Storycodes:
Part 1.
I knew I hadn't much time. None, in fact; it had run out. The team had won another away game and most of them would be here within fifteen minutes. Especially the ones that were here last week. Who saw me absolutely ruin my life.
It'd been made quite perfectly clear to me. No more snotty bitch. No more arguing about the parties. As a matter of fact, I was now expected to have one keg set up and a second keg handy, snacks or something laid out on the table, and…
and…
And me, in our basement, naked, legs spread, hands again cuffed to the ceiling. Ready for the replay. Round 2.
If I didn't, there were about a thousand pictures taken last weekend, and doubtless videos too, of me, locked in my self-imposed bondage with timing cuffs set to 45 HOURS instead of 45 minutes, and there I still was, alone and helpless in the basement, when my three roommates got home after the game that fateful night, September 26, 1996. And yes, they found me. And no, they didn't let me go. In fact, they invited as much of the rugby team as would come to share my humiliation. All night long.
There unfortunately was no way to argue that I was being forced. When they finally let me loose, I worked myself right then and there to the screaming orgasm I had been dying for going on six hours, one hand still chained above my head, right in front of all of them and their cell phones. And repeating it to more orgasms beyond count over the next day alone in safer and more private places.
So here I was, shorts and tank top, everything else set up, handcuffs in my hand. I was in way too deep, way too many people knew I had liked it, and the risk to my future was way too much to say no.
The chain was still hanging down where I put it last week. I took a small lock as I had been instructed and locked the center link of the handcuffs to it. Shorts off, no underwear underneath it, tank top off, no underwear underneath it either, although I had huge tits. (38Ds. Still firm. Hope I got out of this shit while they still were.) It had been made clear to me that bras at home were a thing of my past. Clothes neatly folded on top of the keg, way out of reach. Table, really an overly large footstool, with lots of spots for fastening a prisoner, again placed between my ankles with cuffs locking it to my ankles. Making sure my legs were spread wide and staying that way all night. Big red ball gag, tight. Nipple clamps, with the rope again running to the keg, which took a few minutes, but I gingerly put them firmly on my nipples. It hurt to have them that tight, but doubtless they would be checked and it would go poorly with me if they were found wanting. Then, making sure the cuffs were set for 10 hours (yeah, I know how to set them correctly now), I reached up to them over my head and locked my wrists into them.
I now have nothing to do but wait a few minutes for the humiliation to begin again. It was damn straight no one was going to let me out early, so all night, while the smelly, drunk, high bastard rugby players to whom I would rather vomit into my own panties than let them even touch me, do anything they wanted to me, because I am now helpless to stop them. Because my future would be *destroyed* if those pictures got out, no matter what revenge I extracted for their introduction. They knew I am supposed to be here, just like this. Waiting for them. Naked. Helpless. Theirs to play with all night long.
God I'm such a slut. I think I'm starting to drip.
I heard the door open and voices from upstairs. Liz, Bill, Steve, and several other people. Yup, some of them already well on their way to off-their-ass drunk by the sound of it.
Liz breezed down the steps into the basement, flipping her hair, almost prancing in her short skirt and heels, the guys right behind her. She sauntered over to me, a huge smile on her face. Checked the timer on the cuffs, checked the tightness of them, and then she smiled her approval. She got the first beer, jerking my nipples out, to which I let out a small whimper. She stopped, and I could see her smile even though she was facing away from me.
Liz was, I thought, my best friend, until last weekend when she and our two male housemates had caught me. The guys were about to let me go, but she talked them out of it, pointing out all the bondage gear that was right at my feet because of course I had no chance to safely hide it away since I was stuck right there in the basement. She and I had a long talk a few days later about it. She was really hot for Bill, one of our roommates, and thought by getting in a house with him she had him squared away. He had the same sort of hots, but for me, not for Liz. Which I wanted nothing to do with, nice enough guy for a brainless rugby jock (and weirdly enough, a mechanical engineering major. Go figure), but not my speed at all. Until my speed was "stop" because I was handcuffed in really sexy lingerie in our basement (last week), but of course the lingerie didn't last. In that condition, he could be any speed he wanted and still do me, which did happen.
But Liz told me that she was going to destroy me in Bill's eyes so the only one in them was her. Besides, she confided, she almost had an orgasm when she was whipping me last week, maybe she had some options on evening and weekend work she wasn't aware of. She'd have plenty of opportunity to explore that over the next seven months and 46 after-game events. But she'd see to it that I got lots of humiliation, and lots of sex, which she knew I wanted, and which from last week there wasn't any point in arguing about. She'd try to keep me as safe as possible otherwise. I was a good friend, and she didn't want to lose me, either as a friend or a housemate. I managed to keep a straight face but it was not easy.
One of the players who had arrived with my housemates was Matt, who was pretty much a stoner, but I was told he was surprisingly hard to tackle and had a flair for getting the ball where it needed to be. He came over, said hello to me, then proceeded to rub his hands all over my body, including grabbing and squeezing and lifting my breasts. He stood for a long time right up against me, reaching around me to run his hands over my tush, and not a short period of time through my pubic hair and a finger a little up into me, which was no problem since I was so wet. Having had enough fun after about ten minutes, he wandered off. A few of the guys came by, a few of them messed with my chest, but I was pretty much left alone.
After a little while longer, everyone that was coming had arrived. Almost everyone got a beer, some jerked the handle around, some just opened it and closed it, Larry Styles always opened and closed it extremely slowly, watching my face over his shoulder the whole time. Bastard.
Liz rapped on the keg to get people's attention and the room quieted down.
"Guys!" She started once she had everyone's attention. "You can see that Lara has set everything up for us, and is back where she was last week." There were general murmurs of acknowledgement from the crowd and stone silence from me. "She's agreed to do this for us after every game." (I had not, but I didn't have any choice.)(Happy murmuring.) "We can do anything we want to Lara, and we will. Good Catholic girl, she uses an IUD, so we can have all the fun we want." (General murmurs of appreciation from the crowd). "But if we push it too hard, she could go to the school or the coaches. And no matter what we said, we'd have a scandal that people would talk about for *years*. Nobody would ever forget us." The murmuring pretty much died down.
Even drunk and stoned, that sort of thing got through. "While we're down here, we can do anything we want, but anywhere else, you gotta promise me, be *perfect* to Lara. Treat her real nice. Don't EVER talk about what goes on down here. While it's just here, and just us, she'll put up with it, and us, but if we push it she might decide it's not worth it and go nuclear. So anywhere and everywhere else, stay cool, ok?" (General noises of agreement). "Another thing, no drugs or anything like that. She's promised me if she ever finds we've fed her pills or anything other than alcohol, she's gone to the police and the dean as soon as she can walk. We can play with her body, but she won't tolerate us playing with her health. OK?" (We never discussed it, but hell yes. I'd really rather not have the beers, either.)
"Beer is fine, get her drunk a bit, but never anything else." (More general noises of agreement.) "And be careful with her. If we ever do anything that puts her in an E.R., even if she doesn't turn us in there and then, if something happens later it's on the record she had been doing rough sex stuff, which can make it harder on us. So she gets all the sex she wants, " (general grunts of agreement, a little cheering) "but she stays ok. She has to be in class the next morning just like any of us."
She looked over at me. "Sound pretty good, Lara?" At that exact moment I wanted to scratch her eyes out, but settled for nodding yes, so she continued to the guys. "And keep in mind she likes this, so be sure to give her her money's worth!" (Real grunts of assent from the crowd. Still stone silence from me).
One of the guys, I found out his name was Alan, pulled out the ball gag and fed me 3 beers in a row, so shortly after that things got kinda blurry. I got felt up a lot, fingers stuck into my pussy and wiggled a bit, which was fun enough. A few of the guys were good enough to get me really going, but everyone stopped before I went over the edge. Dammit. Several blow jobs. Someone brought up a chair so the guys could stand on it and be at the right height. If cum was nutritious, I might not have to eat until day after tomorrow. More force-fed beer, I think they were trying to see if they could make me pee. Mostly they were much closer to making me puke from all that beer.
Each beer mug now had a carabiner through the handle. When they were done with their beers they were told to use the carabineer to leave the mug on the rope between my nipples and the keg handle, which was quite stretching to my chest and got painful as the evening progressed. Nobody other than me was bothered by it, so that’s how it went. One of the guys found out they could stand behind me, pull my hips back just a little, and plunge into me, so he and about four other guys did just that, most of them coming inside me. So I was dripping a little, now (ok, after four of them, a lot now).
Then they decided they didn't need the chair. They could loosen my hands (but not my feet) and make me kneel and suck them off. That wound up happening a lot over my time, about six to ten times each party. Afterward, they'd chain me back up standing of course. Some of them even thanked me afterward. I at least got to have a little human-to-human contact with them then, not fully, slave that I was, but better than being naked and one of the decorations. But around 3:30 AM I passed out, which hanging from your wrists in handcuffs was a really bad idea, but like everyone else in the room I was too drunk to be aware of it. Liz noticed when she came back downstairs with Bill around 5, immediately got me out of the cuffs, untied, and had Bill and Steve, our fourth housemate, carry me upstairs to my bed and tuck me in.
My wrists were useless the next day, black and blue and swollen. My breasts didn't feel good either, but they were nothing compared to my wrists. (My vagina was on the list too, but nowhere near my breasts or wrists.) I wore a shirt with long sleeves to classes and pretty much hid it, but cried most of the day. Liz caught me crying in our 2:00 Lit class. When we got home, she asked to go through my bondage gear. After looking through it, she told me, indicating my wrists, she'd make sure this didn't happen again, but I needed to get suspension cuffs, and probably a set for my ankles as well. I told her I would. Mr. BondageGear had a nice set, and even had 2-day shipping so I'd have them in time for the next game.
My wrists hurt so bad I couldn't masturbate for a day and a half. When I finally did, I blew up like a volcano. I think it took 20 minutes to fully stop shaking and a nap to recover. Then I did it again.
When I got down to the basement three days later to set up for the after-game party, I had a surprise. There was a heavy wooden frame where I had been standing, about six feet high (I am about 5 1/2 feet tall) and about 5 feet in width, and the chain from the ceiling was gone. The frame had eye bolts in each corner, a length of chain locked to each with a carabiner, another length of thin string bringing the two loose ends together so I could work with them. And a note taped to it, as it turned out, from Bill.
"Lara," the note read, "we're real sorry about hurting your wrists that bad on Friday. We've built this frame to avoid it happening again. Use the suspension cuffs Liz said you got yesterday. Lock your ankles to the end of each chain on the ground. Use handcuffs to lock the suspension cuffs on your wrists, and lock the other end of the handcuffs through the end of the chains above your head, we measured and hopefully they'll reach just fine. Bill and Steve."
Having no real way to say no, and in honesty looking forward to experiencing the suspension cuffs (I had wanted to try them for about two years now, just a little more voluntarily, if you know what I mean) I set up the snacks and the keg, and then took off my dress and started fastening myself in. The chains on the floor left my ankles about 3 feet apart, about normal. I put the cuffs on my wrist, they felt soft, almost deerskin, as they were padded on the inside and fit wonderfully. Handcuffs through the locking eyes on the suspension cuffs to hold them tight, then the free half of each handcuff ratcheted down through the last link of each chain above me. It was close, but I managed it. And then, I realized, I had forgotten to chain my nipples to the keg. Well, too late for that, I was already attached to the frame.
I figured I had about 30 minutes before everyone arrived. I enjoyed myself, the cuffs felt good, and I confirmed the frame was strong enough to hold me by pulling up my feet and hanging as long as I could, the frame never ever rocked. Good construction, as long as someone eventually lets me out. I was the bad girl, condemned for my crimes to be publicly displayed and flogged. I was a naughty schoolgirl, caught giving myself an orgasm in a closet, so I was strapped here spread eagled and naked to pay the price and learn how to deal with the frustration. Which it was, since I couldn't bring my legs together, but I was plenty itchy down there. Oh yes, and wet. Wondered if I'd drip noticeably before people arrived?
They finally did. Liz blew into the room first again and looked me over. I apologized for not having the nipple clamps on, but surprisingly she just nodded and said that it actually would work out for the better tonight. She used the carabineers at the ends of the chain to take out two or three links, removing all of my wiggle room that she easily could, stretching me out pretty firmly. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, but locked into place already, I didn't have any use in worrying. She found my bright red ball gag and worked it into my mouth, fastening it in afterward, then wandered off.
People got in, got their beers and snacks, and started partying. I got a little pawed over, with a bit of my nipples getting licked and chewed (pretty much all gently) most likely because they were available. And enough beer that I was on my way to a mild, no, a semi-mild buzz. About 10 PM Zack, one of the players I knew little about, came over to me. He had a briefcase in his hand and most of the others gathered by to watch, which made me nervous. He set it down and opened it up and I froze when I recognized what was in it -- body-piercing tools.
"We've decided to make things easier on you, Lara." Liz informed me. "You're going to spend a lot of time hooked up to the keg, so we decided to pierce your nipples for you to make it easier. Zack does piercings as a side job, and he's agreed to do this one for you for free. Sound good?" I shook my head no. Not that I hadn't thought hard about it. Actually, really come down to it, I had thought more than once about getting my nipples or my labia pierced, but frankly was too chicken, and was afraid of how it would affect the rest of my life. But with a huge red ball gag in my mouth and chained up like I was (I had about two inches of wiggle room), if they wanted to pierce my nipples, there wasn't much I could do about it. It wasn't chicken, it was cooked goose.
Liz looked at me and took my chin in her hand. "Too bad. We're going to do it to you anyway. We'll be back in about 10 minutes, so get used to the thought, and don't fight it when we do. If you take them out things will go poorly for you. Understood?" I made no reply, just kept eyes locked with hers. She walked away.
I found there was a part of me that was loving the thought, and I cursed that I couldn't do anything with my legs. If I could just do two strong squeezes I would come like a freight train. Tying me up and teasing me, torturing me, could be painful but it wasn't permanent. This was permanent, those holes would be there forever and ever. But it looked like it was going to happen no matter how I felt. I felt very naked at that time, very helpless. Ok Lara, I thought, this is what you get for not reading the instructions.
Zack came back, I guess my 10 minutes were up. He cleaned his equipment, then carefully cleaned my nipples with rubbing alcohol. He set up two silver barbells off to the side, then grabbed the air-compression piercer. Everyone was watching. I moved a little, but I couldn't move more than about an inch or two, so he just grabbed my breast, made sure my nipple was fully erect, and moved the gun into place. Then he pulled the trigger.
I realized why Liz had ball-gagged me. It did hurt like hell, probably not as much as it could have if I hadn't been fed the beers, but I thrashed for a while. Someone came up behind me and grabbed me around the waist and held me still. Zack cleaned up the piercing and put the first barbell in. Then it was time for my other breast. Fortunately I was tied tight and being held still, so my struggles almost weren't noticeable. I now was glad I was drunk. It only took a second or two to repeat the process and a minute or two more to clean things up and put the second barbell into place. He leaned over and looked at me. "Leave them in for about three days, so the holes have time to set. Just like pierced ears." And he nodded to the two holes in each ear I already possessed. He put up his equipment and went back to partying.
The next few after-games were pretty much the same. I had snacks and goodies set up, and myself and my tits set up, and whoever was at the party enjoyed the fruit of my labors (attendance did improve). Mostly I just stood there in the frame, until the party ended normally between 1:00 to 3:00 AM, unless someone was doing something with me, or to me. I usually had my red ball gag in my mouth, sometimes nothing at all with the implied threat that something could be put in if I abused the privilege.
Sometimes it was my ring gag, a few times my mouth was duct-taped closed. But mostly it was the ball gag, except when it was pulled out so I could service people with my mouth or be forced to drink something alcoholic. Some guys came by and groped me a little, I think a few of them did this to not appear rude to me. If anything happened, it mainly was to give someone a blow job. They'd decide to do so, release my hands and normally cuff them behind me or in front of me, depending on what the guy wanted. And I would kneel on some pads placed on the ground in front of me and off to work I was expected to go. And did go.
I'd had a bit of experience at BJs, and didn't consider myself bad, but got much, much better with lots of practice. And unless I was explicitly instructed otherwise, I was expected to swallow every single drop and clean up anything I missed. I got a few facials, but not many; the guys seemed to prefer my Hoover imitation.
Liz got pretty good with the nine-tailed whip, if the party started getting boring, or she got in the mood, or if Bill wasn't as co-operative with her as she wanted, she'd work me over. It left some red marks, but nothing really bad. They'd hang things from my nipples, and sometimes from my labia, and as she whipped me the crowd would enjoy the way whatever danced in the light. Sometimes when she was drunk enough she'd don my strap-on, pull my hair back until my neck was stretched so bad I was looking straight up, and then for the crowd fuck me slowly with it from behind. Usually several of the guys would follow suit, except they didn't need the plastic.
Sometimes they'd bring the table over, or release me and carry me to it. They put eye hooks on it in different places so I could be stretched out on it on my back (with my wrists at head level off to the side) where my butt would be at the edge of the table for easy access. Normally they'd bend me about double, clipping my ankles to my hands) or sometimes they would stand me bent over the table so I could be taken from behind (my hands stretched way far out to the end of the table, ankles clipped to the bottom of the legs). If my ankles were clipped to the inside of the legs I could touch the ground, if they clipped them to the outside to spread me a little wider I could barely brush the floor with my toes.
Sometimes they ran the table right up against my frame, laid me on my back, but put my ankles into the frame where my wrists were normally tied. This spread my legs very wide and the guy could stand between my legs and do me. Every occasional time they tied me on my back with my head lolling off the table, hanging down, so the guy could deep throat me. That didn't go too well the first couple of times, but faced with either learning to relax breathe and do it right, or choke, I learned pretty fast how to relax, breathe and take it.
The part of me that was into forced sex loved it. It was way too late to worry about my reputation, but I did get myself off over and over replaying the more sensual events that occurred. I certainly had no lack of orgasms, and no lack of material to spur me on to them.
One time two guys took me down from the frame and clipped me, naked as always, and face down flat on the table with my feet on the floor. My ball gag was in place, so I couldn't complain (not that it would have made any difference) about their plans for me. It was Hank and Archie, and Hank's girlfriend was curious about anal sex. Archie knew about it, and they used me, bent over and helpless, as a training tool for Hank. I didn't like it, didn't want it, wasn't into it, which didn't change a thing. Archie made sure they used plenty, plenty, plenty of lube, so it wasn't completely horrible and they didn't hurt me. Much. Just sore for a day or two in the wrong place.
After about the 5th party they introduced the MVP policy. The person who was MVP for the game got to do whatever they wanted with me. I was on display for everyone and available for use as always, but for that night I was the MVP’s toy specifically if they wanted. The first post-game that was Eric Pardon, tall, muscular, blonde, a flanker on the team. He didn't do a whole bunch with me. After being egged on a bit, around 12 he had them tie me on my stomach on the table and he fucked me in my mouth, but that was all that happened.
The game after that, Donny Ehren was MVP. Donny and I had the same PoliSci class, and he'd in the past ogled me in classes until I was sick of it. I just ignored it back then, but he clearly liked what he was seeing (damn right. I work hard for this body!). I just passed him off as the normal stoner drunk idiot rugby player the rest of my house but definitely not me associated with. Sigh. But tonight, when asked what he wanted to do, he told Liz he wanted me on a bed so he could "do me right for about three straight hard hours". Groan.
After a few minutes of (their) conversation, I was let go from the frame and marched up to my room. Still naked and still in restraints my wrists and ankles were tied to the corners of my bed, and then everyone but Donny went back downstairs to the basement. He in fact did do me for about three hours. When he was done, he just wandered off without letting me go, but I did have two orgasms over the time, so I was content to fall asleep. I woke up around 5 AM to Liz untying me and that was it for that after-game party. So every once in a while the MVP wanted me up in my room and I would spend the night tied to my bed instead of standing in the frame. I sorta preferred that. I got well-fucked, and my feet didn't hurt so bad the next day because I'd been standing barefoot (well, yes, bare everything) for six hours.
The next game went differently. I was chained up in my place like a good little girl in the middle of a bondage blackmail nightmare, and as the people from the party came down, Bruce, who was the MVP, was carrying a rather large suitcase, and Phil, his best buddy, had a collapsible stand. And both were grinning at me like Cheshire cats. Not good.
After their first beer they came and took me down from the frame and tied me on my back on the table, knees up. They overdid it with the rope, I really couldn't move much before, and I really couldn't move much at all by the time they were done. Then again, I admitted to myself, if the goal was to keep me on my back, knees up and unmoving, they did a pretty good job.
The stand got set up at the side of the table right between my feet. Then the case was opened and I saw, with a little bit of anxiety, what was in it.
It was a fucking machine. There may have been a proper name for it, but I'd seen them from time to time in pictures and videos, and that's what I called it. An electric motor with a flywheel to change the movement to back and forth, and a rod attached to that flywheel upon which a dildo could be mounted. I wasn't against the thought in principle, but the thought of one of those working in and out of me for about six hours made me very unhappy I was gagged and tied so well.
I'd seen videos of this sort of thing being done to a woman, it looked reasonably ok, I could have an orgasm from a cock or a dildo being run in and out of me just as much as the next girl, but as a general rule I, once I was coming, wanted the guy to STOP. If he kept going, even a little, it not only screwed up the orgasm but was genuinely painful. I doubt I'd have any success asking them to turn this thing off, even if I could get the message through to someone.
My gag was pulled out and I was offered a beer, which I accepted. Jerry carefully poured it into my mouth while I could hear Bruce and Phil setting up the mechanism at my feet.
I felt them do some test runs, making sure it was deep but not too deep. I expected after a while, I'd be ignored and this thing left running in me. I fervently hoped they had invested in some good lube, or I was in for some real physical problems by morning. I already was figuring out how to do my classes tomorrow when I was so sore between my legs from getting fucked by machine for four or more hours, and it didn't look good. I tried the ropes, nope, I wasn't going anywhere. The gag was back in place, so I wasn't going to be talking them out of it. At least the beer was starting to kick in.
Bruce had the control and I could feel the unit slide in and out of me a couple of times. It felt well lubed, wasn't causing me any problems, at least not now, but that stuff, from the videos, needed to be reapplied every so often, which scared me. He apparently was happy, because I felt the dildo start moving in and out of me about once every three seconds. I was faintly aware of the control box being put on the table between my legs, and settled back in for a joyride that I had no joy in being on.
For about the first hour it was interesting to the partygoers. I had people come up and play with the speed, a couple of which ran it up as fast as it would go for a few minutes, which for me was no fun at all. From the conversations I learned Bruce's uncle ran a chain of adult stores in his home area a couple of hundred miles away, and had agreed to loan Bruce the equipment so he could show his buddies the equipment. Bruce had told his uncle he had a girl who had agreed to let him demonstrate on her (hardly).
After about the first hour people forgot me, or I guess me getting reamed twenty times a minute lost its novelty for them. It was going on in the corner over there, and that was ok. It didn't do a thing for me except make me sore, I never got turned on at all much less had an orgasm. Regardless, the infernal thing ran in me for five or six hours. It never got really dry (I learned later the dildo was designed with a lube reservoir that kept it from getting too dry). When Bruce and Liz and Bill came to me, they were the only ones left in the room that weren't being sexually tortured. Bruce shut down and backed off the machine while Liz and Bill untied me and Bill carried my pretty much limp body up to my bed and he and Liz tucked me in.
The next morning it hurt real bad, it felt like someone had taken after my twat with a drill. Which come to think of it was reasonably accurate. There had been a few times when I had been screwed really hard, and that's what it felt like, but about ten times worse. Painful and bow-legged. I pulled on some loose pants, comfortable shoes. It was very painful walking to the table, where I grabbed some fruit and painfully and gingerly (even though trying very hard not to let it show once I was outside) made it out the door heading for class. It was noon of the next day before I could walk normally again.
About the fourth or fifth game after the MVP policy, Mitch Daniels, one of the outside centers, was the MVP. Now he was easily the scariest person for me on the team, and attended almost every party. He always pulled real hard and fast on the keg handle, and seemed to especially like to do it when I was dozing off so he could bring me back to my unhappy reality with a sharp and painfully unexpected jerk on my nipples. I'd heard from some other girls he was real bad news, into really, really rough play. He spent a lot of time staring at me during the parties and I didn't want to know what he was thinking.
But tonight he was MVP. Nothing came of it until about 11:30, until everyone had pretty well started into their cups and several people had already left. He announced he was going to take his MVP rights to try something on me he'd always wanted to do to a woman. And he went to his backpack and pulled out… a bullwhip.
I started violently, and so did Liz, defending me, but Mitch assured her he knew what he was doing. He was part of a wild-west reenactment team, and used it in their shows. He knew how to make it look real bad, and it'd sound scary, but he didn't hit the other players hard enough to leave a lasting mark and neither would he here to me.
Yeah, Liz countered, easy enough to do if you're careful and the person on the receiving end is in blue jeans, but Lara is buck naked. Mitch countered that what he was planning to do would leave a mark, and would probably hurt a bit, but by morning you'd never be able to tell it had been done to me. And if it wasn't, next game party Liz could do it to him. And he stared her down. And several of the other guys had taken seats to watch the upcoming show. She looked at me, and I shook my head no, but she shrugged, told me the rules were that he could do anything he wanted to, being the MVP, as long as it wasn't going to be permanent. Painful was in bounds. And she shuffled off out of sight.
Mitch came up to remove the nipple chains. He assured me that although it would hurt, by tomorrow morning I would be fine. I wasn't convinced, but no one was interested in my vote. And several of the guys were waiting and getting excited, the sicko bastards! He backed up until he was about ten feet in front of me, unfurled the whip, and whirled it around but nowhere near me for a few seconds. Then he changed direction and I saw it heading for my left breast.
It felt like a firecracker going off. It was a very good thing I was wearing the ball gag, the scream would have brought police from the next county. A thin red line formed on the outside of my breast. I saw Liz cringing and when she saw me looking at her she looked away, took a healthy slug of the vodka in her hand, but still did nothing. It took about four minutes for me to stop thrashing.
The next shot came in at almost an identical spot on my other breast. I now had matching stripes. I was making pleading noises through the ball gag, and pulling back as hard as I could, which was practically nothing. Mitch looked like he was enjoying himself. He set up for another strike.
It came in on my left hip. After that he gave me another on the right hip to match it. A small detached portion of me noted that he was right, he was good with the whip and his aim. But he was dead wrong on how little it would hurt. I could still feel the red lines like liquid fire roasting my skin every strike I had taken.
Mitch moved behind me. He played with me with the whip for a while, folded up in his hand and running it over my body. At one point he ran it between my legs and would have given me a wedgie with it if I'd had anything to wedge there. Then I heard him move back to distance and the whip start to whistle in the air again. This was even worse, I could hear the whip, but couldn't see it, so I had no clue when he was going to strike or where. After a few ranging passes, I heard the large crack it made as it drew a line across my left butt cheek. Then the pain washed over me like a red-hot tsunami of lava.
I lost it. I faded into subspace. Mitch was hurting me, brutalizing me, right here in front of fifteen people who were content to just watch it happen, including Liz. No one was going to help me, but Mitch was going to keep right on hurting me until there was no more unmarked space on my skin or he got tired of it. I noted in a detached way the next strike to match the previous one on my other buttock, but I was gone, so no thrashing or crying, and no more pleading. Just hang there and let him whip me, brutalize me, mark me, hurt me. No point in reacting anyway, it changed nothing. Subspace.
Two more strikes came in on the inside of my upper thighs. Then Liz had enough, and screaming at Mitch, she had Steve and Bill take me down and carry my limp body back upstairs while she threw everyone that didn't live there out. I came back to feel her rubbing aloe vera into my strikes, sorta, through the haze, a little later, then I passed the rest of the way out.
The next morning I woke with a start. I was in my own room, still naked but alone. I could feel where the whip had hit me, but as I dragged myself up and looked in the mirror I found that Mitch was pretty much right, they still hurt a little, and were still visible, but weren't bad or anything, just red marks, and I could wear clothing over all of it, which I needed to do since I had to get to PolySci class. It hurt, but not too bad.
I in the past had some fantasies from time to time about being whipped, part of the forced thing, but didn't think much of them anymore. Then it started getting to me, the fantasy about me being strung up to be whipped, I had disobeyed my gorgeous barbarian master and now in the town square it was time to teach me a lesson and show all the other servant girls who might have disobedient thoughts. My hands started downward to work in the wetness that was there. I was attached, stretched, then he strode up to me, whip in hand, and ripped my flimsy garments off with a careless hand, leaving me naked and vulnerable. He then stepped back to teach me my lesson. So there I was, proud, defiant, and helpless as he was going to hurt me just as much as he wanted, and the hundred or so townsfolk around me wouldn't dare interfere. He raised the whip, it started to whistle in the air, and I came in a thundering avalanche that took away my train of thought and everything else.
Ten minutes later, for some reason tired all over again, I realized I had fifteen minutes to make it to class. I threw on shirt and pants and blew down the stairs past Liz, Steve, and Bill who were still eating breakfast with hardly a hello-goodbye and Lara was gone. They shook their heads and concluded that if I was doing this then they had worried a little too much, that it must not have been as bad as it first looked. They were part right, I could feel it for sure, but I could also feel the panic from the midterm I was in danger of missing. I could deal with the pain.
End of Part 1