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.”