"Coach T. H. Tree banned for life" ??????
I thought it was for drunkenness and debauchery ...
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The Final
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"Coach T. H. Tree banned for life" ??????
I thought it was for drunkenness and debauchery ...
fat slave girl
Regina Servorum
Now we’re getting to the stage where we sort the men from the boys. Or should that be the girls from the women? Regardless of how you want to express it, once we get to the fifty-stroke mark we’re in the realm of world class masochism. So how will our finalists cope? They’re all officially the biggest masochists in their countries and we start with Barb, who’s representing the most populated country on the scaffold, the good old USA. Just think how many perverts she had to outkink to get here!
No sign of any faltering on her part, as the whip starts to fall again. Yes, her teeth are gritted and there are grunts, groans and even screams, and her hands are balled up into little fists as she hauls on her chains again, but they’re just natural outlets for the pain which must be scorching through her by now. Still, from the look on her face, that set of ten didn’t come close to breaking her.
So on to Eulalia. The country she represents is tiny, compared either by geography or population with Barb’s or Bobbie’s, but every bit their equal when we talk about pride. Scotland gave the world the Lochgelly tawse and I think if national honour depended on it, the Wild Woman would take a tawsing from the world. But how much more of the bullwhip can she take?
Plenty more, if her reactions to those ten were anything to go by. Her pretty little mouth remained in a straight grimacing line, and barely a sound escaped it, except a couple of muffled grunts. Her toned legs were like pillars, their muscles taut and firm. She used her entire body to absorb those ten, and her stoic reaction could not have sent a clearer message – there’s plenty more resistance left in me!
And so to Bobbie. She comes from a huge country, which is just as well. They’ll need plenty of space if they’ve got many more the size of her. Her breathing is still a bit heavy, making those whoppers heave up and down delightfully, and she seems to be trying to control some powerful inner emotion. But the whip waits for no woman, and here come her ten.
There they go, up and down her back, bum and thighs, landing with pinpoint accuracy. She’s certainly giving voice to her distress, loud, throaty roars of pain, like an angry bear. But wait! What’s going on between her legs? Mr Director, a close-up, please!
Good lord! So that’s what she was trying to keep in check! There’s a stream of urine arcing from her vagina down into her waste bucket! And that’s no trickle, either. That’s a bladder-full! Of course, these girls will have gone right before leaving the changing room to try and avoid this sort of thing, but they also hydrate well too. After all, who knows how long they’ll have to hang here in the hot sun? And the Mountain is our oldest finalist by a few years. Bladder control is one of the first things to go at her age.
Not that it’s made any difference to her flagellator. He’s simply ignored her indiscretion and continued the whip strokes without missing a beat. But from the look on her face, I’d say the embarrassment of wetting herself in front of millions of people is, right now, worse than the pain of all fifty lashes. The deafening cheer her little accident got probably didn’t help.
So as Bobbie pulls herself together, it’s time for FSG’s score to be lifted to the half-century. She was watching her neighbour fill her bucket with a wry smile, but I suspect that’s about to be wiped off. Or maybe, whipped off.
Oh yes! No messing about from her flagellator. He goes straight for that big bottom. Lovely shot the director gave us there, of her bruised and bloodied buttocks as they take even more punishment, writhing and squirming under the lash. Her breasts are heaving and her hips bucking, but there’s no escape from that wicked length of leather! And now she’s in the fifty club too.
And so it’s time to find out if anyone has had enough. There’d be no shame in quitting now, of course, but that won’t stop any girl who does going up on one of those crucifixes. Let’s see what their answers are.
“I’m just getting warmed up, baby!” Barb is clearly in for the long run.
“I’m going fucking nowhere!” Eulalia’s quite clear on the subject then.
“I...I...” Ooh, a bit of hesitation there, on the part of Bobbie. Is the maple leaf about to drop from the mighty tree?
“No! No, it’s too much! I quit!”
Well, that IS a shock! Our multidisciplinary champion is the first to drop out! Maybe the bite and blood of the whip is too much for a girl who specialises in the smooth bloodless shock of the tawse?
Whatever the reason, the referee is signalling for the Mountain to be levelled. And even as stewards climb the scaffold to begin unbuckling her wrists and ankles, the same question is put to FSG. Surely we can’t lose two in one round?
“Like fuck an I quitting now! I can take a lot more than that fat bitch!”
Bobbie is being helped off the scaffold, being kept in a firm grip by the stewards – she’s just booked herself a 24-hour date with a cross, remember, and we wouldn’t want her using what’s left of her strength trying to escape THAT! As she leaves, a steward appears with a mop and bucket to clear up the pool of blood that gathered at her feet and that she’s trailing behind her as she departs. He’s just squeezing it into the bucket which also contains her urine, before taking it with him. We wouldn’t want the risk of any of flagellators slipping in Bobbie’s mess while they’re turning the rest of the girls to a bloody pulp.
Talking of which, time for the next ten..
No sign of any faltering on her part, as the whip starts to fall again. Yes, her teeth are gritted and there are grunts, groans and even screams, and her hands are balled up into little fists as she hauls on her chains again, but they’re just natural outlets for the pain which must be scorching through her by now. Still, from the look on her face, that set of ten didn’t come close to breaking her.
So on to Eulalia. The country she represents is tiny, compared either by geography or population with Barb’s or Bobbie’s, but every bit their equal when we talk about pride. Scotland gave the world the Lochgelly tawse and I think if national honour depended on it, the Wild Woman would take a tawsing from the world. But how much more of the bullwhip can she take?
Plenty more, if her reactions to those ten were anything to go by. Her pretty little mouth remained in a straight grimacing line, and barely a sound escaped it, except a couple of muffled grunts. Her toned legs were like pillars, their muscles taut and firm. She used her entire body to absorb those ten, and her stoic reaction could not have sent a clearer message – there’s plenty more resistance left in me!
And so to Bobbie. She comes from a huge country, which is just as well. They’ll need plenty of space if they’ve got many more the size of her. Her breathing is still a bit heavy, making those whoppers heave up and down delightfully, and she seems to be trying to control some powerful inner emotion. But the whip waits for no woman, and here come her ten.
There they go, up and down her back, bum and thighs, landing with pinpoint accuracy. She’s certainly giving voice to her distress, loud, throaty roars of pain, like an angry bear. But wait! What’s going on between her legs? Mr Director, a close-up, please!
Good lord! So that’s what she was trying to keep in check! There’s a stream of urine arcing from her vagina down into her waste bucket! And that’s no trickle, either. That’s a bladder-full! Of course, these girls will have gone right before leaving the changing room to try and avoid this sort of thing, but they also hydrate well too. After all, who knows how long they’ll have to hang here in the hot sun? And the Mountain is our oldest finalist by a few years. Bladder control is one of the first things to go at her age.
Not that it’s made any difference to her flagellator. He’s simply ignored her indiscretion and continued the whip strokes without missing a beat. But from the look on her face, I’d say the embarrassment of wetting herself in front of millions of people is, right now, worse than the pain of all fifty lashes. The deafening cheer her little accident got probably didn’t help.
So as Bobbie pulls herself together, it’s time for FSG’s score to be lifted to the half-century. She was watching her neighbour fill her bucket with a wry smile, but I suspect that’s about to be wiped off. Or maybe, whipped off.
Oh yes! No messing about from her flagellator. He goes straight for that big bottom. Lovely shot the director gave us there, of her bruised and bloodied buttocks as they take even more punishment, writhing and squirming under the lash. Her breasts are heaving and her hips bucking, but there’s no escape from that wicked length of leather! And now she’s in the fifty club too.
And so it’s time to find out if anyone has had enough. There’d be no shame in quitting now, of course, but that won’t stop any girl who does going up on one of those crucifixes. Let’s see what their answers are.
“I’m just getting warmed up, baby!” Barb is clearly in for the long run.
“I’m going fucking nowhere!” Eulalia’s quite clear on the subject then.
“I...I...” Ooh, a bit of hesitation there, on the part of Bobbie. Is the maple leaf about to drop from the mighty tree?
“No! No, it’s too much! I quit!”
Well, that IS a shock! Our multidisciplinary champion is the first to drop out! Maybe the bite and blood of the whip is too much for a girl who specialises in the smooth bloodless shock of the tawse?
Whatever the reason, the referee is signalling for the Mountain to be levelled. And even as stewards climb the scaffold to begin unbuckling her wrists and ankles, the same question is put to FSG. Surely we can’t lose two in one round?
“Like fuck an I quitting now! I can take a lot more than that fat bitch!”
Bobbie is being helped off the scaffold, being kept in a firm grip by the stewards – she’s just booked herself a 24-hour date with a cross, remember, and we wouldn’t want her using what’s left of her strength trying to escape THAT! As she leaves, a steward appears with a mop and bucket to clear up the pool of blood that gathered at her feet and that she’s trailing behind her as she departs. He’s just squeezing it into the bucket which also contains her urine, before taking it with him. We wouldn’t want the risk of any of flagellators slipping in Bobbie’s mess while they’re turning the rest of the girls to a bloody pulp.
Talking of which, time for the next ten..
"... we start with Barb, who’s representing the most populated country on the scaffold, the good old USA. Just think how many perverts she had to outkink to get here!"
Actually it was pretty easy. Most of the competition hailed from red states, especially Arkansas, and were disqualified for misspellings and grammatical errors on their application forms! 
"No sign of any faltering on her part, as the whip starts to fall again. Yes, her teeth are gritted and there are grunts, groans and even screams, and her hands are balled up into little fists as she hauls on her chains again, but they’re just natural outlets for the pain which must be scorching through her by now. Still, from the look on her face, that set of ten didn’t come close to breaking her."
If nothing else, I can be very stubborn and determined (that is, when I am not complaining).
Actually it was pretty easy. Most of the competition hailed from red states, especially Arkansas, and were disqualified for misspellings and grammatical errors on their application forms! "No sign of any faltering on her part, as the whip starts to fall again. Yes, her teeth are gritted and there are grunts, groans and even screams, and her hands are balled up into little fists as she hauls on her chains again, but they’re just natural outlets for the pain which must be scorching through her by now. Still, from the look on her face, that set of ten didn’t come close to breaking her."
If nothing else, I can be very stubborn and determined (that is, when I am not complaining).
fat slave girl
Regina Servorum
And then there were three! With Bobbie on her way to be secured to one of the losers’ crosses, let’s see how the rest of our plucky finalists cope with lashes sixty-one to seventy. Barb first.
Her flagellator takes aim. These men make it a matter of professional pride that they’re able to break their victims with the minimum number of strokes, and none of the remaining guys will be happy that it’s not their target being carried off a bleeding, blubbering semi-conscious mess. They’ll all want to be the next to force the girl to quit. So let’s see how the Rebel’s man goes about that business. I imagine her body’s about to pay the price of Bobbie’s cowardice.
Oh, it so is! He lands those strokes up and down her flesh with pinpoint accuracy! And if only it were a pin, for Barb’s sake! But it’s a heavy leather bullwhip, and it’s landing with as much force as a skilled young man in the peak of physical condition can muster. But the American beauty is up to the challenge, even managing a mighty roar of defiance as number seventy leaves its mark.
And so to the heathen Scot. Will she be able to match that performance? Her flagellator is certainly determined to test her just as much as Barb was – look at how wide a swing he's giving his whip! And Eulalia isn't being shy about voicing her opinions on the situation. Let's listen in.
“Aah! Motherfucker! Oooh! Yer Sassenach bastard! Aaaah! Fucking leather-trewed ponce! Aaarghhh! Yer great nancy boy!”
I don't know if any of those insults hit home with her flagellator, but we can all see that his strokes hit home with the Wild Woman. Her back, bottom and thighs now have so many wheals it's impossible to distinguish where individual strokes have landed. She's just one red mass of cuts and bruises.
While she draws what respite she can, the action moves on to FSG. The muscular black flagellator squares up to the task and takes aim.
As expected, he's not giving any quarter. Not that he would, even if he were asked. But FSG takes every stroke remarkably well, almost too well. She appears to be using some kind of Zen Buddhist approach to her ordeal, hanging silently with eyes closed, presumably using meditation to take her consciousness far away from her broken suffering body. Only the occasional sound comes from her lips, and that not much more than a murmur. We've heard of masochists who are like mystics and yogies, able to use pain to take their heads into a sub space that allows them to absorb almost any amount of punishment. Is that what we're witnessing here? And if it is, what hope for Barb and Eulalia winning?
Her flagellator takes aim. These men make it a matter of professional pride that they’re able to break their victims with the minimum number of strokes, and none of the remaining guys will be happy that it’s not their target being carried off a bleeding, blubbering semi-conscious mess. They’ll all want to be the next to force the girl to quit. So let’s see how the Rebel’s man goes about that business. I imagine her body’s about to pay the price of Bobbie’s cowardice.
Oh, it so is! He lands those strokes up and down her flesh with pinpoint accuracy! And if only it were a pin, for Barb’s sake! But it’s a heavy leather bullwhip, and it’s landing with as much force as a skilled young man in the peak of physical condition can muster. But the American beauty is up to the challenge, even managing a mighty roar of defiance as number seventy leaves its mark.
And so to the heathen Scot. Will she be able to match that performance? Her flagellator is certainly determined to test her just as much as Barb was – look at how wide a swing he's giving his whip! And Eulalia isn't being shy about voicing her opinions on the situation. Let's listen in.
“Aah! Motherfucker! Oooh! Yer Sassenach bastard! Aaaah! Fucking leather-trewed ponce! Aaarghhh! Yer great nancy boy!”
I don't know if any of those insults hit home with her flagellator, but we can all see that his strokes hit home with the Wild Woman. Her back, bottom and thighs now have so many wheals it's impossible to distinguish where individual strokes have landed. She's just one red mass of cuts and bruises.
While she draws what respite she can, the action moves on to FSG. The muscular black flagellator squares up to the task and takes aim.
As expected, he's not giving any quarter. Not that he would, even if he were asked. But FSG takes every stroke remarkably well, almost too well. She appears to be using some kind of Zen Buddhist approach to her ordeal, hanging silently with eyes closed, presumably using meditation to take her consciousness far away from her broken suffering body. Only the occasional sound comes from her lips, and that not much more than a murmur. We've heard of masochists who are like mystics and yogies, able to use pain to take their heads into a sub space that allows them to absorb almost any amount of punishment. Is that what we're witnessing here? And if it is, what hope for Barb and Eulalia winning?
This FSG is the devil incarnate...
fat slave girl
Regina Servorum
Time to find out if we have any quitters after that bruising round. The question is about to be asked of each of our remaining finalists.
“Fuck you! Can't wait for my next ten!” pretty unequivocal from the Rebel.
“Do you think I’m going to let that Yank bitch and that fat English slut have all the fun? Fucking bring it on!” An equally forthright reply from the Wild Woman.
And now FSG is being asked if she wants to continue. I expect we'll get a...wait a moment. What's this?
The English champion hasn't raised her head to reply. Nor has any sound come from her lips. The referee’s moving in for a closer look...he's grabbed a fistfull of that thick brown hair...he's pulling her head up and looking into her face...he's signalling that it's all over for her! And even as he lets her head drop heavily back down, he's indicating the need for the stretcher!
So, far from being in a deep meditative state, it seems the big girl had actually passed out without anybody noticing! No wonder she took those last ten strokes so well!
The rules are clear. Unconsciousness means disqualification. Two of the strongest stewards are bringing the stretcher on to the scaffold, and will quickly have her unbuckled. Yes, they've got her loaded on the stretcher – face down – and are struggling to carry her off, as a third steward mops the floor. Her flagellator waves to the crowd and smiles, then leaves the stage to sporting handshakes and back pats from his colleagues, his job done with some style.
In case anyone was wondering, blacking out won't save FSG from the losing penalty. She'll be revived, probably with a bucket of cold water, then she'll be joining Bobbie, where her cross will be waiting.
That means there's still one more cross to find an occupant for, and with just two finalists left, that means a sudden death whip-off.
If you haven't seen a Worldwide Whipping Federation contest before, this is how it works. Instead of each girl getting ten strokes at a time, they'll receive one each, alternately and at high speed. After ten each in that way we'll stop and they'll be offered the chance to quit. And of course they can call a halt any time during the whipping itself. Personally I think we might be here a little while longer with these two.
So, sudden death! We're all ready to go, to find our new world champion...
“Fuck you! Can't wait for my next ten!” pretty unequivocal from the Rebel.
“Do you think I’m going to let that Yank bitch and that fat English slut have all the fun? Fucking bring it on!” An equally forthright reply from the Wild Woman.
And now FSG is being asked if she wants to continue. I expect we'll get a...wait a moment. What's this?
The English champion hasn't raised her head to reply. Nor has any sound come from her lips. The referee’s moving in for a closer look...he's grabbed a fistfull of that thick brown hair...he's pulling her head up and looking into her face...he's signalling that it's all over for her! And even as he lets her head drop heavily back down, he's indicating the need for the stretcher!
So, far from being in a deep meditative state, it seems the big girl had actually passed out without anybody noticing! No wonder she took those last ten strokes so well!
The rules are clear. Unconsciousness means disqualification. Two of the strongest stewards are bringing the stretcher on to the scaffold, and will quickly have her unbuckled. Yes, they've got her loaded on the stretcher – face down – and are struggling to carry her off, as a third steward mops the floor. Her flagellator waves to the crowd and smiles, then leaves the stage to sporting handshakes and back pats from his colleagues, his job done with some style.
In case anyone was wondering, blacking out won't save FSG from the losing penalty. She'll be revived, probably with a bucket of cold water, then she'll be joining Bobbie, where her cross will be waiting.
That means there's still one more cross to find an occupant for, and with just two finalists left, that means a sudden death whip-off.
If you haven't seen a Worldwide Whipping Federation contest before, this is how it works. Instead of each girl getting ten strokes at a time, they'll receive one each, alternately and at high speed. After ten each in that way we'll stop and they'll be offered the chance to quit. And of course they can call a halt any time during the whipping itself. Personally I think we might be here a little while longer with these two.
So, sudden death! We're all ready to go, to find our new world champion...
So.... it's between me and the one who hails from the so-called Northern Forest, is it?
This will not be easy ... she will be a formidable adversary. Life up there is tough ... miserable climate in the winter months, running around half-naked in those linkie hunts, or whatever they are called, much of the rest of the year ... means she is more than physically capable of outlasting my best efforts.
I am going to have to plumb the depths of my soul and past experiences to meet the challenge. I grit my teeth, clench the bonds that tether my wrists with whitened nuckles and will the searing pain away from my throbbing backside.
Bring it on! I am as ready and determined as I can be!
This will not be easy ... she will be a formidable adversary. Life up there is tough ... miserable climate in the winter months, running around half-naked in those linkie hunts, or whatever they are called, much of the rest of the year ... means she is more than physically capable of outlasting my best efforts.
I am going to have to plumb the depths of my soul and past experiences to meet the challenge. I grit my teeth, clench the bonds that tether my wrists with whitened nuckles and will the searing pain away from my throbbing backside.
Bring it on! I am as ready and determined as I can be!
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Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
The last round! Your opponent keeps silent! Is she saving her energy, or does she have a cunning tactical plan!?
fat slave girl
Regina Servorum
And there's the first crack of the sudden-death round, right across Barb's tight but extremely damaged tush! We get a squeal of pain and surprise from her, which is still ringing around the stadium as Eulalia gets her stroke. Barely time for any of us to draw breath before Barb's bum is lashed again, with Eulalia getting her next one almost instantly.
These flagellators are highly skilled, having practised for hours to deliver the most ferocious whipping in the best crowd-pleasing manner. It’s taken about a minute for twenty strokes to be shared between these two elite masochists. These are strokes which on their own would break a mere mortal. But even on top of the seventy they've already had, these competitors must have constitutions of iron if they aren't going to quit.
“No fucking way! More! I want more!”
“Get on with it! I need twenty to get my ton, and I’m going nowhere till I get that!”
As I say, incredible strength being shown here. And I don't think it’s just the fear of a day of crucifixion which is driving them. So we have another quick-fire twenty coming up.
Ooh, those guys are certainly earning their money! Just look at the sweat running down those muscled torsos as the leather flies through the air! And look at the precision of their placement, the whips dancing up and down those bodies, covering every inch from shoulders to knees! Another minute and the tally is ninety strokes apiece. Is that enough for anyone?
“No way guys! I'm going nowhere!”
“Well don't look at me! Come on – I want my hundred!”
So it seems we're going to have a double century! And I can tell you, that's a first in Worldwide Whipping Federation events! But I guess that was to be expected when your finalists include the kinkiest pair of hardcore masochists on the globe!
There's a silence over the stadium here, as we wait for history to be made. Much as our flagellators would have liked to have done their job with fewer strokes, I’m sure they’re secretly delighted to be a major part of this record-breaking event. Certainly, there's no reflection on them that we're about to reach three figures. Every one of those strokes will have counted, as I’m sure the ladies will tell us in their post-whipping interviews.
So here we go! Strokes ninety-one to one hundred...
These flagellators are highly skilled, having practised for hours to deliver the most ferocious whipping in the best crowd-pleasing manner. It’s taken about a minute for twenty strokes to be shared between these two elite masochists. These are strokes which on their own would break a mere mortal. But even on top of the seventy they've already had, these competitors must have constitutions of iron if they aren't going to quit.
“No fucking way! More! I want more!”
“Get on with it! I need twenty to get my ton, and I’m going nowhere till I get that!”
As I say, incredible strength being shown here. And I don't think it’s just the fear of a day of crucifixion which is driving them. So we have another quick-fire twenty coming up.
Ooh, those guys are certainly earning their money! Just look at the sweat running down those muscled torsos as the leather flies through the air! And look at the precision of their placement, the whips dancing up and down those bodies, covering every inch from shoulders to knees! Another minute and the tally is ninety strokes apiece. Is that enough for anyone?
“No way guys! I'm going nowhere!”
“Well don't look at me! Come on – I want my hundred!”
So it seems we're going to have a double century! And I can tell you, that's a first in Worldwide Whipping Federation events! But I guess that was to be expected when your finalists include the kinkiest pair of hardcore masochists on the globe!
There's a silence over the stadium here, as we wait for history to be made. Much as our flagellators would have liked to have done their job with fewer strokes, I’m sure they’re secretly delighted to be a major part of this record-breaking event. Certainly, there's no reflection on them that we're about to reach three figures. Every one of those strokes will have counted, as I’m sure the ladies will tell us in their post-whipping interviews.
So here we go! Strokes ninety-one to one hundred...
Barb refuses to surrender out of pride and Eul doesn't surrender not wanting her torture to end but how much more can their bodies take???
fat slave girl
Regina Servorum
Oh my! That's got to be pushing their limits! I don't care how tough they say they are, or how many they claim they can take! And there isn't a square inch of flesh between knee and shoulder that isn't marked on either of them. Every lash lands on already open wounds. We're simply running out of skin to whip off them!
We can all see the gasping for air, the straining at their bonds and the gritted teeth which signals a submissive approaching their limit, even if it’s a limit they never knew they had. Noww it's just a question of time – and there won't be much of that.
And there it is! The crowd counts it for us, saving the referee the trouble. One hundred strokes each! A double century! Remember this moment – in years to come you'll want to tell everyone you witnessed it happening, either here in person or on the TV! We're just waiting for absolute confirmation from each girl's individual judge...and yes! Two raised hands means a new world record! Congratulations ladies! If your arms and legs weren't stretched out by chains, I’d say you should take a bow!
And as the applause rings around the stadium, there’s a very important question to be asked of our new record holders. Is it time for one of them to call it a day? No shame in quitting with a new world record under your belt. Not that either Barb or Eulalia are wearing belts. Or anything, for that matter.
And indeed Barb appears to be hesitating. She's taking a lot of deep breaths before giving her answer.
“Do what you want, slut! I'm just getting fucking started!” Well, Eulalia seems to be going in for some sledging now, maybe sensing her opponent has nothing left. The Scottish wildcat is still sounding defiant in stark contrast. And look - Barb's turned to look at her, blinking away the tears, her immaculate make-up long since reduced to grubby streaks running down her beautiful face. Does she see a woman she just can't outwhip?
“Fuck It! FUCK IT!! GET ME DOWN! TAKE ME TO THAT FUCKING CROSS AND HOIST ME UP ON IT!! JUST DON'T FUCKING WHIP ME ANYMORE!!”
That's it! We have a winner! The blue and white saltires are being waved by the Scottish fans in the crowd, and I can hardly hear myself above the noise! Eulalia, the Wild Woman, is world champion of the Worldwide Whipping Federation!
We can all see the gasping for air, the straining at their bonds and the gritted teeth which signals a submissive approaching their limit, even if it’s a limit they never knew they had. Noww it's just a question of time – and there won't be much of that.
And there it is! The crowd counts it for us, saving the referee the trouble. One hundred strokes each! A double century! Remember this moment – in years to come you'll want to tell everyone you witnessed it happening, either here in person or on the TV! We're just waiting for absolute confirmation from each girl's individual judge...and yes! Two raised hands means a new world record! Congratulations ladies! If your arms and legs weren't stretched out by chains, I’d say you should take a bow!
And as the applause rings around the stadium, there’s a very important question to be asked of our new record holders. Is it time for one of them to call it a day? No shame in quitting with a new world record under your belt. Not that either Barb or Eulalia are wearing belts. Or anything, for that matter.
And indeed Barb appears to be hesitating. She's taking a lot of deep breaths before giving her answer.
“Do what you want, slut! I'm just getting fucking started!” Well, Eulalia seems to be going in for some sledging now, maybe sensing her opponent has nothing left. The Scottish wildcat is still sounding defiant in stark contrast. And look - Barb's turned to look at her, blinking away the tears, her immaculate make-up long since reduced to grubby streaks running down her beautiful face. Does she see a woman she just can't outwhip?
“Fuck It! FUCK IT!! GET ME DOWN! TAKE ME TO THAT FUCKING CROSS AND HOIST ME UP ON IT!! JUST DON'T FUCKING WHIP ME ANYMORE!!”
That's it! We have a winner! The blue and white saltires are being waved by the Scottish fans in the crowd, and I can hardly hear myself above the noise! Eulalia, the Wild Woman, is world champion of the Worldwide Whipping Federation!
“Fuck It! FUCK IT!! GET ME DOWN! TAKE ME TO THAT FUCKING CROSS AND HOIST ME UP ON IT!! JUST DON'T FUCKING WHIP ME ANYMORE!!”
I gave it everything I had, but I just couldn't face another lash! I'd rather go to the cross. Congrats to the winner. Someone please get me some salve. My backside is killing me!
I gave it everything I had, but I just couldn't face another lash! I'd rather go to the cross. Congrats to the winner. Someone please get me some salve. My backside is killing me!
fat slave girl
Regina Servorum
So as the Rebel’s cuffs are unbuckled and she's carried away sobbing, arms around the shoulders of two of the biggest and strongest stewards, her dangling toes brushing the blood-stained planks of the scaffold, there's just one final detail to take care of. Even though she quit, technically Barb and Eulalia are still tied on a hundred strokes each. The Wild Woman's flagellator just needs to hit the winning run and she can officially be crowned world champion. The referee is going to formally pose the question.
“Eulalia! Are you ready for a single stroke of the whip?”
Well, I’m assuming that silence is for dramatic effect! Ah, here we go.
“No! I’m not ready for a single stroke!”
What's this? A dramatic last minute development? Surely she can't quit with one hand on the trophy!
“I’m ready for ten more strokes! I worked my arse off to get this record, and just had what was left of it flogged off! If any bitch wants to have that record off me, they're going to have to take a hundred and eleven! Now crack on laddie, and don't spare the leather just because I'm the last lassie at the party!”
Well, this really is a momentous day! And you can see her logic. Barb's shown she can take a hundred, and I’m sure she'll be back for another go next year. So why not set the bar just a bit higher for when that day comes? A record of a hundred and ten strokes could last for years!
So I imagine the capacity crowd are going to count these historic strokes for us. The flagellator’s ready. And here we go!
“ONE!” Oh my word!
“TWO!” Good Lord!
“THREE!” Ooh, did you see that spray of blood arcing through the air!
“FOUR!” Good grief, is she still conscious?
“FIVE!” Half-way there!
“SIX!” That one went straight across both buttocks! Those cuts must be getting really deep now!
“SEVEN!” One across the small of the back! No fat to cushion that blow, that one must have really hurt! Just listen to her scream if you doubt me!
“EIGHT!” One across her back from right shoulder to left hip!
“NINE!” Now one the other way, left shoulder to right hip!
“TEN!” And we finish with a special one, right across the tender flesh of Eulalia’s once creamy, now crimson thighs!
Ladies and gentlemen, your Worldwide Whipping Federation bullwhip world champion and new world record holder – Eulalia, the Wild Woman!
“Eulalia! Are you ready for a single stroke of the whip?”
Well, I’m assuming that silence is for dramatic effect! Ah, here we go.
“No! I’m not ready for a single stroke!”
What's this? A dramatic last minute development? Surely she can't quit with one hand on the trophy!
“I’m ready for ten more strokes! I worked my arse off to get this record, and just had what was left of it flogged off! If any bitch wants to have that record off me, they're going to have to take a hundred and eleven! Now crack on laddie, and don't spare the leather just because I'm the last lassie at the party!”
Well, this really is a momentous day! And you can see her logic. Barb's shown she can take a hundred, and I’m sure she'll be back for another go next year. So why not set the bar just a bit higher for when that day comes? A record of a hundred and ten strokes could last for years!
So I imagine the capacity crowd are going to count these historic strokes for us. The flagellator’s ready. And here we go!
“ONE!” Oh my word!
“TWO!” Good Lord!
“THREE!” Ooh, did you see that spray of blood arcing through the air!
“FOUR!” Good grief, is she still conscious?
“FIVE!” Half-way there!
“SIX!” That one went straight across both buttocks! Those cuts must be getting really deep now!
“SEVEN!” One across the small of the back! No fat to cushion that blow, that one must have really hurt! Just listen to her scream if you doubt me!
“EIGHT!” One across her back from right shoulder to left hip!
“NINE!” Now one the other way, left shoulder to right hip!
“TEN!” And we finish with a special one, right across the tender flesh of Eulalia’s once creamy, now crimson thighs!
Ladies and gentlemen, your Worldwide Whipping Federation bullwhip world champion and new world record holder – Eulalia, the Wild Woman!
fat slave girl
Regina Servorum
Couple more episodes to go.
fat slave girl
Regina Servorum
Our new champion is being released from bondage and helped off the scaffold. She'll get some treatment for those nasty wounds and when she feels up to it she'll be back up there to be presented with the Silver Bullwhip Trophy and her winner's cheque for $5 million. Worth every stroke I’m sure you'll agree! So between now and then, we can cross to the crucifixion pit to watch the losers being hoisted. Let's join our reporter, former Welsh international in the switching category, Dark Princess. DP, may I say how ravishing you look in that skimpy leather leotard and those thigh boots!
Thanks Bob, but as you well know, I only play contact sports with other girls. Keep trying though, your pathetic efforts amuse me!
You join me just in time. The Mountain and FSG are already lying on their crosses, flat on the ground. As you can see, their wrist and ankle cuffs have been clipped to metal rings fixed in the wood, and heavy straps have been buckled around their arms, legs and bellies – really wide straps in their cases! They even have bum and foot rests. We don't want to kill them – this isn't Ancient Rome, after all – but they are going to be there for a very long time. Long enough, hopefully, to learn there's no honour in defeat in the Worldwide Whipping Federation.
The Rebel certainly knows that, judging by how upset she still is as she's laid on her cross and firmly secured. The two fat pigs have quietened down and are ready to accept their fate.
And since this isn't Ancient Rome, the method of raising the crosses is truly modern. As you can see, there's a cable fixed to the top of each cross. They lead to three canes which, when Barb is securely in place, will click into action. And I think we're there...yes, we're about to have lift off!
There they go, rising almost silently, carrying our losers up to their display positions, eight feet off the ground. A slight bump as they reach a right angle with the concrete, then the bolts are pushed in at the bases to secure them. And there we have it! Our losers are crucified!
In a moment the gates will be opened to the viewing area in front of the crosses, and people will start filing past to get a closer look. First, as always, will be the coaches, trainers, friends and family that each of these unfortunates invited into the players’ boxes for the final. And how embarrassing is that going to be for all concerned! Once they've passed through, then everyone in the stadium is allowed a pass as part of their ticket. And may I remind you, this is a 100,000 seater, and it’s a capacity crowd. That should take four or five hours. Then the doors open to those not lucky enough to get a ticket to the final, but fortunate in getting one for “Display Day”. That will probably add another 200,000 to the pairs of eyes which are going to be taking a very close look at these battered, bleeding naked bodies over the next twenty-four hours.
But before all that, let's see if we can get a few words from them. Can we swing the boom mic in towards Bobbie first, please?
You gave up pretty quickly. How does it feel to be the biggest, fattest loser in the history of Worldwide Whipping Federation finals?
Nothing to say? Okay, let's move the mic over to FSG.
So you got raped by a crazy fan during your whipping. As a total slut, how much did you enjoy having his cock inside you?
No, it looks like she doesn't want to talk to me either. So let's try Barb.
You set a new world record of a hundred strokes, only to quit and immediately have Eulalia break it by another ten. Just how much do you hate that Scottish bitch right now?
And answer comes there none. Well, a final like that always was going to leave people speechless. And all I can say now is that I can't wait till the next event in the Worldwide Whipping Federation calendar!
Thanks Bob, but as you well know, I only play contact sports with other girls. Keep trying though, your pathetic efforts amuse me!
You join me just in time. The Mountain and FSG are already lying on their crosses, flat on the ground. As you can see, their wrist and ankle cuffs have been clipped to metal rings fixed in the wood, and heavy straps have been buckled around their arms, legs and bellies – really wide straps in their cases! They even have bum and foot rests. We don't want to kill them – this isn't Ancient Rome, after all – but they are going to be there for a very long time. Long enough, hopefully, to learn there's no honour in defeat in the Worldwide Whipping Federation.
The Rebel certainly knows that, judging by how upset she still is as she's laid on her cross and firmly secured. The two fat pigs have quietened down and are ready to accept their fate.
And since this isn't Ancient Rome, the method of raising the crosses is truly modern. As you can see, there's a cable fixed to the top of each cross. They lead to three canes which, when Barb is securely in place, will click into action. And I think we're there...yes, we're about to have lift off!
There they go, rising almost silently, carrying our losers up to their display positions, eight feet off the ground. A slight bump as they reach a right angle with the concrete, then the bolts are pushed in at the bases to secure them. And there we have it! Our losers are crucified!
In a moment the gates will be opened to the viewing area in front of the crosses, and people will start filing past to get a closer look. First, as always, will be the coaches, trainers, friends and family that each of these unfortunates invited into the players’ boxes for the final. And how embarrassing is that going to be for all concerned! Once they've passed through, then everyone in the stadium is allowed a pass as part of their ticket. And may I remind you, this is a 100,000 seater, and it’s a capacity crowd. That should take four or five hours. Then the doors open to those not lucky enough to get a ticket to the final, but fortunate in getting one for “Display Day”. That will probably add another 200,000 to the pairs of eyes which are going to be taking a very close look at these battered, bleeding naked bodies over the next twenty-four hours.
But before all that, let's see if we can get a few words from them. Can we swing the boom mic in towards Bobbie first, please?
You gave up pretty quickly. How does it feel to be the biggest, fattest loser in the history of Worldwide Whipping Federation finals?
Nothing to say? Okay, let's move the mic over to FSG.
So you got raped by a crazy fan during your whipping. As a total slut, how much did you enjoy having his cock inside you?
No, it looks like she doesn't want to talk to me either. So let's try Barb.
You set a new world record of a hundred strokes, only to quit and immediately have Eulalia break it by another ten. Just how much do you hate that Scottish bitch right now?
And answer comes there none. Well, a final like that always was going to leave people speechless. And all I can say now is that I can't wait till the next event in the Worldwide Whipping Federation calendar!
You set a new world record of a hundred strokes, only to quit and immediately have Eulalia break it by another ten. Just how much do you hate that Scottish bitch right now?
And answer comes there none. Well, a final like that always was going to leave people speechless. And all I can say now is that I can't wait till the next event in the Worldwide Whipping Federation calendar!
Imagine me .... speechless?!?!
And answer comes there none. Well, a final like that always was going to leave people speechless. And all I can say now is that I can't wait till the next event in the Worldwide Whipping Federation calendar!
Imagine me .... speechless?!?!
P