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Spring Break Slaves
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
twonines
LIMERICUS
Well if past history is anything to go on, you would try for the full three dozen by refusing to run.You know, Goldman, for a detective you ask the dumbest questions.
windar
Teller of Tales
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The cart each team would pull was called a sulky. Normally, they were used in harness racing, pulled by horses limited to a trotting pace. Here, they would be pulled by female slaves who would be hard-pressed to exceed a walk. They consisted of a seat mounted on two large wheels, with two parallel wooden poles extending horizontally from the front. The ones to be used in the race had been modified by the attachment of a crossbar towards the front of the poles, which the women would push on to move the cart.
Sulky could also describe the demeanor of the girls who were forced to compete in this race. They sat on the grass, baking in the hot sun, looking scared at the prospect that one pair of them would be whipped. That is, with the exception of Tania and Pam, who were confident that not only would they avoid the flogging due the last place team, but that they would walk away $5,000 richer.
The four sulkies were lined up on the grass, just ahead of a large expanse of crushed stone that stretched behind the house, with a path leading from the back end towards the jungle that made up the interior of the island. The guests stood under the shade of a large tree, where a bar had been set up, staffed by a couple of locals.
Tara noticed several familiar faces-including the two who had purchased her last night and the “Principal”. She also saw the large form of the Prime Minister, Sir Frederick Bascome, who had not been present the previous night, but had come specially for this event.
Their employer called the proceedings to order. “Gentlemen, it’s my honor and privilege to welcome you to the first annual Pirate Cay Personal Companion Pony Girl Race. The rules are simple, first team to the finish line wins and will share a prize of $ 10,000. As an added inducement to the ponies to put forth a serious effort, the last place team will be whipped, two dozen lashes each. Any team that doesn’t complete the race will get three dozen lashes.” There was a chorus of cheers when he announced the whipping punishment.
“Bets can be placed at the table over here,” he added, pointing at a table set up next to where he was standing, manned by Kelly. “But, of course, before you place your bets, I’m sure you want to examine the ponies.” More cheers went up. “So, ladies, come on over.”
The women got slowly to their feet and walked over. It felt good to be out of the hot sun for the moment, even though the prospect of the race was not a pleasant one. They were formed into their teams, poked and prodded by the men feeling the muscles in their legs and backs.
“So who are the jockeys?” an older balding man asked.
“An excellent question,” he replied. “Even the best horses need a good jockey. After some consideration, I’ve chosen the following from among you. Team 1, Pam and Tania, will be ridden by Peter.” The dark haired man who had bought Tara the previous night came forward and stood between his two ponies. At least Tara knew his name now.
“Team 2, Gina and May, will be ridden by Jim.” An older, balding man of medium build stepped between the two of them. “Team 3, Amanda and Stephanie, will be ridden by Frank,” he continued, indicating a trim older man with a full head of white hair.
“And, last, but not least, Team 4, Tara and Delia, will be under the control of our esteemed guest, the Prime Minister of this great country, Sir Frederick Bascome.” Tara’s jaw dropped in shock. Big Fred weighed at least a hundred pounds more than any of the other men. Jockeys were supposed to be thin little guys, not big fat whales! How would she and Delia ever pull him?
“But, sir,” Tara complained, “That’s not fair. He’s so, so,” she wanted to say “fat” but thought the better of it, “muscular, sir”.
He got up and stroked Tara’s hair. “Tara, my dear, it’s because Sir Fred really enjoyed your company, you and Delia, that he asked for you. So it’s an honor. I’d advise you to smile and be nice to the PM.”
Meanwhile, Sir Fred, ever the politician, came forward, shaking hands with everyone in the crowd smiling and joking as he made his way to stand between Tara and Delia, reaching down to pinch their asses as he took his place. “Ladies, it’s wonderful to see you again. I had such a good time with you riding me that I asked him to please let me ride the race with you guys as a special favor and he agreed. We’re going to leave those other girls in the dust, aren’t we?”
Tara just looked down at the ground. What could she do? Ponies didn’t get to choose their jockey.
“So now that you have the card for today’s race in front of you, you may place your bets,” he announced. The betting table had an electronic board that flashed the odds in big red numbers. It quickly became obvious that Team 1, Tania and Pam, were heavy favorites and that Tara and Delia were the longshots at 25-1. After all, you didn’t need a racing form to see that Sir Fred was going to be a tough load for them to pull.
Once the betting action had died down, he said, “Let’s get our ponies in harness and get this race underway.” Everyone moved to where the sulkies were lined up. The carts were numbered one through four. “Ok, girls let’s get those clothes off and get into your harness.”
Stephanie looked at him a bit askance. “Sir, did you say clothes off?”
“Horses don’t wear clothes!” someone in the crowd yelled.
“Indeed they don’t,” he said. “Come on now, we all saw all of you naked, last night. You’re among intimate friends here.” The other women were already stripping, so Stephanie submitted and began taking her clothes off as well.
Gina had kicked one sandal off and was looking at the crushed stones that they would have to pass through.. “Sir, please, can we keep our shoes on? Those stones are sharp and hot from the sun. Horses wear shoes, after all.”
“Gentlemen, what say you?” he asked. “Should they wear shoes?’
There was a chorus of boos. “No shoes for these sluts!” someone yelled.
The women looked around hoping, against experience, that someone would come to their rescue. Of course, no one did. “I’m afraid the crowd has spoken,” he said. They slipped their sandals off.
“I hope you’re going to take our shackles off, at least,” May whined. “How are we supposed to run in them?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to figure that out,” he replied. “You guys are supposed to be the cream of the academic crop, aren’t you?”
“Well, they certainly got plenty of cream last night,” one of the spectators yelled, to roars of laughter and high fives from those around him.
“Alright,” their host announced. “Enough complaints. Let’s hitch up these ponies and get this race underway.”
The Prime Minister took hold of an arm of each of his ponies and led them to sulky number four. “Step between the poles, girls, and grab onto the crossbar” he ordered. Delia and Tara climbed over the poles, almost tripping in their shackles and bent down to grab onto the crossbar, lifting it up to chest height.
Now that they were up close, they noticed that there were two short chains attached to the crossbar. Sir Frederick attached the end of the chain to each of their collars, securing them with small padlocks. Tara and Delia were truly harnessed now, hitched to a cart like animals.
Tara felt a pressure on the crossbar to which she was attached. Looking behind her, she saw the PM trying to maneuver his considerable bulk onto the seat, which was designed for the typical jockey half his weight or less. ‘Maybe, he won’t be able to get on it and they’ll have to give us another rider,’ she thought, hopefully. However, with the help of a couple of the spectators, Big Fred finally got himself seated, even though large parts of him were hanging over the edge of the seat.
“Only one more thing, and then we’re ready to go. What do jockeys have to spur on their ponies?” he asked.
“Whips!” several voices called out.
“Indeed!” he replied. “Kelly, would make sure the jockeys are properly equipped?” There was a canvas bag under the table where Kelly sat. She extracted four whips, each several feet long, long enough for the jockey to reach the backs of his ponies. She passed one to each of the riders.
Now that all was ready, he stood at the starting line with a small pistol in his hand. “On your marks, get set,” he called, then there was loud bang. Tania and Pam’s cart immediately moved forward at a good pace onto the crushed stone. Carts 2 and 3 lurched a bit, then began creakily moving forward, stopping and starting, especially once the ponies reached the crushed stone, but at least making fitful progress.
Tara pushed against the crossbar, but she didn’t feel the cart move. She could see Delia pushing hard as well. They were both sweating already in the hot sun, yet they hadn’t budged.
“Ladies, why aren’t we moving?” Big Fred asked. “Look, the others are all underway.”
“Sir, we’re pushing as hard as we can,” Delia protested.
“Perhaps you need some inducement,” he said, raising the whip and slashing it onto Delia’s back.
“Oww!” she yelped.
Tara saw a thin red line cross her friend’s upper back. Then she heard the whip whistle again and felt a line of fire on her own back. “Fuck!” she yelled, stamping her feet to the extent the shackles would allow.
“Come on you cunts, move your asses!” one of the spectators yelled.
“That’s it, Big Fred, don’t let those lazy sluts goof off!” another one added.
“On the count of three, Delia,” Tara said between clenched teeth. “One, two, three.” They both pushed with all their might, leaning their whole weight in. The cart lurched forward onto the crushed stone. Tara felt the sharp stones digging into the tender soles of her feet. She had to hop from foot in response to the pain. She could see Delia doing the same. As a result, the cart came to a halt.
“Oh, god! My feet!” Tara shouted.
“Fucking stones! They’re killing me!” Delia cried.
“What’s the matter with these lazy bitches?” someone yelled.
“Yeah, I took a flyer on them at 25-1, but, goddamn, they’re worthless!” another shouted.
Tara’s entire body was coated in sweat, the fluid seemingly coming out of pores she didn’t even know she had. Her eyes were burning such that she could barely see. She wiped her face with her arm and stared ahead. Tania and Pam had disappeared into the trees, on their way to a payday.
The other two teams were nearing the end of the crushed stone, where the route became a dirt path which would certainly be less painful to walk on. Tara could hope for some relief once they made it there, but at the current pace that would take forever.
The Prime Minister turned to look at the spectators. “I must apologize for their performance. I know I’m a bit heavy. I’ve tried to lose weight, but whenever I lose a few pounds, there’s another campaign. I go to all the events and there’s always food and it would be rude not to have some, wouldn’t it?”
He turned back to his two ponies and cracked the whip low across Tara’s ass. “Oh, fuuuck!” she shouted. “Push, Dee, now!” she yelled. They both leant with their whole body and the sulky creaked ahead.
Tara’s feet were in agony. She didn’t dare look to see if they were bleeding, but they certainly felt like they were. Her back and ass were burning from the whip. And every muscle ached from the strain of moving the combined weight of the cart and the Prime Minister. The only thing that kept her going was the prospect of getting off these cursed stones and onto soft dirt.
They kept pushing, making slow progress. Every so often, a small group of the spectators would leave the shade and the open bar and walk out to harass them, telling them how worthless they were and how they were going to enjoy watching their floggings.
Finally, they made it to the dirt track. It still took an incredible effort to push the cart over the uneven ground with the terrain was sloping gently upwards, but at least the stones were no longer cutting into their soles. Up ahead, not too far, was the forest, where they would at least not have to contend with the sun beating down on them. Tara’s mouth was desperately dry, but no one offered her water.
Tara knew the race was hopeless. They couldn’t even see the next slowest team. Still, she wanted to finish, both because not finishing would mean three dozen lashes instead of two and if they hurt anything like the ones that Big Fred had doled out to get them moving, that would be hell, but also because she really wanted to prove to everyone that she wasn’t as worthless as they said.
But, she was exhausted and Delia was exhausted. Each step was harder than the last, on aching feet, pushing with muscles crying out for a rest. The final touch was the sight of Pam and Tania loping serenely down the trail towards them with their jockey, naked Amazons emerging victorious from the forest. “Well, if it isn’t the two losers,” Pam said. “The other two teams were almost at the finish line when we left.”
That did it for Delia. She let go of the crossbar, turned to Tara and said, “That’s it, I quit.”
‘Well,’ Tara thought, ‘They’d come this far together and it was more or less her doing that they were here, since Delia had expressed her doubts and she’d convinced her to come.’ Besides, the two of them could barely move the sulky, so she could hardly do it alone. “Me too, I’m done,” she announced.
Tara let go of the crossbar as well. The front end of the poles swung down towards the ground, taking the two ponies down with it. Big Fred, lashed them a couple of times, hitting their thighs and stomachs as they lay there exhausted, but he could tell it was useless. He shook his head. “I guess there’s no point flogging dead ponies,” he said.
It took a while, but soon their employer showed up along with several of the spectators and Kelly. “I’m disappointed in both of you,” he said. “But we’ll straighten this out later.” He unlocked the padlocks that attached their collars to the crossbar. “Take these two to the clinic,” he ordered.
Kelly looked at them with disgust. “On your feet you two worthless whores,” she ordered. They got slowly to their feet and limped after her.
The cart each team would pull was called a sulky. Normally, they were used in harness racing, pulled by horses limited to a trotting pace. Here, they would be pulled by female slaves who would be hard-pressed to exceed a walk. They consisted of a seat mounted on two large wheels, with two parallel wooden poles extending horizontally from the front. The ones to be used in the race had been modified by the attachment of a crossbar towards the front of the poles, which the women would push on to move the cart.
Sulky could also describe the demeanor of the girls who were forced to compete in this race. They sat on the grass, baking in the hot sun, looking scared at the prospect that one pair of them would be whipped. That is, with the exception of Tania and Pam, who were confident that not only would they avoid the flogging due the last place team, but that they would walk away $5,000 richer.
The four sulkies were lined up on the grass, just ahead of a large expanse of crushed stone that stretched behind the house, with a path leading from the back end towards the jungle that made up the interior of the island. The guests stood under the shade of a large tree, where a bar had been set up, staffed by a couple of locals.
Tara noticed several familiar faces-including the two who had purchased her last night and the “Principal”. She also saw the large form of the Prime Minister, Sir Frederick Bascome, who had not been present the previous night, but had come specially for this event.
Their employer called the proceedings to order. “Gentlemen, it’s my honor and privilege to welcome you to the first annual Pirate Cay Personal Companion Pony Girl Race. The rules are simple, first team to the finish line wins and will share a prize of $ 10,000. As an added inducement to the ponies to put forth a serious effort, the last place team will be whipped, two dozen lashes each. Any team that doesn’t complete the race will get three dozen lashes.” There was a chorus of cheers when he announced the whipping punishment.
“Bets can be placed at the table over here,” he added, pointing at a table set up next to where he was standing, manned by Kelly. “But, of course, before you place your bets, I’m sure you want to examine the ponies.” More cheers went up. “So, ladies, come on over.”
The women got slowly to their feet and walked over. It felt good to be out of the hot sun for the moment, even though the prospect of the race was not a pleasant one. They were formed into their teams, poked and prodded by the men feeling the muscles in their legs and backs.
“So who are the jockeys?” an older balding man asked.
“An excellent question,” he replied. “Even the best horses need a good jockey. After some consideration, I’ve chosen the following from among you. Team 1, Pam and Tania, will be ridden by Peter.” The dark haired man who had bought Tara the previous night came forward and stood between his two ponies. At least Tara knew his name now.
“Team 2, Gina and May, will be ridden by Jim.” An older, balding man of medium build stepped between the two of them. “Team 3, Amanda and Stephanie, will be ridden by Frank,” he continued, indicating a trim older man with a full head of white hair.
“And, last, but not least, Team 4, Tara and Delia, will be under the control of our esteemed guest, the Prime Minister of this great country, Sir Frederick Bascome.” Tara’s jaw dropped in shock. Big Fred weighed at least a hundred pounds more than any of the other men. Jockeys were supposed to be thin little guys, not big fat whales! How would she and Delia ever pull him?
“But, sir,” Tara complained, “That’s not fair. He’s so, so,” she wanted to say “fat” but thought the better of it, “muscular, sir”.
He got up and stroked Tara’s hair. “Tara, my dear, it’s because Sir Fred really enjoyed your company, you and Delia, that he asked for you. So it’s an honor. I’d advise you to smile and be nice to the PM.”
Meanwhile, Sir Fred, ever the politician, came forward, shaking hands with everyone in the crowd smiling and joking as he made his way to stand between Tara and Delia, reaching down to pinch their asses as he took his place. “Ladies, it’s wonderful to see you again. I had such a good time with you riding me that I asked him to please let me ride the race with you guys as a special favor and he agreed. We’re going to leave those other girls in the dust, aren’t we?”
Tara just looked down at the ground. What could she do? Ponies didn’t get to choose their jockey.
“So now that you have the card for today’s race in front of you, you may place your bets,” he announced. The betting table had an electronic board that flashed the odds in big red numbers. It quickly became obvious that Team 1, Tania and Pam, were heavy favorites and that Tara and Delia were the longshots at 25-1. After all, you didn’t need a racing form to see that Sir Fred was going to be a tough load for them to pull.
Once the betting action had died down, he said, “Let’s get our ponies in harness and get this race underway.” Everyone moved to where the sulkies were lined up. The carts were numbered one through four. “Ok, girls let’s get those clothes off and get into your harness.”
Stephanie looked at him a bit askance. “Sir, did you say clothes off?”
“Horses don’t wear clothes!” someone in the crowd yelled.
“Indeed they don’t,” he said. “Come on now, we all saw all of you naked, last night. You’re among intimate friends here.” The other women were already stripping, so Stephanie submitted and began taking her clothes off as well.
Gina had kicked one sandal off and was looking at the crushed stones that they would have to pass through.. “Sir, please, can we keep our shoes on? Those stones are sharp and hot from the sun. Horses wear shoes, after all.”
“Gentlemen, what say you?” he asked. “Should they wear shoes?’
There was a chorus of boos. “No shoes for these sluts!” someone yelled.
The women looked around hoping, against experience, that someone would come to their rescue. Of course, no one did. “I’m afraid the crowd has spoken,” he said. They slipped their sandals off.
“I hope you’re going to take our shackles off, at least,” May whined. “How are we supposed to run in them?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to figure that out,” he replied. “You guys are supposed to be the cream of the academic crop, aren’t you?”
“Well, they certainly got plenty of cream last night,” one of the spectators yelled, to roars of laughter and high fives from those around him.
“Alright,” their host announced. “Enough complaints. Let’s hitch up these ponies and get this race underway.”
The Prime Minister took hold of an arm of each of his ponies and led them to sulky number four. “Step between the poles, girls, and grab onto the crossbar” he ordered. Delia and Tara climbed over the poles, almost tripping in their shackles and bent down to grab onto the crossbar, lifting it up to chest height.
Now that they were up close, they noticed that there were two short chains attached to the crossbar. Sir Frederick attached the end of the chain to each of their collars, securing them with small padlocks. Tara and Delia were truly harnessed now, hitched to a cart like animals.
Tara felt a pressure on the crossbar to which she was attached. Looking behind her, she saw the PM trying to maneuver his considerable bulk onto the seat, which was designed for the typical jockey half his weight or less. ‘Maybe, he won’t be able to get on it and they’ll have to give us another rider,’ she thought, hopefully. However, with the help of a couple of the spectators, Big Fred finally got himself seated, even though large parts of him were hanging over the edge of the seat.
“Only one more thing, and then we’re ready to go. What do jockeys have to spur on their ponies?” he asked.
“Whips!” several voices called out.
“Indeed!” he replied. “Kelly, would make sure the jockeys are properly equipped?” There was a canvas bag under the table where Kelly sat. She extracted four whips, each several feet long, long enough for the jockey to reach the backs of his ponies. She passed one to each of the riders.
Now that all was ready, he stood at the starting line with a small pistol in his hand. “On your marks, get set,” he called, then there was loud bang. Tania and Pam’s cart immediately moved forward at a good pace onto the crushed stone. Carts 2 and 3 lurched a bit, then began creakily moving forward, stopping and starting, especially once the ponies reached the crushed stone, but at least making fitful progress.
Tara pushed against the crossbar, but she didn’t feel the cart move. She could see Delia pushing hard as well. They were both sweating already in the hot sun, yet they hadn’t budged.
“Ladies, why aren’t we moving?” Big Fred asked. “Look, the others are all underway.”
“Sir, we’re pushing as hard as we can,” Delia protested.
“Perhaps you need some inducement,” he said, raising the whip and slashing it onto Delia’s back.
“Oww!” she yelped.
Tara saw a thin red line cross her friend’s upper back. Then she heard the whip whistle again and felt a line of fire on her own back. “Fuck!” she yelled, stamping her feet to the extent the shackles would allow.
“Come on you cunts, move your asses!” one of the spectators yelled.
“That’s it, Big Fred, don’t let those lazy sluts goof off!” another one added.
“On the count of three, Delia,” Tara said between clenched teeth. “One, two, three.” They both pushed with all their might, leaning their whole weight in. The cart lurched forward onto the crushed stone. Tara felt the sharp stones digging into the tender soles of her feet. She had to hop from foot in response to the pain. She could see Delia doing the same. As a result, the cart came to a halt.
“Oh, god! My feet!” Tara shouted.
“Fucking stones! They’re killing me!” Delia cried.
“What’s the matter with these lazy bitches?” someone yelled.
“Yeah, I took a flyer on them at 25-1, but, goddamn, they’re worthless!” another shouted.
Tara’s entire body was coated in sweat, the fluid seemingly coming out of pores she didn’t even know she had. Her eyes were burning such that she could barely see. She wiped her face with her arm and stared ahead. Tania and Pam had disappeared into the trees, on their way to a payday.
The other two teams were nearing the end of the crushed stone, where the route became a dirt path which would certainly be less painful to walk on. Tara could hope for some relief once they made it there, but at the current pace that would take forever.
The Prime Minister turned to look at the spectators. “I must apologize for their performance. I know I’m a bit heavy. I’ve tried to lose weight, but whenever I lose a few pounds, there’s another campaign. I go to all the events and there’s always food and it would be rude not to have some, wouldn’t it?”
He turned back to his two ponies and cracked the whip low across Tara’s ass. “Oh, fuuuck!” she shouted. “Push, Dee, now!” she yelled. They both leant with their whole body and the sulky creaked ahead.
Tara’s feet were in agony. She didn’t dare look to see if they were bleeding, but they certainly felt like they were. Her back and ass were burning from the whip. And every muscle ached from the strain of moving the combined weight of the cart and the Prime Minister. The only thing that kept her going was the prospect of getting off these cursed stones and onto soft dirt.
They kept pushing, making slow progress. Every so often, a small group of the spectators would leave the shade and the open bar and walk out to harass them, telling them how worthless they were and how they were going to enjoy watching their floggings.
Finally, they made it to the dirt track. It still took an incredible effort to push the cart over the uneven ground with the terrain was sloping gently upwards, but at least the stones were no longer cutting into their soles. Up ahead, not too far, was the forest, where they would at least not have to contend with the sun beating down on them. Tara’s mouth was desperately dry, but no one offered her water.
Tara knew the race was hopeless. They couldn’t even see the next slowest team. Still, she wanted to finish, both because not finishing would mean three dozen lashes instead of two and if they hurt anything like the ones that Big Fred had doled out to get them moving, that would be hell, but also because she really wanted to prove to everyone that she wasn’t as worthless as they said.
But, she was exhausted and Delia was exhausted. Each step was harder than the last, on aching feet, pushing with muscles crying out for a rest. The final touch was the sight of Pam and Tania loping serenely down the trail towards them with their jockey, naked Amazons emerging victorious from the forest. “Well, if it isn’t the two losers,” Pam said. “The other two teams were almost at the finish line when we left.”
That did it for Delia. She let go of the crossbar, turned to Tara and said, “That’s it, I quit.”
‘Well,’ Tara thought, ‘They’d come this far together and it was more or less her doing that they were here, since Delia had expressed her doubts and she’d convinced her to come.’ Besides, the two of them could barely move the sulky, so she could hardly do it alone. “Me too, I’m done,” she announced.
Tara let go of the crossbar as well. The front end of the poles swung down towards the ground, taking the two ponies down with it. Big Fred, lashed them a couple of times, hitting their thighs and stomachs as they lay there exhausted, but he could tell it was useless. He shook his head. “I guess there’s no point flogging dead ponies,” he said.
It took a while, but soon their employer showed up along with several of the spectators and Kelly. “I’m disappointed in both of you,” he said. “But we’ll straighten this out later.” He unlocked the padlocks that attached their collars to the crossbar. “Take these two to the clinic,” he ordered.
Kelly looked at them with disgust. “On your feet you two worthless whores,” she ordered. They got slowly to their feet and limped after her.
twonines
LIMERICUS
Now there`s the inevitable consequences to anticipate. The poor girls have a tough time to look forward to.This was a setup before it even got underway!
But it was a great read anyway
windar
Teller of Tales
How about a little sympathy for the poor guys who bet money on them?
Anyone who bets money on women accepts the high level of risk involved. No sympathy here.
twonines
LIMERICUS
The golden rule of gambling, whether on the horses or the stockmarket is never risk a stake which you can`t afford to lose.
twonines
LIMERICUS
So true, so true.
M
montycrusto
Guest
“Poor fools,
To wager a hundred sequins on a woman!
He who builds his hopes on a woman's heart
Ploughs the sea and sows on sand
And hopes to snare the wild wind in a net"
~Don Alfonso, Cosi Fan Tutte, (Mozart/ da Ponte), Act 1, scene 7.
Last edited by a moderator:
M
montycrusto
Guest
A very fine chapter @windar !! Somehow my shamanic prophecy came true
.. looking forward to these two worthless slaves getting the punishment they deserve
M
montycrusto
Guest
twonines
LIMERICUS
Certainly the most effective method, but there is such a thing as flogging a dead horse.View attachment 808268
With enough whip, even the most worthless pony girl trash can be urged into motion...
Sharkman
Governor
... better then riding a dead horse.
windar
Teller of Tales
How Kelly got to where she is today is a whole other story
Speaking of which, Tara and Delia are due a flogging, aren't they?
windar
Teller of Tales
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tara tried not to think about her upcoming flogging, but she was about as successful as someone told not to think about an elephant. Of course, they couldn’t help thinking about a large grey animal, and Tara couldn’t help but imagining the pain of the vicious multi-thonged whip cutting into her flesh and the humiliation of exhibiting her suffering to a crowd eager to watch.
For, she knew that hers and Delia’s whipping would be as much a spectacle as a punishment. The doctor had told them as much as she treated them after the cart race in which they had performed so dismally. “They won’t whip you guys tonight,” she had told them.
For a moment, Tara had nursed a hope that their punishment had been cancelled. “They will want to see you dance under the whip and you guys are too exhausted right now to put on a good show,” the doctor had said. “I told him that. But, we’ll fix you up, get you a good night’s sleep and you’ll be good to go tomorrow,” she had assured them.
She had cleaned up the cuts on their feet from the crushed stones and treated the welts on their backs and legs from the Prime Minister’s cart whip and taken the collars off their necks and the shackles from their ankles. “I’ll be along this evening to gives you something to help you sleep. In the meantime, relax and get some rest.”
Tara and Delia had returned to their room, showered and were lying on their beds naked, too tired to even put T shirts and panties on. Tara didn’t think she’d spent as much time naked in her whole life as she had here on Pirate Cay.
Despite herself, Tara thought about tomorrow or whenever it suited him and his guests to have their punishment administered. She thought about Amanda hanging there, howling in pain and begging for a mercy that didn’t come, blood trickling down her back. Soon, that would be her and Delia, except they were due a dozen more than Amanda had gotten.
“Delia, why do you think he did that to us?” she asked.
Delia was facing away from Tara, but turned towards her to reply. Tara could see why the guys liked Delia’s tits-they really were nice. “Did what?”
“Gave us that big fat whale to pull,” Tara replied.
“Because he could, simple as that. These guys are all about power, Tara. I mean they like sex, but that isn’t really the main thing for them. They have enough money that they can have sex whenever they want. But, why they come here is that they want to see us suffer and degrade ourselves. I bet some of them can’t even get it up without that, even with the pills the doctor passes out.”
“Yeah, it’s sick isn’t it?”
“I think a lot of guys are like that. Most of them can’t do anything to make their fantasies real, like these rich shits here can, but they would if they could.”
“So what can we do?”
“Do, Tara? We can’t fucking do anything except suffer and try to get through it and hope they’ll let us leave when the time is up. Don’t bet that they will, either.”
Tara started crying. “I’m so sorry, Dee. This is my fault. You didn’t want to come and I talked you into it. And now we’re both going to be whipped.”
Delia got up from her bed and came over to sit beside her friend. “Hey, girlfriend,” she said, stroking Tara’s hair. “I’m just as much to blame as you. I wanted the money, too. But we’ll get through it. The Two Musketeers, right?”
“The two losers, more like, Dee. We couldn’t even get to the halfway point of the race.”
“Hey, it’s not our fault Big Fred can’t stop eating.”
Tara took Delia’s face in her hand and kissed her friend hard on the mouth. “You’re such a good friend.” Tara said, her hand wandering down to stroke Delia’s breasts.
“What are you doing?” Delia asked.
“I really owe you one,” Tara said.
“You don’t have to, Tara, really.”
“I want to,” Tara said, her hand now straying lower towards Delia’s pussy.
“Well, who am I to stop my bestie from doing what she wants?” Delia said.
“Good, then lie back and prepare to enjoy,” Tara said, pushing Delia down onto the bed, and sliding down so that her face was between her friend’s legs.
Tara licked slowly up and down Delia’s slit, probing all those sensitive spots with her tongue, enjoying the musty, tangy taste of girl juice and the gentle, but firm flexing of Delia’s torso so as to maximize the contact between her clit and Tara’s tongue. But most of all, she enjoyed hearing Delia’s breathing, the soft moans of satisfaction, the muttered imprecations not to stop, not now and not ever.
Delia’s hands were gripping the sheets, her legs were extended straight out in front, her toes clenched as Tara inserted one finger, then another inside her friend’s pussy. She reached up with her other hand to finger Delia’s breasts, stroking the nipples as she moved the fingers of the other hand in and out of the well lubricated passageway.
Delia’s legs were shaking now, her breath coming in short gasps as she released all of the tension and misery of the day with a gush of fluid and a cry of relief. Tara was eagerly lapping up the juices when she heard a pounding at the door. “Shit!” she muttered. “If that’s Kelly, her timing sucks.”
“As always,” Delia said, her eyes open now.
Tara got up and ran to the bathroom to throw some water on her face. The banging continued. She opened the door a crack. “Kelly, I’m sorry, we were sleeping,” Tara explained.
Kelly barged through the opening, looking at Delia sprawled naked on the bed. “Yeah, sure, sleeping, whatever,” she said. “You little sluts can’t keep your hands off each other.”
“For pity’s sake, Kelly, could you manage to give us just one break?”
“Don’t tempt me to report you, Tara. Anyway, he wants to see you right now,” Kelly insisted.
Tara’s heart skipped a beat. This sounded like trouble. ‘Was he going to increase their punishment?’ she wondered. There wasn’t any good reason why he should, but he didn’t need a reason. But dilly-dallying wasn’t going to help their case. She moved towards the door.
Delia sat up. “Can we have a minute to get dressed?” she asked.
“What for?” Kelly said. “Are you whores being modest all of a sudden? Let’s go, on the double!”
Delia got up slowly and they followed Kelly meekly down the hallway. Tara was limping a bit, the cuts on her feet causing distress even on the smooth tile. She could see Delia was suffering as well.
They passed through the great room. Kelly knocked at his office door. “Yes,” they heard. Kelly opened the door and ushered Tara and Delia in, then left, closing the door behind her.
He was sitting behind his desk in his usual chair. Beside him, standing, was the Prime Minister. “Please sit down,” he said. They sat in the chairs in front of the desk, glad to be off their sore feet.
“The Prime Minister has taken a liking to you two, for reasons that escape me, but it’s his country.”
Big Fred smiled. “Yes, I feel I’ve been a bit unfair to you ladies and you’re guests in my country. I’m a very large man, after all, and having to pull me was a real handicap.” Tara couldn’t argue that point. “And you really did try hard, I think.”
They both nodded vigorously. “We did, sir,” Delia said. “I’ve never worked so hard in my whole life.”
“Yes, sure,” their employer said, “In light of the circumstances and at the request of the PM, I’m going to suspend the additional part of your punishment for not completing the race. You will receive only two dozen lashes, instead of three.”
Tara felt enormous relief. She had fully expected, given how things worked on Pirate Cay, to have the punishment increased for some totally made up pretext. Instead, it was being reduced. Not that two dozen, like Amanda had gotten, wouldn’t be an ordeal, but it was better than three.
“Thank you so much, sir!” the two women exclaimed.
“You are really the most kind and generous man,” Tara said. The shock of seeing such kindness was so great, that Tara stood and asked “May I hug you, sir?”
“Yes, my pet,” he said. “You may.” She came around the desk, stopping first in front of Big Fred. “May I hug you too, Mr. Prime Minister?”
“Oh, yes, you must!” Big Fred exclaimed. She hugged the PM, then, knelt in front of her employer and hugged his legs. She could sense that he wanted more, but that he wanted her to offer it without his asking.
Tara knew that would be a big step in her adaptation to life on Pirate Cay, but it just seemed necessary and right in the moment. She opened his fly and worked his penis out. It was already semi-hard. She took it in her mouth and began licking, feeling the organ harden from the pressure of her tongue.
Tara saw the Prime Minister walk towards Delia. “We should leave these two lovebirds alone.” She stood and followed him out of the room.
Later, back in their room, Tara turned to Delia. “So, I suppose that was just another power trip?”
“You got it, girlfriend. You show your power to punish and also to pardon. And you don’t need a reason to do either.”
“Still two dozen is better than three, right? And a bj is a small price to pay, since he could have ordered us to do one anyway.”
“Yeah, but it means more to him when you propose it, just like it meant a lot to me when you offered to do me before.”
“Did it, Dee?”
“It did, and now it’s my turn to return the favor, don’t you think?”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Tara said, lying back on the bed as her friend took control. Tomorrow they would suffer, she knew, so they should take some pleasure while they could.
Tara tried not to think about her upcoming flogging, but she was about as successful as someone told not to think about an elephant. Of course, they couldn’t help thinking about a large grey animal, and Tara couldn’t help but imagining the pain of the vicious multi-thonged whip cutting into her flesh and the humiliation of exhibiting her suffering to a crowd eager to watch.
For, she knew that hers and Delia’s whipping would be as much a spectacle as a punishment. The doctor had told them as much as she treated them after the cart race in which they had performed so dismally. “They won’t whip you guys tonight,” she had told them.
For a moment, Tara had nursed a hope that their punishment had been cancelled. “They will want to see you dance under the whip and you guys are too exhausted right now to put on a good show,” the doctor had said. “I told him that. But, we’ll fix you up, get you a good night’s sleep and you’ll be good to go tomorrow,” she had assured them.
She had cleaned up the cuts on their feet from the crushed stones and treated the welts on their backs and legs from the Prime Minister’s cart whip and taken the collars off their necks and the shackles from their ankles. “I’ll be along this evening to gives you something to help you sleep. In the meantime, relax and get some rest.”
Tara and Delia had returned to their room, showered and were lying on their beds naked, too tired to even put T shirts and panties on. Tara didn’t think she’d spent as much time naked in her whole life as she had here on Pirate Cay.
Despite herself, Tara thought about tomorrow or whenever it suited him and his guests to have their punishment administered. She thought about Amanda hanging there, howling in pain and begging for a mercy that didn’t come, blood trickling down her back. Soon, that would be her and Delia, except they were due a dozen more than Amanda had gotten.
“Delia, why do you think he did that to us?” she asked.
Delia was facing away from Tara, but turned towards her to reply. Tara could see why the guys liked Delia’s tits-they really were nice. “Did what?”
“Gave us that big fat whale to pull,” Tara replied.
“Because he could, simple as that. These guys are all about power, Tara. I mean they like sex, but that isn’t really the main thing for them. They have enough money that they can have sex whenever they want. But, why they come here is that they want to see us suffer and degrade ourselves. I bet some of them can’t even get it up without that, even with the pills the doctor passes out.”
“Yeah, it’s sick isn’t it?”
“I think a lot of guys are like that. Most of them can’t do anything to make their fantasies real, like these rich shits here can, but they would if they could.”
“So what can we do?”
“Do, Tara? We can’t fucking do anything except suffer and try to get through it and hope they’ll let us leave when the time is up. Don’t bet that they will, either.”
Tara started crying. “I’m so sorry, Dee. This is my fault. You didn’t want to come and I talked you into it. And now we’re both going to be whipped.”
Delia got up from her bed and came over to sit beside her friend. “Hey, girlfriend,” she said, stroking Tara’s hair. “I’m just as much to blame as you. I wanted the money, too. But we’ll get through it. The Two Musketeers, right?”
“The two losers, more like, Dee. We couldn’t even get to the halfway point of the race.”
“Hey, it’s not our fault Big Fred can’t stop eating.”
Tara took Delia’s face in her hand and kissed her friend hard on the mouth. “You’re such a good friend.” Tara said, her hand wandering down to stroke Delia’s breasts.
“What are you doing?” Delia asked.
“I really owe you one,” Tara said.
“You don’t have to, Tara, really.”
“I want to,” Tara said, her hand now straying lower towards Delia’s pussy.
“Well, who am I to stop my bestie from doing what she wants?” Delia said.
“Good, then lie back and prepare to enjoy,” Tara said, pushing Delia down onto the bed, and sliding down so that her face was between her friend’s legs.
Tara licked slowly up and down Delia’s slit, probing all those sensitive spots with her tongue, enjoying the musty, tangy taste of girl juice and the gentle, but firm flexing of Delia’s torso so as to maximize the contact between her clit and Tara’s tongue. But most of all, she enjoyed hearing Delia’s breathing, the soft moans of satisfaction, the muttered imprecations not to stop, not now and not ever.
Delia’s hands were gripping the sheets, her legs were extended straight out in front, her toes clenched as Tara inserted one finger, then another inside her friend’s pussy. She reached up with her other hand to finger Delia’s breasts, stroking the nipples as she moved the fingers of the other hand in and out of the well lubricated passageway.
Delia’s legs were shaking now, her breath coming in short gasps as she released all of the tension and misery of the day with a gush of fluid and a cry of relief. Tara was eagerly lapping up the juices when she heard a pounding at the door. “Shit!” she muttered. “If that’s Kelly, her timing sucks.”
“As always,” Delia said, her eyes open now.
Tara got up and ran to the bathroom to throw some water on her face. The banging continued. She opened the door a crack. “Kelly, I’m sorry, we were sleeping,” Tara explained.
Kelly barged through the opening, looking at Delia sprawled naked on the bed. “Yeah, sure, sleeping, whatever,” she said. “You little sluts can’t keep your hands off each other.”
“For pity’s sake, Kelly, could you manage to give us just one break?”
“Don’t tempt me to report you, Tara. Anyway, he wants to see you right now,” Kelly insisted.
Tara’s heart skipped a beat. This sounded like trouble. ‘Was he going to increase their punishment?’ she wondered. There wasn’t any good reason why he should, but he didn’t need a reason. But dilly-dallying wasn’t going to help their case. She moved towards the door.
Delia sat up. “Can we have a minute to get dressed?” she asked.
“What for?” Kelly said. “Are you whores being modest all of a sudden? Let’s go, on the double!”
Delia got up slowly and they followed Kelly meekly down the hallway. Tara was limping a bit, the cuts on her feet causing distress even on the smooth tile. She could see Delia was suffering as well.
They passed through the great room. Kelly knocked at his office door. “Yes,” they heard. Kelly opened the door and ushered Tara and Delia in, then left, closing the door behind her.
He was sitting behind his desk in his usual chair. Beside him, standing, was the Prime Minister. “Please sit down,” he said. They sat in the chairs in front of the desk, glad to be off their sore feet.
“The Prime Minister has taken a liking to you two, for reasons that escape me, but it’s his country.”
Big Fred smiled. “Yes, I feel I’ve been a bit unfair to you ladies and you’re guests in my country. I’m a very large man, after all, and having to pull me was a real handicap.” Tara couldn’t argue that point. “And you really did try hard, I think.”
They both nodded vigorously. “We did, sir,” Delia said. “I’ve never worked so hard in my whole life.”
“Yes, sure,” their employer said, “In light of the circumstances and at the request of the PM, I’m going to suspend the additional part of your punishment for not completing the race. You will receive only two dozen lashes, instead of three.”
Tara felt enormous relief. She had fully expected, given how things worked on Pirate Cay, to have the punishment increased for some totally made up pretext. Instead, it was being reduced. Not that two dozen, like Amanda had gotten, wouldn’t be an ordeal, but it was better than three.
“Thank you so much, sir!” the two women exclaimed.
“You are really the most kind and generous man,” Tara said. The shock of seeing such kindness was so great, that Tara stood and asked “May I hug you, sir?”
“Yes, my pet,” he said. “You may.” She came around the desk, stopping first in front of Big Fred. “May I hug you too, Mr. Prime Minister?”
“Oh, yes, you must!” Big Fred exclaimed. She hugged the PM, then, knelt in front of her employer and hugged his legs. She could sense that he wanted more, but that he wanted her to offer it without his asking.
Tara knew that would be a big step in her adaptation to life on Pirate Cay, but it just seemed necessary and right in the moment. She opened his fly and worked his penis out. It was already semi-hard. She took it in her mouth and began licking, feeling the organ harden from the pressure of her tongue.
Tara saw the Prime Minister walk towards Delia. “We should leave these two lovebirds alone.” She stood and followed him out of the room.
Later, back in their room, Tara turned to Delia. “So, I suppose that was just another power trip?”
“You got it, girlfriend. You show your power to punish and also to pardon. And you don’t need a reason to do either.”
“Still two dozen is better than three, right? And a bj is a small price to pay, since he could have ordered us to do one anyway.”
“Yeah, but it means more to him when you propose it, just like it meant a lot to me when you offered to do me before.”
“Did it, Dee?”
“It did, and now it’s my turn to return the favor, don’t you think?”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Tara said, lying back on the bed as her friend took control. Tomorrow they would suffer, she knew, so they should take some pleasure while they could.
twonines
LIMERICUS
At least Tara and Delia have managed to get the number of lashes reduced, unlike someone we know who always finds ways have her tariff increased.