Saturday, July 9, 2011

'96 Months' V

The entertainment factor was indeed an important element of the floggings. Abdul took to hanging me upside down with my ankles well spread by a steel bar. Facing the spectators I received five short but sharp strokes to my labia. Other times it was my breasts. He obviously restrained himself, but the pain was unbearable and the audience thoroughly enjoyed watching me lose control of my bladder in such a position. Abdul referred to the scene as turning on my fountain.

"Don’t turn on your fountain too soon," he would admonish.

After an upside down beating, I would be quickly dosed with water before being led back to the preparation room. Abdul had stopped fingering me and my frustration was building with the featherings at the prison. I begged for relief. But he reminded I was to be punished, not afforded pleasure.

Finally, on one occasion while he vigorously sodomized my back passage, I broke down and asked for more strokes of the cane.

"Yes, Little One. You may have more. But it will not count toward your sentence."

Abdul then produced a short thin cane and from that time on, he would stroke the front and sides of my thighs, breasts and stomach while I knelt on the table and he used me anally.

On the third occasion of these extra blows, I climaxed as his massive organ stretched my rear passage and he delivered a short crisp stroke to my right breast. It was a strong orgasm and I actually squirted some clear liquid on the table. The months of built up frustration and the constant torment had taken its toll. It seems that psychologically, for me pain had become some form of pleasure and I gratefully tightened my sphincter around Abdul’s thrusting manhood. He grunted with the new sensation and unloaded his semen while striking my left breast. I in turn climaxed again. When he withdrew, I collapsed on the table.

"So, Little One. It has finally happened. We have transformed you into a true masochist. From now on that is how you will have it. You will bring yourself to orgasm under the cane."

And so it was, until one month, I believe it was after some 180 strokes, a well dressed Arab woman was waiting in the preparation room after my punishment. This short time after the caning and before being put on display was special to me. A monthly private meeting with Abdul where, under his experienced hand, I would be allowed relief, however painful. I was therefore apprehensive about her presence.

"I have read about you in the newspaper and came to watch close up. You put on quite a show. I’m Princess Rosanna."

I climbed unto the table as she spoke. The guards no longer had to give me any instructions and I lowered my head and spread myself very wide to await Abdul.

The woman was strongly built. Handsome. About 35. A hint of gray hair glinted in front.

"My, you are subservient for a European girl. Leave us for a minute. Tell Abdul I’m with her."

She spoke sharply to the guards. The authority she commanded surprised me.

The guards left and the Princess moved closer to the front of the table. She wiped the remnants of tears from my cheeks. What followed was a thorough interview concerning me, my education, training, how I felt about my trial, sentence, punishment, etc. I surprised myself by answering even the most intimate questions honestly and completely. I didn’t know whether it was because of my new found subjugation, or her regal manner. As she asked questions, she circled the table, smoothing her hands over my naked flesh, squeezing, kneading, pinching. Abdul had caned my labia and she marveled at his skill and my ability to withstand the torment. She parted my buttocks and probed with two fingers.

"You have been well used here. I’ve felt Arab whores who are tighter. Is it Abdul who services you here? I don’t think you can receive such treatment in prison, unless the women guards are using a bottle on you."

I reluctantly told her of Abdul’s proclivities, hoping that my acknowledgment would not cause my only recreational activity to cease.

"It’s a common practice for Arab men to use a girl in such a manner. To use boys, too. So it is of no concern."

She returned to the front after washing her hands.

"I run a breeding farm about two hours from here. It’s in the desert at an oasis. Twenty acres of lush green palm trees in the middle of hot barren sand. It’s a lonely life style. I have servants, my livestock, an occasional visitor. But I need entertainment. I’m not a lesbian. But someone like you could be very amusing. I have influence. I am confident that I can have your prison time commuted. Your canings would continue. I don’t know if you realize it but you’ve become quite infamous. No connections that I have could curtail the monthly spectacle of you being caned naked before the public. The people have come to look forward to your monthly travails. But I can have you removed from prison. You’ll be driven here from my farm every month, caned and then returned."

She paused. I thought. The prison was unbearable. I was in solitary confinement most of the time except for showering and the examinations from the sadistic doctor.

"I need your permission. The British consulate is very interested in your welfare. Though due to the nature of your crime they have been publicly silent. But any change in your status is reported to them. They’ll be checking on both you and me if you’re moved."

I readily agreed to the arrangement. I could not face five more years of prison.

"Good. I’ll make the arrangements. In a few days you’ll be taken from the prison and specially prepared for the farm."

Abdul entered and bowed to the Princess. She must have been very influential. I couldn’t recall Abdul ever bowing to any one. They talked while Abdul lubricated me. I was afraid the Princess was going to watch Abdul take me. I was relieved when she left.

No comments: