly a little amusement). They leaned forward in their chains, trying to get a closer look at their fellow students’ modified genitals.

The drugs regime at Rabbit Island already kept its captives horny enough. The idea of a ponygirl without a clit hood made Jessica shiver with fear, yet she felt a tingle of excitement too.

“I wonder what’s happened to Nancy.” Kate said idly to Jessica, intent on changing the subject.

Jessica shook her head. “Who knows where she is? I just hope she is far away from here and planning how to get us off the island.”

“Did you say Nancy?” Suchita interjected. The name sounded familiar to her. “Last night, when I was sucking my Master under the dining table, I heard them talking about a girl seen taking a taxi from the port. They said she matched Nancy’s description.”

“She’s made it!” Jessica and Kate said in unison. They leaned towards each other and kissed. If they weren’t chained to the floor with long metal plugs in their asses they would have been dancing around the room.

“She’s made it! She’s made it!” Jessica continued to sing happily to no particular tune. “She won’t let us down, Katie. Nancy never lets her friends down!”

“Apparently the handlers will be setting off after her early tomorrow,” Suchita regretted to inform them. “They plan to intercept her before she arrives at the American consulate.”

Just as Jessica was pressing Suchita for more details they heard the ominous yet alluring footsteps of their teacher. After becoming progressively louder, the footsteps suddenly ceased and the classroom door opened.

Madame Cervoix entered the room looking as splendid as ever. Today she wore a formal jacket and a below-the-knee skirt, both in black kid leather. Her white satin blouse with a narrow red leather tie was striking; the red tie perfectly matched the red of her lips. Fishnet stocking and high-heeled ankle boots in shiny patent black, complemented her ensemble.

Even were she not kneeling in chains at Cervoix's feet, Jessica might still have felt inferior to this woman!

Madame Cervoix, beautiful, immaculately dressed, worldly-wise, charming and kind, was a successful person. In contrast, Jessica was a slave and a failure. A beautiful and well-trained ponygirl, yet still a failure. She might be good at hauling people and produce around the island but little else!

Cervoix held up four leather straps, each with a two-inch diameter leather ring in it. “You’ve all seen one of these before?”

They nodded miserably. Ring-gags were a regular fixture for all of them.

“Good, then let’s put them where they belong. Open wide!”

None gave any resistance as Cervoix fitted their gaping mouths with the leather rings, breezily buckling the straps tightly at the back of their heads as if she’d done it a thousand times before - which of course she had.

“Now. Just because you are ring-gagged it doesn’t mean you can’t still use the techniques I’ve taught you. Let’s start with a five-minute warm up. Take your phallus in your mouth, then suck and tease it until I tell you to stop.”

Her four students leaned forward towards the phalluses fixed to the vertical stands in front of them. Trying to remember every little detail that Madame Cervoix had taught them, they lavished their attentions on their imitation penises as if they were long-lost friends.

Cervoix walked around her kneeling quartet of students, analyzing their skills, gently correcting minor flaws in their technique as she focused on each of them in turn. She noted with satisfaction that all four were displaying signs of arousal; their skin flushing and clammy to the touch, pupil’s dilating. She noticed glistening moisture on Kate’s shaven sex. It was no less than she had expected.

“Last one to swallow the sword gets five jolts added to her score!” Cervoix announced as if it were a children’s game.

Five extra jolts! She didn’t need to repeat the statement; her students understood the implications only too well. They had all the incentive they needed for pushing their mouths fully onto their phalluses. Without Cervoix’s expert hands guiding them, it was proving difficult. The sound of coughing and gagging accompanied their efforts.

Jessica straightened her spine and tilted her neck. At first it seemed an impossible task, but she would rather risk choking that have five more painful jolts. She felt the narrow girth of the phallus plunging in her throat as if she was a heron with a fish. She slowly pushed herself upwards, her nose edging closer and closer to the sensor at the top of the phallus. With a peculiar satisfaction she felt the tip of her nose touch against the sensor. A small LED light switched on to confirm her success.

She held her position, and looked out the corner of her right eye to see how the others were fairing. Kate was already done judging by her own motionless pose.

“Okay! Hold it in your throat that for two minutes! You may move up and down the phallus if you feel confident you won’t gag. Try to swallow. The feeling of your neck muscles clenching on his penis will drive your Masters crazy.”

They’d all succeeded with the task, but Cervoix didn’t announce which one of them was last to complete it. That would ruin the surprise at punishment time!

Cervoix seemed satisfied with her students’ progress. Charging such exorbitant fees meant that she had to deliver real results. The four students in this class would give untold pleasure for years to come. If one divided her fee by the years of pleasure that a slave-girl might provide, she reasoned, it represented excellent value for money.

For the final part of the class, Cervoix had something very special planned. Her own invention, the ‘O-Box’, had already been a big success at the festival. One of the pussy-girls, Sally - a former Cervoix pupil, had been very busy this last couple of days as its primary occupant.

Madame Cervoix had prepared a short video of Sally and the O-Box in action. She dimmed the lights.

The screen showed a small, nicely decorated alcove within the main hall of the Lodge. There was a wooden box, the height of a seat and the width of a woman’s shoulders. From the top surface of the box protruded a woman’s head. She would have to be seated with her thighs up against her chest in order to fit inside the box.

The camera zoomed in to show Sally’s beautiful head. Her face and hair were exotically made up to scream ‘sex’. She wore a leather collar below which was fitted a leather gaiter sealed around the hole in the wood. It made her seem almost headless, or rather, bodiless.

In front of her nose was a small wooden block with a cut out U on top, and beyond that, a padded section - a seat.

A man came it to picture.

“Shall I take off my pants?” He asked Sally.

“No need to Sir. Please take a seat and release your manhood for me.” Sally’s voice sounded confident, yet respectful.

The man pulled out his cock and balls fully from his fly and sat down so his crotch was inches away from Sally’s face.

“Please put your genitals fully through the loop, Sir,” she politely instructed.

The wooden holder was perfectly shaped and positioned for the root of the man’s shaft to rest on. He eased his flaccid cock and large testicles through the loop. Without warning, the cord fastened tightly, as if by magic. There seemed no way for him to extricate his tackle from the trap short of cutting his way out. With Sally’s ravishing face just inches in front of him, combined with the tightness around his base of his cock, his erection was growing steadily.

Sally ignored it at that time; there was more preparation for her to do. “Please slip your hands through the loops on either side of the box,” she requested.

This was the stage that men feared most submitting themselves to a slave-girl. The man located the soft cord loops and wiggled his hands through each loop so they hung comfortably at his side. The cords pulled tight, the slack disappearing into the box. A cursory tug by the man confirmed he was secured. He'd been warned about it, but was still shocked to find himself at the mercy of a woman who herself was tied up inside the box on which he sat.

The tip of the man’s cock seemed to stretch towards Sally’s inviting lips. When she licked it with the tip if her tongue it grew a little more. She was teasing him very effectively.

For the man, the only thing in the world that mattered was having his cock deep in Sally’s mouth. He thrust his loins towards her, but was halted by the cord around the base of his balls. It just made his erection stronger. The tip of her tongue touched the glans of his penis, as if coaxing it to a full erection.

To ask her to release him from the cords before shooting his load would make the man a laughing stock amongst his associates. To beg the girl in the box to suck him would be unbecoming for a Master! So he did what he was meant to do he sat back, watched and enjoyed as Sally’s lips set to work.

She gave him the best blow-job of his life.

The five competing ponygirl-pairs were lined up for public viewing. Unlike yesterday’s line-up for judging, this time anyone could inspect the ponygirls. Jessica and Debbie had almost perfected the art of standing motionless, staring ahead into space, while exploring fingers delved beneath their harnessing straps, pinching nipples, tickling their ribs, as if searching for the woman behind the pony. It might look like a woman beneath those straps, her body even responded to their teasing, yet the ponygirl seemed distant as if her thoughts were on something far away.

Jessica’s thoughts were actually not so far away. She was thinking of her time in the O-Box just an hour earlier. She and the other three students were able to try their oral techniques out on a real people. It wouldn’t have been right to let them loose on paying visitors but Madame Cervoix had recruited four Filipino gardeners. They were very glad they volunteered!

It left Jessica obsessed with the thought that she might soon be in the O-Box with Master Alex on the seat. She’d had his cock in her mouth on many occasions, but always while hog-tied and ring-gagged. How would Master Alex, the control freak, feel if she were in control for once? To be at her mercy the same way that gardener was? She couldn’t wait to find out! Suddenly the rubber ponygirl bit between her teeth tasted like Master Alex’s cock!

A procession of visitors-cum-amateur ponygirl inspectors came and went - mostly men, oozing wealth and power. Jessica felt a peculiar kind of humiliation in the disdainful regard they showed to the ponygirls.

Occasionally a woman would accompany a man. Was she his wife or slave? Perhaps she was both. In either case, Jessica envied those women. She wouldn’t so much mind being a slave to one man, providing he loved her and cared about her. That was all she ever wanted.

The sight of a woman harnessed up like a pony amused some visitors, particularly the women. It was the laughter of someone enjoying the misfortunes of others. They teased the ponygirls as if becoming a pony was their own fault, resulting no doubt from their own inadequacies as real women. Above all else, Jessica hated it when they laughed at her. She would sooner have a grim-faced man whipping her than a woman laughing at her.

A black-haired woman stood almost nose-to-nose with Jessica. She wasn’t laughing. Suddenly the rubber bit that usually nestled so comfortably between Jessica’s teeth seemed an irritation. The woman’s piercing green eyes were looking straight through the ponygirl’s defenses.

“When you come up for auction I shall buy you.” The woman said to Jessica. “You can be sure of it.”

She sidestepped towards ponygirl Debbie. “You too!” She said with a waggle of her finger and a crooked smile.

Debbie was ready for the woman. The otherworldly gaze of a ponygirl suddenly turned into a ferocious stare. Her urine started splashing down on the woman’s boots, and bouncing up onto her white jodhpurs.

The woman frowned, barely able to suppress her anger. “You won’t get away with that when you're in my stables. I’d kill you for less than that,” she snarled through clenched teeth.

The threat unsettled Jessica. She was trembling; needing comfort and reassurance, most of all from Debbie, who seemed to take everything in her ponygirl stride. Comfort arrived in the shape of their driver, Riccardo.

“Good morning, Madame Cavallo. How are you today?” Riccardo cheerily greeted the woman.

“Very well indeed, thank you Riccardo.” The woman replied cordially. “I was just admiring your splendid ponies.”

She shook her left boot in the air, wrinkling her nose in mild disgust. “One of them had a little accident.”

Riccardo laughed. “Terribly sorry. That’s ponygirls for you - very difficult to tame. Best not to stand so close next time.”

Madame Cavallo didn’t share Riccardo’s amusement. “I don’t know why you don’t just catheterize her like I do to mine. Pop a tube up her urethra, drain her bladder before the competition, and then just clamp the tube. What could be easier?”

“Maybe I’ll do that next time.” Riccardo said dismissingly as Madame Cavallo walked towards her own much better trained ponygirls.

The elderly woman who judged the ponygirls yesterday came around again. She held a piece of cotton wool over each of Jessica’s eyes then place a two-inch wide strip of tape over it, covering her face from eyebrow to mid-cheek. A firm pressure from the judge’s hand on the tape made a tight seal to ensure that Jessica was completely blind. Not even the bright light of day could penetrate her eyes. Debbie received the same treatment in preparation for the next ponygirl trial: The Journey of Darkness.

Unlike yesterday’s tests of elegance (in the Dressage) and strength (in the Bunny Hauling), the Journey of Darkness tested the driver’s control and the ponygirls’ responsiveness to their driver.

It seemed a long wait for Jessica and Debbie, going fourth out of the five competitors. Riccardo stood close by chatting quietly to one of the handlers, something his ponygirls found very reassuring in their otherwise dark world.

The P.A. system crackled, then announced: “The next entrants to run the Journey of Darkness are ponygirls Jessica and Debbie.”

Riccardo immediately tugged on the reins. His ponygirls started to trot. The driver’s experience was not very different to when the ponygirls were sighted, although in their darkness they had a tendency to slow up unless the whipper was regularly employed on their buttocks.

Jessica thought back to childhood holidays on Long Island, running along the beach with her eyes closed, counting the strides, fighting the urge to open her eyes. The beach was deserted; the worst that could happen was getting her feet wet in the shallow surf. Two hundred, she often counted, before the fear of darkness made the urge to open her eyes overwhelming. It always annoyed her that she was as safe from harm on the deserted beach as two hundred strides earlier.

Now Jessica had no trouble keeping her eyes closed. They were taped over. Nor could she stop running, or she’d be whipped. As Riccardo guided his ponygirls through the complex maze of red and white road-cones in the corral, Jessica seemed more attuned to the slightest tug of the reins than if she were sighted. With the subtlest pull on her nipples Jessica would turn, when the whip lashed her buttocks she would immediately run faster. Just like on the Long Island beach she knew she would not come to harm.

The fifty-yard sprint that followed the last turn brought spontaneous applause from the crowd even before they had crossed the line. The cheers from the partisan home support became louder still. They had seen the time displayed on the digital scoreboard.

Despite Madame Cavallo’s ponygirls’ performing very well, Jessica and Debbie had gained on them in the overall positions. It was a good result when, according to rumor, Cavallo’s ponygirls were forced to run blind for days at a time leading up to the competition.

Jessica reveled in Riccardo’s touch as his hand caressed her leather-strapped face. He tenderly peeled the heavy tape from her eyes, knowing by the smile of her bitted mouth that he had a surprisingly contented ponygirl on his hands. Jessica would tell Debbie about her Long Island childhood memory just as soon as they were free of their harnesses. Riccardo would never know why his ponygirl seemed so content.

Riccardo stepped on the large weighing scales.

“166 pounds!” The official informed him. “You can take that one.”

‘That one’ was Kate. She was standing in a line with two other pussy girls and two thrill-seeking female visitors. At 108 pounds she would bring Riccardo’s weight up to the racing weight.

Like the other volunteers in the line Kate’s hands were already tied behind her, ready for action!

She looked pretty, Riccardo told her as they walked to the pony trap. And so she did, wearing the pussy-girls’ white tight-laced strapless bodice and long skirt. Her soft lactating breasts filled out the garment beautifully, as if they were battling to escape from the corset-like lacings. Riccardo lifted her up on to the seat and tied the loose end of the rope dangling from her wrists to the rail of the backrest.

Kate couldn’t help but smile as Riccardo squeezed onto the seat beside her, his hip snug against hers. “Your hands are tied to the rail but hold on tight in any case. If I say lean, you lean!” Riccardo instructed.

There was a nervous expectation in the air. All ponygirl contests were entertaining but this one - four laps racing each other around a grassy track - was considered the most exciting for the spectators. An informal bookmaker was scrawling the latest odds on a blackboard. It seemed that every spectator had had a wager.

Kate glanced nervously at the other pony traps either side of her. There was no laughing or smiling, just an intent concentration by the drivers and trepidation on the faces of their reluctant passengers, all tied in place like Kate was.

A gun fired.

Five pairs of ponygirls were off and running, vying for position before the first bend of the grassy oval. While the drivers frantically whipped and pulled on the reins, their passengers held on for dear life, grateful for the rope holding them on the seat.

Riccardo was content to let his ponygirls hang back, leaving others to fight for the lead. There still were four laps of the 200-meter circuit ahead of them. Kate leaned like a pro as they went in and out of each bend.

Kate admired the rear view of Jessica’s and Debbie’s corseted and harnessed bodies as they trotted briskly along, settling into fourth position along the back straight. Their long plaited hair with the red carnations tied to the ends seemed to be dancing in the breeze. The long tails emanating from the ponygirls’ asses swished against their stockinged thighs.

Kate fantasized for a moment about being sandwiched between Jessica and Debbie tonight, while they were still in their harnesses. That would be very sweet indeed, Kate thought, as she leaned into the next bend.

Riccardo, whilst busy with reins and whipper, was a picture of contentment. It seemed as if Jessica and Debbie were running for themselves. They needed very little encouragement from him; only regular tugs on the left reins to steer them round each bend.

With little more than a lap to go Riccardo decided it was time to increase the pace, if the leaders weren’t to go too far ahead. He wasn’t sure how much his ponygirls had left in the tank but they seemed to be moving very smoothly. He applied the whipper several times. It worked! The sharp stinging on his ponygirls buttocks encouraged Jessica and Debbie to speed up, as he knew it would.

They drifted to the outside right of Cavallo’s black girls ready to overtake. Sadly, Riccardo’s tactics were poor; they would have to overtake them on the outside of the bend. If they had any hope of catching the leading two, there was no choice.

They were almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Cavallo’s ponies when, inexplicably, their driver steered them wide. Jessica and Debbie were obliged to run wider still, costing them valuable seconds. Eventually, running flat out, and having endured whipper at its most severe setting, they made it past their obstructive opponents.

It was too late - Riccardo could only watch from twenty yards behind as Cavallo’s blonde ponygirls fought for the finish with the English pony pair.

Riccardo had finished a disappointing third out of five, and witnessed several Rabbit Island staff throwing their betting slips disconsolately to the ground.

Kate was furious, tugging angrily on the rope that tied her hands to the seat’s back rail, while Riccardo tried to release her. “They cheated. The bastards cheated. Riccardo, can’t you lodge a protest or something?”

He tried to hush her, but was too late to stop Kate’s vociferous complaints being repeated to one of the officials. The man glared at her, furious that a pussy-girl would have the audacity to speak out in such a tone of voice.

“Gag her, and take her to the hanging garden.” The exasperated official called out to his assistant.

Kate continued her futile protest until the handler managed to push red rubber ball between her lips. Clipping a leash to her white leather pussy-girl collar, he dragged her away from the corral.

The Hanging Garden? No! Kate had only just registered what the man had said. She stopped walking, causing the chain leash to go taut as she dug her heels in. With tears welling in her eyes she shook her head at her handler, blubbing at him from behind her ballgag. She didn’t was to go to the torture garden, she was the Island’s new nurse, and was supposed to be reporting back on duty in the medical suite. Doctor Schmidt warned her that he would not tolerate any more misbehavior. Whenever she returned to the medical suite, she expected he would punish her again.

The colorful sweet-smelling rose garden heralded Kate’s arrival into the Hanging Gardens. The overwhelming scent of flora collected from all over the tropics assaulted her senses. Rich plant life hung lushly from walls and trellis partitions to create a maze-like, and sometimes tunnel-like surrounding of red, blue, purple, yellow, green and white: Heliconias, orchids, ginger plants and species too numerous to mention.

How incongruous were the screams and moans that came from within an area of such visual and olfactory splendor! Four other unfortunate women were already installed in the Hanging Gardens, not exactly hanging, but suspended so that their bound and helpless bodies could be worked on for the pleasure of their tormentors.

Kate could not see the other women, but she certainly could hear them. The dense foliage of the Hanging Gardens provided visual privacy whilst ensuring that the cries of its victims were publicly aired. Could it be that the tormentors were trying to outdo each other in the pitiful noises of their respective victims? Karen, the journalist, was one of those pleading for mercy as if her life was in dire peril.

The handler soon had Kate strung up, her hands re-tied in front of her, but only so they could be hauled upwards and secured far above her head, leaving her stretched and having to balance on tip-toes. The stilettos of her white high heels were redundant.

Kate prayed that she might be permitted to keep her ballgag to stifle the shame of her inevitable cries.

Two men stood intently watching her from a few yards away. The handler turned to them. “Here you are. You’re in luck - you’ve got yourselves a pussy-girl at no extra charge. I thought you’d like to undress her yourselves. Do you have your signed agreements?”

The men held out the papers that governed what they were permitted and forbidden to do to their victim. The handler folded and pocketed the papers, wishing the men a good time as he departed.

Kate was at the mercy of her two tormentors - a middle-aged man and another in his twenties. Father and son, she wondered? As if that would make any difference! She studied the implements that had been meticulously laid out on a table in front of her. Not just the usual nipple clamps, flogger and canes that had become a way of life for her but also a selection of long needles, a hot brazier, sandpaper, a hammer, violet wands, and an electrical unit like a battery charger. It was as if they wanted Kate to see all the tools available to them before putting the blindfold on her.

The younger of the men picked eagerly at the silk laces on the rear of Kate’s bodice, while the elder one removed her high heels. Normally, Kate enjoyed being undressed by a man, but what should have been a sensuous preamble to lovemaking was now a prelude to torture.

The laces loosened. The pressure on her breasts eased, then the support of the bodice disappeared as Kate felt a soft warm breeze float over her nipples. The man’s hands cupped her breasts from behind, squeezing their milky fullness slowly…for his pleasure, not hers. “Nice tits,” he whispered, as if Kate might appreciate the compliment at such a time.

Kate’s fingers clawed distractedly at the strands of the taut rope that held her body stretched upwards. Her skirt was unclipped and removed, leaving only her virgin white stockings and garter belt contrasting so well with her nut-brown tanned skin. Her tormentors were very happy for Kate to keep those on!

“Tie a rope around one of her ankles, Kenny.” The older man said.

The younger one did so, and made a good job of it - half a dozen neat wraps around Kate’s ankle, expertly knotted.

“Good. Now pull her foot behind her and thread the end of the rope through the ring at the back of her collar. Don’t worry if she protests, just pull it as tight as you can.”

From behind her ballgag, Kate did protest, and the young man did pull it as tight as he could. All her weight was left balancing precariously on the toes of one foot while the other was bent painfully back behind her, tugging on her collar.

While Kate was adjusting herself to the cruel bondage, the elder man was wrapping rope around her chest. He soon had rope circling the base of each of Kate’s breasts to produce two grapefruit-sized protrusions. His hands caressed the taut breast flesh with appreciation.

Kate moaned involuntarily at his touch. “You like that, don’t you bitch?” He said disdainfully. Getting the younger man to pull out her nipples he tied a thin cord tightly around the base of each nipple to create hypersensitive tips like small cherries atop each breasts. Kate mewled softly as he flicked her bound nipples with his fingernails.

He finally removed her ballgag. Kate spluttered and gasped for breath. She was a cute-looking woman, they discovered, even without a gag.

“Do you see this?” the elder man said, his finger touching Kate’s upper lip. “Tight philtral columns and a deep groove. See how exquisitely it shapes her lips into an archer’s bow? And that retrousse nose... perfect isn’t it? How ironic that if all women’s faces looked like this we wouldn’t be able to afford to come here!”

He traced his finger reverently over Kate lips and nose, delighting at how her nostrils flared in response to his touch.

The two plastic surgeons resisted the temptation of removing her blindfold for another look at her eyes. Kate was trembling, just as they expected she would be, but she was just a little aroused too. That was always the joy of Rabbit Island girls. Chosen for their submissive tendencies, then subjected to further conditioning, they became the exquisite victims of men’s desires.

“What’s your name, blondie?”

“Kate!” She replied nervously but with a measure of defiance.

The older man laughed. “You’re English? ”

“I’m an unwilling prisoner here, not a citizen!” Kate yelled. She struggled against her awkward bondage, her toes losing the tenuous hold on the ground for a moment. She swung from her bound wrists until the man steadied her at the waist so her toes were once more on the ground.

The older man laughed. “God, I love a girl with a bit of spunk in her. Makes it more fun beating it out of her.”

The older man took hold of a multi-stranded flogger while Kenny chose a light cane. They set to work on Kate’s body, with the intention of leaving no part of her body untouched.