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Priya's Punishment

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It is pretty much what I have fantasized about thousands of times by now, over so many years. And longed for. I wish so much that I could step into an alternate reality and experience what our poor beautiful gals are going through. Their suffering would become my suffering. Their humiliation, mine as well. Lots of eyes will ogle my naked flesh as it is severely beaten. Flesh on a body that totally rocks, by the way.
What a shame it is that we send hot women like Jackie to rot in prison, where they have to take showers with raging lesbians, rather than giving them the good flogging they crave and we crave to watch...
 
What a shame it is that we send hot women like Jackie to rot in prison, where they have to take showers with raging lesbians, rather than giving them the good flogging they crave and we crave to watch...

Are double craves allowed in posts on this thread? :confused:
 
It is pretty much what I have fantasized about thousands of times by now, over so many years. And longed for. I wish so much that I could step into an alternate reality and experience what our poor beautiful gals are going through. Their suffering would become my suffering. Their humiliation, mine as well. Lots of eyes will ogle my naked flesh as it is severely beaten. Flesh on a body that totally rocks, by the way. :cool:
I`m the last person to deny you your fantasy,in fact, in your alternative reality,I would probably be fifty years younger,wielding the cane and thoroughly enjoying your undoubtedly erotic gyrations and futile attempts to avoid the pain.
 
It is pretty much what I have fantasized about thousands of times by now, over so many years. And longed for. I wish so much that I could step into an alternate reality and experience what our poor beautiful gals are going through. Their suffering would become my suffering. Their humiliation, mine as well. Lots of eyes will ogle my naked flesh as it is severely beaten. Flesh on a body that totally rocks, by the way. :cool:
:very_hot: :very_hot: :very_hot: :very_hot: :very_hot: :very_hot: :very_hot: :very_hot: :very_hot: :very_hot:

Says it all!
 
Priya blinked away the tears and sweat as best she could, trying to see, though she knew what the scoreboard would say-“Moore-13; Raman-14”. She could hardly have missed the fact that she had taken two more strokes since the hallway break, because they had hurt even more than any of the twelve she had taken previously, sending her into a whole new and completely unbearable hell of agony.

Was it because the caners, rested after their break, had switched targets? Did Mike truly hit harder than George? Having seen George’s handiwork countless times, she doubted it. Was it that Mike’s left-handed strokes crossed George’s right-handed ones in such a way as to double the pain? Possibly. Or, perhaps it was that Dr. Taylor’s alcohol treatment had lit the nerves on high alert to respond to the new assaults?

Beyond the physical pain, which was atrocious, there was the psychological element. Even suffering as she was, Priya still faced ten more vicious lashes, more than the eight she’d taken in Trabbia, which she had thought was the limit of what she could stand.

Finally, though it might seem like a small thing compared to the horrible agony she had suffered and the further agony that remained, she had to pee. Badly.

Priya had resolved not to beg for mercy. Better than almost any of the offenders who had been condemned to suffer this torture, she knew from experience the uselessness of such pleas. After all, she, a decent human being, or so she liked to think, wouldn’t have stopped a caning based on the pleas of someone lawfully sentenced to that punishment. So, what chance was there that a sadist like Alison Taylor, who was obviously enjoying immensely watching Priya suffer, would intervene? It was hopeless.

Nevertheless, the distress was so extreme that it overcame Priya’s will and reason. “Please I can’t take any more, please,” she begged. Of course, the microphone amplified her pitiful plea through the entire arena.

“Oooh, she can’t take any more, please!” a mocking voice called out to general mirth.

Dr. Taylor didn’t even bother to get out of her chair. “Stop being a baby, Raman. You’re strong. You could take twenty more if you had to.”

“You tell her, doc!” someone yelled.

“Yeah, give the bitch another twenty!” another shouted.

“But, I have to pee,” Priya pleaded, beyond caring that the entire crowd would hear her call of distress.

“So?” Dr. Taylor responded. “Bitches squat and piss on the spot. Go ahead and pee. See if I care.”

The chant came up from the crowd “Piss! Piss! Piss!”

And, embarrassed though she was at carrying out her bodily functions in front of all those people, still facing the horror of ten more strokes, Priya found that she couldn’t hold back any longer. She felt the pelvic muscles contract, and felt the hot liquid running down her thighs.

She couldn’t help glancing up at the big screen as she emptied her bladder. As she knew there would be, there was a close up of the stream leaving her peehole, accompanied by the hoots and hollers of the crowd. She felt the liquid pooling at her feet.

Finally, her bladder was empty. Dr. Taylor shook her head. “You useless cunt, Raman, look at the mess you made. I’d like to unstrap you and make you clean it yourself, but that would take too much time.” Taylor motioned with her hand and Priya saw one of the arena janitors approach with a mop and a pail.

He swabbed at the wooden platform, sloshing the urine between her toes until the threads of the mop had absorbed most of it. Then, he lifted the mop, placed it in the wringer and squeezed most of Priya’s mess into the bucket. He bowed to the crowd, accepting their cheers for a dirty job done well, and made his way slowly off the floor.

Priya glanced over at the VIP section and saw Sanjay stand and make his way towards the exit. He had managed to sit quietly and watch his wife have sex with another woman, watched her strip naked, be tied to a frame and flogged beyond her ability to bear it, but, apparently, watching her piss in front of the whole town where he lived and did business had been too much for him to see any more.

Dr. Taylor turned towards Barb. “Now, don’t tell me you have to piss, too, Moore.”

“Fuck you!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This is outrageous,” Barb protested. “She’s lost control of herself, for godsakes!”

Priya was horrified that Barb, who was here suffering because of her pointless protest on Priya’s behalf was about to compound her error. “Barb, don’t!” she pleaded.

“Barb, do!” someone in the crowd yelled.

Sgt. Sue Miller strode onto the platform. “You shut your fat mouth, Moore! We’re all tired of hearing from you! I could give you extra strokes, but I have a better idea.” She whispered something in Dr. Taylor’s ear. The doctor nodded and the Sergeant disappeared into the tunnel under the stands.

She reemerged holding a pair of underwear in each hand like trophies, waving them for the crowd, which cheered heartily. “One is hers and one is her girlfriend’s!” Sue announced as she reached the caning frames. She grasped Barb’s lower jaw in one hand and pulled it sharply down, while, with the other hand, she jammed first Barb’s own panties, then Priya’s into Barb’s mouth.

“You got a mask, there, Doc?” she asked. Dr. Taylor reached into her lab coat pocket and handed Sue a surgical mask, which the Sergeant tied tightly around the back of Barb’s head. “I bet that’s the first time in her life that this bitch has ever been at a loss for words!” she announced to roars of approval from the crowd.

Sue stepped back as George took his place behind Barb, tapping the end of the rattan a few times against her butt to reconfirm his aim, then rearing back and lunging forward to smash the rattan into her unprotected buttocks with all his might. Barb couldn’t holler or protest, only make the muffled sounds of a wounded animal. The scoreboard read “Moore-14; Raman-14”.

Priya watched helplessly as her friend suffered, knowing that the next lash would fall on her own wounded ass flesh. She steeled herself for the next stroke, trying not to think of the nine more after that, which she knew would be beyond her ability to bear, though she would have to find a way to bear them despite that. She felt the tapping of Mike’s rattan and then her world exploded into agony.
 
Priya blinked away the tears and sweat as best she could, trying to see, though she knew what the scoreboard would say-“Moore-13; Raman-14”. She could hardly have missed the fact that she had taken two more strokes since the hallway break, because they had hurt even more than any of the twelve she had taken previously, sending her into a whole new and completely unbearable hell of agony.

Was it because the caners, rested after their break, had switched targets? Did Mike truly hit harder than George? Having seen George’s handiwork countless times, she doubted it. Was it that Mike’s left-handed strokes crossed George’s right-handed ones in such a way as to double the pain? Possibly. Or, perhaps it was that Dr. Taylor’s alcohol treatment had lit the nerves on high alert to respond to the new assaults?

Beyond the physical pain, which was atrocious, there was the psychological element. Even suffering as she was, Priya still faced ten more vicious lashes, more than the eight she’d taken in Trabbia, which she had thought was the limit of what she could stand.

Finally, though it might seem like a small thing compared to the horrible agony she had suffered and the further agony that remained, she had to pee. Badly.

Priya had resolved not to beg for mercy. Better than almost any of the offenders who had been condemned to suffer this torture, she knew from experience the uselessness of such pleas. After all, she, a decent human being, or so she liked to think, wouldn’t have stopped a caning based on the pleas of someone lawfully sentenced to that punishment. So, what chance was there that a sadist like Alison Taylor, who was obviously enjoying immensely watching Priya suffer, would intervene? It was hopeless.

Nevertheless, the distress was so extreme that it overcame Priya’s will and reason. “Please I can’t take any more, please,” she begged. Of course, the microphone amplified her pitiful plea through the entire arena.

“Oooh, she can’t take any more, please!” a mocking voice called out to general mirth.

Dr. Taylor didn’t even bother to get out of her chair. “Stop being a baby, Raman. You’re strong. You could take twenty more if you had to.”

“You tell her, doc!” someone yelled.

“Yeah, give the bitch another twenty!” another shouted.

“But, I have to pee,” Priya pleaded, beyond caring that the entire crowd would hear her call of distress.

“So?” Dr. Taylor responded. “Bitches squat and piss on the spot. Go ahead and pee. See if I care.”

The chant came up from the crowd “Piss! Piss! Piss!”

And, embarrassed though she was at carrying out her bodily functions in front of all those people, still facing the horror of ten more strokes, Priya found that she couldn’t hold back any longer. She felt the pelvic muscles contract, and felt the hot liquid running down her thighs.

She couldn’t help glancing up at the big screen as she emptied her bladder. As she knew there would be, there was a close up of the stream leaving her peehole, accompanied by the hoots and hollers of the crowd. She felt the liquid pooling at her feet.

Finally, her bladder was empty. Dr. Taylor shook her head. “You useless cunt, Raman, look at the mess you made. I’d like to unstrap you and make you clean it yourself, but that would take too much time.” Taylor motioned with her hand and Priya saw one of the arena janitors approach with a mop and a pail.

He swabbed at the wooden platform, sloshing the urine between her toes until the threads of the mop had absorbed most of it. Then, he lifted the mop, placed it in the wringer and squeezed most of Priya’s mess into the bucket. He bowed to the crowd, accepting their cheers for a dirty job done well, and made his way slowly off the floor.

Priya glanced over at the VIP section and saw Sanjay stand and make his way towards the exit. He had managed to sit quietly and watch his wife have sex with another woman, watched her strip naked, be tied to a frame and flogged beyond her ability to bear it, but, apparently, watching her piss in front of the whole town where he lived and did business had been too much for him to see any more.

Dr. Taylor turned towards Barb. “Now, don’t tell me you have to piss, too, Moore.”

“Fuck you!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This is outrageous,” Barb protested. “She’s lost control of herself, for godsakes!”

Priya was horrified that Barb, who was here suffering because of her pointless protest on Priya’s behalf was about to compound her error. “Barb, don’t!” she pleaded.

“Barb, do!” someone in the crowd yelled.

Sgt. Sue Miller strode onto the platform. “You shut your fat mouth, Moore! We’re all tired of hearing from you! I could give you extra strokes, but I have a better idea.” She whispered something in Dr. Taylor’s ear. The doctor nodded and the Sergeant disappeared into the tunnel under the stands.

She reemerged holding a pair of underwear in each hand like trophies, waving them for the crowd, which cheered heartily. “One is hers and one is her girlfriend’s!” Sue announced as she reached the caning frames. She grasped Barb’s lower jaw in one hand and pulled it sharply down, while, with the other hand, she jammed first Barb’s own panties, then Priya’s into Barb’s mouth.

“You got a mask, there, Doc?” she asked. Dr. Taylor reached into her lab coat pocket and handed Sue a surgical mask, which the Sergeant tied tightly around the back of Barb’s head. “I bet that’s the first time in her life that this bitch has ever been at a loss for words!” she announced to roars of approval from the crowd.

Sue stepped back as George took his place behind Barb, tapping the end of the rattan a few times against her butt to reconfirm his aim, then rearing back and lunging forward to smash the rattan into her unprotected buttocks with all his might. Barb couldn’t holler or protest, only make the muffled sounds of a wounded animal. The scoreboard read “Moore-14; Raman-14”.

Priya watched helplessly as her friend suffered, knowing that the next lash would fall on her own wounded ass flesh. She steeled herself for the next stroke, trying not to think of the nine more after that, which she knew would be beyond her ability to bear, though she would have to find a way to bear them despite that. She felt the tapping of Mike’s rattan and then her world exploded into agony.
Fuck that was hot! I loved the current vogue of Barb wearing PPE for her caning ;) - Please, please save that bucket filled with Priya's mopped up urine for her own refreshment after the ordeal is done! (Did I just say that out loud lol)
 
Dean Windar’s mind continued to swirl around Judge Powers’ unexpected and unorthodox proposal as he watched Barb’s tight little butt absorb its eighteenth stroke ... a vicious cut across the lower cheeks, delivered with crowd-pleasing panache by the powerful arm of the seemingly tireless George.

Windar had been chastising himself since halftime for even agreeing to consider the Judge’s cynical plan. Preposterous ... totally so ... yet, somehow enticing in its promise to turn a bad situation into something good. But, also unsavory. Windar couldn’t imagine himself sharing Barb Moore in bed with the Judge, nor did he think that she would ever agree to such a thing. He wished he had told Marty, outright, to forget it. On the other hand ... well ... eighteen strokes meant he still had time to mull it over before Mike and George had each delivered twenty-four. But, he also resolved that he would give himself a break and drive it from his mind for at least the next few strokes.

All eyes in Alvarez Arena had shifted to Priya as she steeled herself for whatever Mike had in mind to do next. The overhead scoreboard read, “Moore-18, Raman-18”.

Windar, however chose that moment to broaden his gaze so as to comparatively take in both women ... strapped to their racks, as they were, bent over, completely naked and side-by-side. There was something about the contrasts between them that piqued his interest, not to mention his loins.

There were, of course, interesting variations to behold in skin tone ... one tawny, one pale ... the colors of their nipples and areolae ... cocoa brown versus rosy pink ... as well as the textures and color of their hair, the shape and size of breasts, thighs, hips ... even their bottoms and privates, as magnified by the close-ups seen on the scoreboard screens overhead.

Windar’s imagination was triggered, moving first to the repugnant image of him sharing Barb in bed with the Judge, and then to the much more stimulating and attractive image of sharing a bed with both Barb and Priya Raman. He could well imagine the pleasures in that.

Equally interesting to him, setting aside physical pleasures, was the contrast he saw in demeanor, as Priya and Barb faced the last quarter of their ordeal.

So what exactly was the contrast?

Priya, he observed, was the more resigned of the two. Resigned in the sense that, although she had shrieked and screamed, and thrashed about, every bit as much as Barb, she also awaited each stroke with a greater display of stoicism. Perhaps it was because she had been the one on trial for her misdeeds, and had more time than Barb, leading up to this day, to come to terms with what she would have to endure. She had, after all, in a professional capacity, seen many young unfortunates caned.

But she also was the most humiliated, given the reversal of roles from enabler to victim. She had, moreover, suffered the indignity of having to empty her bladder on the floor. But also, there was the matter of her husband. The Judge had pointed him out to Windar, and Windar had observed the young man get up and leave in apparent disgust, right after the peeing incident ... and he had witnessed the profound expression of shock, shame and abandonment on Priya’s face.

Barb Moore, on the other hand, behaved as might be expected ... defiant to a fault. When Dr. Taylor turned towards her following Priya’s moment of extreme humiliation to say, “Now, don’t tell me you have to piss, too, Moore”, Barb had responded, true to character, with a spirited, “Fuck you!” ... which of course earned her the dubious privilege of having two pairs of panties stuffed in her mouth as a preventative against any such future outbursts.

But as these things were running through his head, Windar couldn’t help but notice that, unlike Priya, who had her head down, Barb was looking straight at him. And although her face was partially concealed by the sweat-soaked shock of brown hair plastered over her forehead, clinging to one cheek and splayed in tangled tendrils across her gagged mouth, he could feel the penetrating intensity of her stare. He didn’t know exactly what she might have been thinking but if looks were killing ...

That was a thought never completed because it was shattered by the resounding smack of rattan cane wielded on bare flesh, amplified a hundred times by the arena’s sound system and echoing through the arena, followed by Priya’s anguished howl and the flashing of a spooling replay of the moment of impact on the scoreboard, which also quickly updated the count to read, “Moore-18, Raman-19”.

With the action switching to Barb, Windar leaned slightly forward, eager to give his full attention to George’s latest assault. Some loudmouth in the audience, presumably a Dorsbury student, had just called on the self-proclaimed master caner to “bust” her “professorial butt” and he had nodded his intent to heed the call.

Barb was bracing for it. Windar saw her steal a quick glance over her shoulder, and nervously shift her hips a little from side to side ... in so much as the bonds that held her to the caning frame allowed ... and then tense up, knuckles whitened, eyes wide open and staring straight ahead.

Then it came, with such sudden swiftness and power that nearly everyone was caught by surprise. The stroke slammed into her hind quarters, precisely at the delicate crease where her buttocks met the top of her thighs, the heavy cane literally burying itself in soft yielding flesh before bouncing back. Her scream, while muffled by the gag, was bloodcurdling. And Windar thought he spied, in the arc of the spotlight that shown down on her from above and behind, the immediate but brief eruption of a bloody-red vaporous mist. Checking the replay on the scoreboard screen, he was able to confirm that yes, George had indeed busted her butt.

“Moore-19, Raman 19,” flashed the electronic tally, and it was up to Mike to match George’s prowess, which he did at Priya’s expense and to the delight of a standing and stomping crowd. A blood lust seemed to have pervaded the place. And as the dual caning went on, back and forth from Priya to Barb, over the next four strokes, the crowd succeeded in goading the two caners to engage in a hot competition to inflict maximum damage. The punishment was severe and blood flowed freely.

Windar took it all in, reveling like most of the crowd in the quick pace of the performance and the reactions of the helpless, struggling two women as the caning pummeled, sliced and tore at their exposed and spread hind quarters.

He tried to focus less on the damage being delivered ... directing his attention instead to thinking about how the power of the blows drove Barb and Priya forward against the unyielding frames, how their heads flew back, how their dangling breasts bounced, shook and swayed ... the latter being a feature he found particularly erotic.

And then there was a pause. The tally on the scoreboard read “Moore-23, Raman-23.” George and Mike stood motionless, arms and canes lowered, sweat-sheened muscular chests heaving from exertion. The crowd rose slowly to its feet in anticipation of the final round.

Priya appeared to be semi-conscious. Her head hung down between her extended arms. Her body slumped against the frame and she made no sound. Barb squirmed. Her eyes were open, but her gaze was far off and vacant. She made only muffled sounds. It was difficult to say whether she was trying to complain or just moaning and groaning.

The video feed on the scoreboard screens zoomed in on their raised buttocks and upper thighs, which appeared to be severely welted and cut all over, as though they had been diced. And there was quite a lot of blood.

Over the PA system, the Chief addressed the quieted throng, saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve now arrived at the final act ... the administration of the twenty-fourth and final strokes of the public corporal punishments of Priya Raman and Barbara Ann Moore. The final strokes will be delivered simultaneously by our two professional caners, George and Mike. Let’s give them a standing ovation for a job well done.”

The crowd responded with wild applause, whistles and cheers. The pep band struck up a few bars of the College fight song, while the pep squad pranced and cavorted merrily.


And when all had settled down, the Chief continued, “I also want to thank Dr. Allison Taylor for her service today, as well as the Trustees of Dorsbury College for providing this magnificent venue. And I want to express my heartfelt wish that Priya Raman and Barbara Ann Moore have learned from this experience that criminal behaviors in our society will inevitably be dealt with harshly, and that any inclination towards recidivism on their part has been thoroughly dissuaded. Please, as you leave the arena following the conclusion of today’s program, be considerate of one another and deposit your trash in the appropriate mezzanine area bins. Thank you. Proceed, if you will, George and Mike.”
 
And I want to express my heartfelt wish that Priya Raman and Barbara Ann Moore have learned from this experience that criminal behaviors in our society will inevitably be dealt with harshly, and that any inclination towards recidivism on their part has been thoroughly dissuaded
Not Bloody Likely!

The action builds incredibly.
 
As their crimes they`re forced to redress,
Priya and Barb are in some distress.
Each stroke of that long rattan cane
Must cause such incredible pain.
How on Earth did they land in this mess?

Twonines has become CF’s poet laureate of pain ;)
 
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