waiting hook the loose end of the tube was inserted into the base of the phallus within Josie?s mouth. A tap was turned. Her eyes widened. She swallowed. Convulsively, she swallowed again…!
'When you drink our piss we stop whipping.'
The English was unexpectedly clear. Each negro girl now had a short whip. Standing one on each side of the punished girl they began methodically to whip her breasts, one to each of the taut globes. Josie visibly writhed, her head tossing wildly. But she was helpless. Her punishment had begun.
Corey understood. The punishment fitted Josie?s crime. The leaking phallus in her mouth was exacting a frightful price for her moment of temper. The whips were not cutting the skin of her breasts, but they would hurt in a beastly horrible way no girl would want on two of the most secret places of her being. Josie gulped and gulped in an agonized race against the splatting thongs beating their measured tattoo upon her flesh. After what seemed to Corey Gibson far too long a time, the hateful bottle was empty. The whippers stopped. Josie?s breasts bore scarlet testimony of her penance. When she was freed she was too shamed to meet an eye. Downcast, she pulled on her clothes, said her?thank you? to those who had whipped her, and walked slowly from the room.
'You bite a cock, you see what you get.' The dark inquisitor smiled benignly at the handcuffed girls. 'Never no shortage of pee.'
Execution on number two was swift. Taken from the wall, her handcuffs were snapped behind her back. She was laid on the floor, her feet spread and raised to two pulleys high above. When her bottom lost contact with the floor suspension stopped. Dark hands explored the sundered loins, the soft thighs, the plump and pouting vulva so cruelly exposed. Dark heads nodded approval. The bench was pushed aside. On the floor, the clothing the victim had stripped from herself before being tied helpless made a small pathetic pile, infinitely feminine, infinitely pathetic.
Using the same whips, the mahogany mistresses intently whipped the innocent cunt, the loins, the inside thighs. The punished nakedness writhed amazingly but could turn no part of herself to where a whip could not find her flesh. The swish and slap became a steady rhythm. The punished female skin glowed pink, red, scarlet. The girl moaned piteously but did not scream.
Corey understood what she was privileged to witness. This was simple punishment for a misdemeanor. It was not torture. It designed no injury. The girls were valuable, they must not be harmed. But their lesson was severe. When number two was freed, much of her scorched flesh was hidden between her legs. Strangely, she kissed each of her punishers, thanked them sweetly, dressed without haste and went her way. Corey was ashamed of a pulsing heat between her own thighs. Surely… surely… she could not be finding pleasure!
It was all insane. These girls were made of sterner stuff than she. The cuffed audience watched intently but without visible fear. They evaluated each punishment and the receipt thereof. They were connoisseurs. Awaiting their turn they enjoyed the show. Corey wondered if they too suffered the throb within their sex. She suspected they did. It was one more lesson…!
Number three, with an innocent lack of affectation, engaged her punishers in conversation while she undressed. The operation was unhurried, the verbal exchange pleasantly animated. Corey wished she spoke the language. She suddenly sensed that these girls were all in the same boat. The girls with the whips might themselves be whipped next week. There was a happy camaraderie between them. Some sterner authority must have conditioned them to the rules which they now accepted without resentment. They had violated a code. Now they were punished. It was simple.
Yet the punishments were shrewd The one that took place now left Corey Gibson a?quiver with conflicting emotions. One of the whippers tossed aside her whip and stripped naked. She was a superb mahogany statue. Abdul Nour?s troops should consider themselves fortunate. Any Las Vegas line would welcome these luscious bits of femininity. Corey wondered where they had been kidnapped.
The stripped girl stood erect, hands clasped behind her neck, legs wide apart. She was smiling. The one to be punished knelt within the arched thighs and clasped them lovingly while her wrists were joined by the handcuffs to ensure that her loving grip could not be withdrawn. Her seeking mouth raised and nuzzled black pubic hair. Her tongue slid forth like a serpent seeking the sundered slit. A sigh of dark emotion rippled round the room.
'I whip her back until she makes Amrah climax.' A new and more wicked whip was in a dark hand. The statement had been made for Corey?s benefit alone. She nodded understanding. Dark eyes smiled. 'Amrah fight climax long, long time.'
It was exquisitely female. A man might have devised it but it was a punishment for girls. Corey flinched in horror at thought of herself kneeling there with urgent tongue while a whip laced her back. How could a girl possibly apply her energies thus under such awful pain?
The tongue had been busy within Amrah?s sheath for several moments before the first lash spilt crimson across its owner?s shoulders. The dark head thrust more vehemently into the pubic patch, hands strained at metal cuffs. The second lash was delivered after such an interval as to tell Corey this punishment was not beyond consummation. Amrah?s breasts thrust forward joyously, her full lips were moist in heat. The naked girl who bore the strokes thrust herself into female loins with concentrated determination. The whipper changed sides and struck again. The body of the handcuffed nudity swayed and shivered, but the busy mouth did not relax. Amrah?s smile had become fixed on infinity her mouth was slack.
Corey counted seventeen strokes before the dam of Amrah?s control burst asunder. Throughout the explosive orgasm the innocent tongue thrust and probed assiduously until the cessation of repeated agony told its task was done. The kneeling girl slumped, her forehead now pressed against the moist heat where her tongue had plied its trade. When her handcuffs were removed she kissed the pubic patch before her face, she kissed the whip that had wealed her back, she kissed the hand that held it. Her?thank you? was passionate. Again, Corey was astounded. The girl was in the grip of sexual excitation. Even whipped as she was, her loins were pulsing. Corey was coming to understand the primitive vulnerability of girls. Almost with love, she watched the slender nudity don its clothes and retire to resume its assuagement of the lusts of men. Caustically, she realized the girl could scarcely wait for the rampant thrusts.
Number four undressed casually. Pulled the bench back into the centre of the floor, then mounted and knelt on one end, waiting. Two smiling girls raised stanchions, inserted boards, the nude delinquent leant down until she was on hands and knees. One more board spanned her waist and was thrust down on its fellow below. The girl was captive by a set of stocks which held down her slender middle and forced her to remain as she was. The locked boards divided her. She could look back but would see nothing of that portion of herself which was to be punished. The bench was indeed versatile. It provided a bar to lock across knee hollows, and clamps for slender ankles. Number four had become a well protruded bottom. Corey pictured herself like this. It would be too humiliating for words.
The informant was again helpful. 'Fatalla just plain bad girl. Fatalla gets little ass plain whipped.'
It would be awful to have your bottom stuck out like that where it was invisible to its owner and to know it was to receive cut after cut of whips also out of sight. Corey watched in empathy as Fatalla supported the top half of herself on rigid hands and arms and looked back apprehensively at the blank wall of boards beyond which her bottom awaited its fate. She was still looking when the first blow fell. She yelped in shock and turned to face ahead.
Amrah and her companion whipped from each side. The whips might not be lethal, but the girl who received their stripes was hard pressed not to scream. Corey saw the sweat droplets form on the young forehead and beneath armpits to trickle down the helpless arms which bore no bond but were captive to their owner?s need to sustain her weight. From time to time one of theother reached back, but they could not find the bruised flesh they sought. Defeated, they returned to their tiring task.
The fleshly impacts were almost without pause. The bare bottom tried hard to weave, to sway, to find any surcease at all. But it was captive to the thrust of boards. It flinched, it quivered as the scarlet grid was latticed on its skin. But that was all. It was perfectly postured for its possessor?s punishment. Fatalla?s moans mounted and progressed to small cries of dark distress. When she screamed, Corey Gibson climaxed into orgasm. Shocked and ashamed, she was thankful no one was looking. All eyes were on the tableau upon the bench.
Corey had lost count of the strokes bedding themselves into the pathetically helpless posterior. It seemed their number did not matter. The whippers and the whipped tallied the punishment by other means. It ended suddenly to leave the room in a hushed silence, broken only by Fatalla?s sobs. The whipped girl had screamed several times. But had borne her punishment with stoic fortitude. Corey felt blushingly certain she would disgrace herself when her own time came. She suspected she was being left to last. Sometimes she tugged at the cuff upon her wrist. It
