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Punished in a Foreign Country
- Thread starter Aslin nee 8ball
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- corporal punishment
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
Remember her mantra “ I don't do well with pain.”
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
The fourth , fifth, and sixth lashes follow the pattern of the previous lashes. Each lash, about two centimeters below the previous one, tore into my flesh.... reddening the skin then raising a welt . I could see , on the screen, the evenly placed pattern of welts that decorated and ran the full width of my back . By the sixth lash my screams were full throated. As the pain engulfed me, my body began a rhythm of its own. I could see my gyrations on the screen and hear my screams over the speakers but it seemed so surreal, that it was hard to believe that was me. I was so engulfed in pain, my mind could only deal with my overactive nervous system. My brain was too busy, reacting to the pain radiating thru every nerve in my body, to pay any attention to what I could see or hear. By the tenth lash the welts had reached the top of my hips.... just above my buttocks. 
This was when the man with the whip changed his pattern. He started to work his way back up my back. Now there was a slight angle to his attack and the lash of the grade 5 whip began crisscrossing evenly spaced welts striking tender welted flesh that hadn’t recovered from the previous strokes. I didn’t think the pain level could increase but it did, exponentially. The crowd could tell by the volume and length of my screams and violent body gyrations. I wanted to die...
I begged out loud....please let me die. I don’t do well with pain. They became more vocal, more animated....almost celebrating my pain. Of course that’s what they were here for....seeing a young spoiled American girl, naked and ashamed, beaten unmercifully. By the 20th lash I was hoarse....my body was shaking... I sobbed uncontrollably.
I was given a 10 minute rest period before the next segment of my whipping. I was given something to drink. They sprayed my back with some kind of astringent that burned like hell. I screamed once again as my back was aflame, the astringent biting at the bloody abrasions left by the whip.
The 10 minutes passed all too quickly. I wasn’t ready yet when the announcement was made that my buttocks were next. I could hear the crowd become suddenly quiet as the man with the whip once more took his position.
( to be continued )
This was when the man with the whip changed his pattern. He started to work his way back up my back. Now there was a slight angle to his attack and the lash of the grade 5 whip began crisscrossing evenly spaced welts striking tender welted flesh that hadn’t recovered from the previous strokes. I didn’t think the pain level could increase but it did, exponentially. The crowd could tell by the volume and length of my screams and violent body gyrations. I wanted to die...
I begged out loud....please let me die. I don’t do well with pain. They became more vocal, more animated....almost celebrating my pain. Of course that’s what they were here for....seeing a young spoiled American girl, naked and ashamed, beaten unmercifully. By the 20th lash I was hoarse....my body was shaking... I sobbed uncontrollably.
I was given a 10 minute rest period before the next segment of my whipping. I was given something to drink. They sprayed my back with some kind of astringent that burned like hell. I screamed once again as my back was aflame, the astringent biting at the bloody abrasions left by the whip.
The 10 minutes passed all too quickly. I wasn’t ready yet when the announcement was made that my buttocks were next. I could hear the crowd become suddenly quiet as the man with the whip once more took his position.
( to be continued )
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
80 to go? Mmm, delicious, she says she doesn’t do pain well but I’m sure the executioners and crowd might beg to differ!
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
The first thing that was done before the second segment of my punishment began was that some type of bolster, a thick padding, was placed between my pelvis and the wooden frame I was attached to. It’s not bad enough that they are going to whip my ass but they have to make the target more accessible for the man with the whip.
Speaking of the man with the whip…they changed that too. A new guy, a little shorter but just as muscular took the whip from the first man. The authorities planned to maximize my punishment in every way possible. The crowd ,which had quieted during the short intermission began to buzz once again. The split big screen showed the new man behind me shaking his arm, getting prepared to deliver the first stroke. The other side of the screen showed my face… surprisingly it did not look as bad as it looked during my back whipping. I could see fear in my eyes though…real fear…I know they could see it too. I had survived the first 20, I was pretty sure these 20 were going to be a lot worse. I don’t do well with pain and I knew this was going to hurt like hell.
The crowd was so quiet I could hear the whistle of the lash just before it’s fury exploded against my protruding backside. It caught me by surprise, I don’t know why I wasn’t prepared but I don’t know how you prepare for this kind of pain. My world exploded….my breath knocked from me…..I couldn’t even scream only urgently gasp for air. The crowd was mesmerized, my face on the screen showing so much alarm….my mouth agape, searching for air.… my eyes, oh god my eyes so wide, they seemed to bulge out of their sockets. The muscles and tendons in my arms and legs bulging as I fought so hard to escape the pain. The second lash hit home parallel to the first lash. I tried to scream…I wanted to scream but I had no air in my lungs. I couldn’t even whimper.
He waited a few extra moments… letting the full effects of the lash course thru me. I was able to gulp some air just before the third lash….the most viscous yet tore across flesh already damaged by the first two strokes. This time I screamed , a full throated scream, as the fire radiated from by bottom to the tips of my fingers and toes. The crowd erupted again….able to see the agony in my facial expressions, able to see the spasmodic movements of my pinioned body responding the the burning pain, able to hear my screams and my pleading thru the speakers.
I begged for the whipping to stop. I was delirious with pain… promising to never do anything wrong again… offering everything I own, even my body if they would just stop. I heard a gasp from the crowd. They did stop for a minute, I was so hopeful…they knew I couldn’t take any more. Thank god they could see. But they couldn’t see, there was an announcement over the speakers… for attempting to whore myself, an additional twenty lashes were added to my sentence. Once again the crowd erupted, they were ecstatic. I screamed and bucked and pulled at my bonds as the lashes continued concentrating, crisscrossing, welting the tender flesh of my bottom.
I had to be revived after the 17th stroke, a bucket of cold water thrown over me . I sputtered to consciousness as number 18 blazed the middle of my burning cheeks. I don’t die well with pain but I made it thru another 20. I had another 10 minutes to recover. The sprayed my bottom with astringent, I screamed as it burned the my abraded skin. A doctor checked me, nodded that it was ok to continue.
Then they turned me and retied me with my back to the frame. The crowd cheered. My god, I hadn’t considered this, they were going to whip the front of my body…. No way was I prepared for this! ( to be continued)
Speaking of the man with the whip…they changed that too. A new guy, a little shorter but just as muscular took the whip from the first man. The authorities planned to maximize my punishment in every way possible. The crowd ,which had quieted during the short intermission began to buzz once again. The split big screen showed the new man behind me shaking his arm, getting prepared to deliver the first stroke. The other side of the screen showed my face… surprisingly it did not look as bad as it looked during my back whipping. I could see fear in my eyes though…real fear…I know they could see it too. I had survived the first 20, I was pretty sure these 20 were going to be a lot worse. I don’t do well with pain and I knew this was going to hurt like hell.
The crowd was so quiet I could hear the whistle of the lash just before it’s fury exploded against my protruding backside. It caught me by surprise, I don’t know why I wasn’t prepared but I don’t know how you prepare for this kind of pain. My world exploded….my breath knocked from me…..I couldn’t even scream only urgently gasp for air. The crowd was mesmerized, my face on the screen showing so much alarm….my mouth agape, searching for air.… my eyes, oh god my eyes so wide, they seemed to bulge out of their sockets. The muscles and tendons in my arms and legs bulging as I fought so hard to escape the pain. The second lash hit home parallel to the first lash. I tried to scream…I wanted to scream but I had no air in my lungs. I couldn’t even whimper.
He waited a few extra moments… letting the full effects of the lash course thru me. I was able to gulp some air just before the third lash….the most viscous yet tore across flesh already damaged by the first two strokes. This time I screamed , a full throated scream, as the fire radiated from by bottom to the tips of my fingers and toes. The crowd erupted again….able to see the agony in my facial expressions, able to see the spasmodic movements of my pinioned body responding the the burning pain, able to hear my screams and my pleading thru the speakers.
I begged for the whipping to stop. I was delirious with pain… promising to never do anything wrong again… offering everything I own, even my body if they would just stop. I heard a gasp from the crowd. They did stop for a minute, I was so hopeful…they knew I couldn’t take any more. Thank god they could see. But they couldn’t see, there was an announcement over the speakers… for attempting to whore myself, an additional twenty lashes were added to my sentence. Once again the crowd erupted, they were ecstatic. I screamed and bucked and pulled at my bonds as the lashes continued concentrating, crisscrossing, welting the tender flesh of my bottom.
I had to be revived after the 17th stroke, a bucket of cold water thrown over me . I sputtered to consciousness as number 18 blazed the middle of my burning cheeks. I don’t die well with pain but I made it thru another 20. I had another 10 minutes to recover. The sprayed my bottom with astringent, I screamed as it burned the my abraded skin. A doctor checked me, nodded that it was ok to continue.
Then they turned me and retied me with my back to the frame. The crowd cheered. My god, I hadn’t considered this, they were going to whip the front of my body…. No way was I prepared for this! ( to be continued)
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
Sorry, I will try to remember that. I write off the cuff… works best for me. English was not always my best subject. If you get too annoyed… maybe try a different story…different writer.
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
I wasn’t surprised when I saw the whip handed to another man. After all, why cheat the crowd with a guy who is so tired that he can’t whip me at full strength. This guy was a little more wiry than the first two but for some reason I knew he wasn’t going to be any less effective.
Tied as I was, I was now facing the other Jumbotron at the near end of the stadium , closest to the platform. I realized for the first time that the cameras were no longer focused on my backside but my front, my breasts and my once neatly trimmed pubic area were now front and center. Oh, god ....I feel more naked than have ever felt in my twenty-one years. I feel so vulnerable.....the front of my body just seems so much more vulnerable than the back. I could see the people in the stands at end of the stadium closest to me. They were a lot closer than I had thought. There weren’t any children but there were older kids, like teens, mostly boys. They stared at my naked body with that teenage lust and curiosity, not the lust for pain and disdain in the eyes of most of the men in the crowd. I sought the eyes of the females in the crowd.....looking for sympathy...finding none. Just the look of resignation and relief in their eyes. They lived in this male dominated society. If it wasn’t them getting beaten...maybe that was a victory.
I was so busy looking for a sympathetic eye in the crowd that I am not prepared for the first stroke. It strikes with a venom, across my lower abdomen. Oh god it burns. I groan ,clenching my teeth, trying to come to grips with the pain. The second lash strikes a few centimeters above the first, the tip curling around to slap skin damaged from my back whipping. I feel the searing pain front and back. The man with the whip methodically moves up my abdomen, spacing the blows so they didn’t criss-cross. I am screaming again, fighting my bonds.... trying to escape the fiery bite of the lash. The tenth lash strikes just below my breasts. Oh my god, he was going to strike my breasts next. Oh no please..I don’t do well with pain...not my breasts....I begin to panic.. tearing with all my strength at the straps that held me. My breasts are bouncing and swaying. I am not going to give him a stationery shot at my breasts. The crowd was roaring again, they must like what they see.
The eleventh lash strikes me not on my unprotected breasts but again just below my breasts, attacking skin still smarting from the previous lash. I am screaming loudly again, my head and hair flailing. There is a few seconds of delay before I feel the next strike. I am happy that my breasts have been spared but the skin of my abdomen is aflame. He must have stepped closer because all of the lashes now seem to now wrap around me...searing the skin front and back. I think I can hear myself screaming long and hard now. The crowd must hear it too. I see myself on the screen , my face frozen in a continuous scream. I can see my face on the big screen.
I can see 
my suffering, I can see my pain. Everyone can see my suffering, everyone can see my pain.
The 20th lash burns across my lower abdomen. I have survived the first sixty, but what comes next . I can’t take anymore.... ( to be continued )
Tied as I was, I was now facing the other Jumbotron at the near end of the stadium , closest to the platform. I realized for the first time that the cameras were no longer focused on my backside but my front, my breasts and my once neatly trimmed pubic area were now front and center. Oh, god ....I feel more naked than have ever felt in my twenty-one years. I feel so vulnerable.....the front of my body just seems so much more vulnerable than the back. I could see the people in the stands at end of the stadium closest to me. They were a lot closer than I had thought. There weren’t any children but there were older kids, like teens, mostly boys. They stared at my naked body with that teenage lust and curiosity, not the lust for pain and disdain in the eyes of most of the men in the crowd. I sought the eyes of the females in the crowd.....looking for sympathy...finding none. Just the look of resignation and relief in their eyes. They lived in this male dominated society. If it wasn’t them getting beaten...maybe that was a victory.
I was so busy looking for a sympathetic eye in the crowd that I am not prepared for the first stroke. It strikes with a venom, across my lower abdomen. Oh god it burns. I groan ,clenching my teeth, trying to come to grips with the pain. The second lash strikes a few centimeters above the first, the tip curling around to slap skin damaged from my back whipping. I feel the searing pain front and back. The man with the whip methodically moves up my abdomen, spacing the blows so they didn’t criss-cross. I am screaming again, fighting my bonds.... trying to escape the fiery bite of the lash. The tenth lash strikes just below my breasts. Oh my god, he was going to strike my breasts next. Oh no please..I don’t do well with pain...not my breasts....I begin to panic.. tearing with all my strength at the straps that held me. My breasts are bouncing and swaying. I am not going to give him a stationery shot at my breasts. The crowd was roaring again, they must like what they see.
The eleventh lash strikes me not on my unprotected breasts but again just below my breasts, attacking skin still smarting from the previous lash. I am screaming loudly again, my head and hair flailing. There is a few seconds of delay before I feel the next strike. I am happy that my breasts have been spared but the skin of my abdomen is aflame. He must have stepped closer because all of the lashes now seem to now wrap around me...searing the skin front and back. I think I can hear myself screaming long and hard now. The crowd must hear it too. I see myself on the screen , my face frozen in a continuous scream. I can see my face on the big screen.
I can see my suffering, I can see my pain. Everyone can see my suffering, everyone can see my pain.The 20th lash burns across my lower abdomen. I have survived the first sixty, but what comes next . I can’t take anymore.... ( to be continued )
Attachments
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
The detailed descriptions of her thoughts and pain, the repeated catchphrase (I don’t do pain well) is making this detailed description engaging and enjoyable to read. I can’t put it down! For someone like me, it is terrifically erotic, imagining myself in her place. I imagine those of a sadistic bent would feel likewise.,.
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
Thank you. I write for the reader. It’s positive feedback like yours that motivates me.
M
Marrick
Guest
This story is well told and has the right amount of details.
will she survive the punishment , I have had a story line in my head for ages involving 3 generations of women ( 60 year grandmother, 40 year old mother and finally 20 year granddaughter)being punished in public in a foreign country along with their men .
all whipped in the nude in the local football stadium .
20 on the front , 20 on the back and 10 between the legs at the start of their jail sentences and then once again before being thrown out of the country .
I can think of of story line but no good at writing the details.
will she survive the punishment , I have had a story line in my head for ages involving 3 generations of women ( 60 year grandmother, 40 year old mother and finally 20 year granddaughter)being punished in public in a foreign country along with their men .
all whipped in the nude in the local football stadium .
20 on the front , 20 on the back and 10 between the legs at the start of their jail sentences and then once again before being thrown out of the country .
I can think of of story line but no good at writing the details.
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Give it a go anyway? This place is perfect for experimenting with kinky writing and you will get feedback, tag me, I’ll read it!
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
Thank you. You should try to write your story. I think for the most part everyone knows they aren’t reading literary classics. The more you write, the better you get, everyone starts somewhere.
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
Punished in a Foreign Country. Next Chapter
Oh my god, have those ten minutes passed already. I still haven’t recovered from the last lashes. No not yet. I see myself on the screen, my stomach bright red from the previous twenty, the panic etched on my face. Oh no, they are going to whip my breasts. No not my breasts.
I see a new man take the whip. Everyone of them looks more fit than the last. He is handsome…he knows it. He flexes his muscles for the crowd or is he doing it for my benefit? He stares at me, at my breasts. He smiles at me as they announce that it is once again time to begin. He is focusing on my breasts as he raises the whip. I close my eyes tightly, I can hear the crowd roar. I am bracing myself….trying to make my breasts small. I am panicking, I know they can see it but I don’t care anymore. I don’t do well with pain. It is obvious to everyone .
I can hear the whistle of the lash as it hurries toward me. I am trying to turn my chest away as as the tips of the lash strikes home. I scream as a searing pain burns across the front of my thighs. I am confused , I expect the pain at my breasts. It doesn’t register until the second stroke scorches the tender flesh of my lower thighs. I scream…the flesh is so tender there. It hurts but I am relieved…. For now my breasts are spared. The third stroke crashes home between the first two. My thighs are burning…. It feels like someone squirted my thighs with lighter fluid and lit a match. I see my face on the screen, tears flowing , my face frozen in a scream that I can hear over the speakers.
Seven more lashes follow those…all over the front of my thighs, all striking flesh already afire from previous strokes. I find myself screaming loudly … I hear the crowd… they are being entertained by my suffering. Why do human beings enjoy the suffering of others? It’s not only the men either… the women and teenagers. I can imagine that many of the men and boys can see themselves as the man with the whip….punishing me in the name of the law. Making me suffer for my “heinous” misdeeds.
Speaking of the man with the whip. He smiles at me once again and winks. He steps back a bit and swings his arm. The tips of the lash snap into my groin. Oh god it hurts so much . It is so tender there. “Stop please, not there” I yell. The crowd can here me plead over the speakers…they go wild. The next lash is already on the way. It attacks the other side of my groin area. Burning with a fury. I thought I had screamed loudly before. The subsequent stroke hits my pussy dead center. My body is bucking and writhing….I have 7 more to go. I will not survive this. I am not doing well with this pain. I am crying for mercy, babbling incoherently. I hear myself over the speakers…I can’t even make out what I’m saying.
After three more lashes dead center, I am delirious with pain. The handsome man moves to the opposite side and delivers the the last five strokes backhanded…. his accuracy not affected a bit. By the time the final lash strikes my pussy….I lose consciousness. They will have to revive me for the next twenty. ( to be continued)
Oh my god, have those ten minutes passed already. I still haven’t recovered from the last lashes. No not yet. I see myself on the screen, my stomach bright red from the previous twenty, the panic etched on my face. Oh no, they are going to whip my breasts. No not my breasts.
I see a new man take the whip. Everyone of them looks more fit than the last. He is handsome…he knows it. He flexes his muscles for the crowd or is he doing it for my benefit? He stares at me, at my breasts. He smiles at me as they announce that it is once again time to begin. He is focusing on my breasts as he raises the whip. I close my eyes tightly, I can hear the crowd roar. I am bracing myself….trying to make my breasts small. I am panicking, I know they can see it but I don’t care anymore. I don’t do well with pain. It is obvious to everyone .
I can hear the whistle of the lash as it hurries toward me. I am trying to turn my chest away as as the tips of the lash strikes home. I scream as a searing pain burns across the front of my thighs. I am confused , I expect the pain at my breasts. It doesn’t register until the second stroke scorches the tender flesh of my lower thighs. I scream…the flesh is so tender there. It hurts but I am relieved…. For now my breasts are spared. The third stroke crashes home between the first two. My thighs are burning…. It feels like someone squirted my thighs with lighter fluid and lit a match. I see my face on the screen, tears flowing , my face frozen in a scream that I can hear over the speakers.
Seven more lashes follow those…all over the front of my thighs, all striking flesh already afire from previous strokes. I find myself screaming loudly … I hear the crowd… they are being entertained by my suffering. Why do human beings enjoy the suffering of others? It’s not only the men either… the women and teenagers. I can imagine that many of the men and boys can see themselves as the man with the whip….punishing me in the name of the law. Making me suffer for my “heinous” misdeeds.
Speaking of the man with the whip. He smiles at me once again and winks. He steps back a bit and swings his arm. The tips of the lash snap into my groin. Oh god it hurts so much . It is so tender there. “Stop please, not there” I yell. The crowd can here me plead over the speakers…they go wild. The next lash is already on the way. It attacks the other side of my groin area. Burning with a fury. I thought I had screamed loudly before. The subsequent stroke hits my pussy dead center. My body is bucking and writhing….I have 7 more to go. I will not survive this. I am not doing well with this pain. I am crying for mercy, babbling incoherently. I hear myself over the speakers…I can’t even make out what I’m saying.
After three more lashes dead center, I am delirious with pain. The handsome man moves to the opposite side and delivers the the last five strokes backhanded…. his accuracy not affected a bit. By the time the final lash strikes my pussy….I lose consciousness. They will have to revive me for the next twenty. ( to be continued)
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Well I can speak for one man who isn’t enjoying this hoping to wield the whip! I enjoy it hoping it was me receiving it!
I am continuing to greatly enjoy this… “I don’t do pain well” is her mantra, and I just love it!
My favourite tool to revive this slave mid whipping is to use brine (salt water) with some added sulfur, apparently the Romans used this technique, and everyone knows the salt will burn exposed flesh through osmotic pressure bursting cells. But the sulfur causes a further reaction, which is very very painful indeed. MMmmmmm, please let
LittleBeethoven
Onlooker
I really like your approach to the topic and you have a very nice writing style too. Pls continue!
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
Oh my god, have those ten minutes passed already. I still haven’t recovered the last lashes. No not yet. I see myself on the screen, my stomach bright red from the previous twenty, the panic etched on my face. Oh no, they are going to whip my breasts. No not my breasts.
I see a new man take the whip. Everyone of them looks more fit than the last. He is handsome…he knows it. He flexes his muscles for the crowd or is he doing it for my benefit? He stares at me, at my breasts. He smiles at me as they announce that it is once again time to begin. He is focusing on my breasts as he raises the whip. I close my eyes tightly, I can hear the crowd roar. I am bracing myself….trying to make my breasts small. I am panicking, I know they can see it but I don’t care anymore. I don’t do well with pain. It is obvious to everyone .
I can hear the whistle of the lash as it hurries toward me. I am trying to turn my chest away as as the tips of the lash strikes home. I scream as a searing pain burns across the front of my thighs. I am confused , I expect the pain at my breasts. It doesn’t register until the second stroke scorches the tender flesh of my lower thighs. I scream…the flesh is so tender there. It hurts but I am relieved…. For now my breasts are spared. The third stroke crashes home between the first two. My thighs are burning…. It feels like someone squirted my thighs with lighter fluid and lit a match. I see my face on the screen, tears flowing , my face frozen in a scream that I can hear over the speakers.
Seven more lashes follow those…all over the front of my thighs, all striking flesh already afire from previous strokes. I find myself screaming loudly … I hear the crowd… they are being entertained by my suffering. Why do human beings enjoy the suffering of others? It’s not only the men either… the women and teenagers. I can imagine that many of the men and boys can see themselves as the man with the whip….punishing me in the name of the law. Making me suffer for my “heinous” misdeeds.
Speaking of the man with the whip. He smiles at me once again and winks. He steps back a bit and swings his arm. The tips of the lash snap into my groin. Oh god it hurts so much . It is so tender there. “Stop please, not there” I yell. The crowd can here me plead over the speakers…they go wild. The next lash is already on the way. It attacks the other side of my groin area. Burning with a fury. I thought I had screamed loudly before. The subsequent stroke hits my pussy dead center. My body is bucking and writhing….I have 7 more to go. I will not survive this. I am not doing well with this pain. I am crying for mercy, babbling incoherently. I hear myself over the speakers…I can’t even make out what I’m saying.
After three more lashes dead center, I am delirious with pain. The handsome man moves to the opposite side and delivers the the last five strokes backhanded…. his accuracy not affected a bit. By the time the final lash strikes my pussy….I lose consciousness. They will have to revive me for the next twenty.
I see a new man take the whip. Everyone of them looks more fit than the last. He is handsome…he knows it. He flexes his muscles for the crowd or is he doing it for my benefit? He stares at me, at my breasts. He smiles at me as they announce that it is once again time to begin. He is focusing on my breasts as he raises the whip. I close my eyes tightly, I can hear the crowd roar. I am bracing myself….trying to make my breasts small. I am panicking, I know they can see it but I don’t care anymore. I don’t do well with pain. It is obvious to everyone .
I can hear the whistle of the lash as it hurries toward me. I am trying to turn my chest away as as the tips of the lash strikes home. I scream as a searing pain burns across the front of my thighs. I am confused , I expect the pain at my breasts. It doesn’t register until the second stroke scorches the tender flesh of my lower thighs. I scream…the flesh is so tender there. It hurts but I am relieved…. For now my breasts are spared. The third stroke crashes home between the first two. My thighs are burning…. It feels like someone squirted my thighs with lighter fluid and lit a match. I see my face on the screen, tears flowing , my face frozen in a scream that I can hear over the speakers.
Seven more lashes follow those…all over the front of my thighs, all striking flesh already afire from previous strokes. I find myself screaming loudly … I hear the crowd… they are being entertained by my suffering. Why do human beings enjoy the suffering of others? It’s not only the men either… the women and teenagers. I can imagine that many of the men and boys can see themselves as the man with the whip….punishing me in the name of the law. Making me suffer for my “heinous” misdeeds.
Speaking of the man with the whip. He smiles at me once again and winks. He steps back a bit and swings his arm. The tips of the lash snap into my groin. Oh god it hurts so much . It is so tender there. “Stop please, not there” I yell. The crowd can here me plead over the speakers…they go wild. The next lash is already on the way. It attacks the other side of my groin area. Burning with a fury. I thought I had screamed loudly before. The subsequent stroke hits my pussy dead center. My body is bucking and writhing….I have 7 more to go. I will not survive this. I am not doing well with this pain. I am crying for mercy, babbling incoherently. I hear myself over the speakers…I can’t even make out what I’m saying.
After three more lashes dead center, I am delirious with pain. The handsome man moves to the opposite side and delivers the the last five strokes backhanded…. his accuracy not affected a bit. By the time the final lash strikes my pussy….I lose consciousness. They will have to revive me for the next twenty.
thank you.
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
They do revive me, they wave something under my nose, smells like ammonia. I shake my head as my nostrils burn. I try to rub them with my right hand but I realize my hands are outstretched and bound. The cobwebs begin to diminish. I once again remember what is happening. There was a brief respite when I lost consciousness, in a safe place, not knowing where I was, no longer embarrassed by my nudity, no longer feeling the burning pain.
I am back to reality and reality is horrible. I am given something to drink, some kind of stimulant to keep me alert, keep me conscious….so I can feel the pain? Someone in a white coat checks on me. He asks me questions . I answer his questions but I plead with him to stop this. I say that I can’t take anymore pain. I don’t do well with pain. He has a stethoscope, he listens to my heart, telling me to breath deeply, he listens to my lungs. He checks my blood pressure. I look at him, I beg for him to stop my punishment, my red eyes pleading. He smiles at me….”you are stronger than you think. You can take a lot more pain” He starts an IV and runs a bag of fluid into me.
My ten minute rest period has passed but the IV solution is still being administered. To keep the crowd engaged they are showing highlights of my punishment on the big screens. I can see myself screaming, tears running down my cheeks. I can hear myself pleading as the lash tears into my back, bottom, thighs, and my belly. I am incredulous that they are editing the video in real time until I hear over the speakers “video highlights of tonight’s proceeding will be texted to anyone who responds by texting YES to
9 321-153-6758 . As if , in unison, thousands of people lifted their cell phones to text. It was too soon for me but the IV was pulled from my arm.
It was time for another muscular young man to take his place on the platform and wield the whip. He too looks me in the eyes and smiles…why do they all smile? He is going to strike me across my breasts …he is letting me know that he will enjoy it. It’s almost as cruel as the beating. I am shrinking back against the frame, trying to make my breasts small. They have always been so sensitive. So sensitive to touch… I can’t imagine what the whip will do to my breasts. I don’t die well with pain. The crowd is getting anxious, I can hear them.
The first stroke strikes high on my chest at the tops of my boobs, the end of the lash snapping into my left armpit. I scream out, the pain excruciating. The man moves to my left and sends a backhand stroke in the same place only this time snapping into my right armpit. My face is screwed into a horrific painful grimace as I scream again. The crowd erupts. The muscular man snaps out another backhand stroke that catches the bottom of my boobs and snaps into my side ribs. He moves again and repeats the stroke on the other side. Then two more strokes across the top of my breasts only slightly lower. Then two more at the bottom only slightly higher. Eight down only twelve more to go. But I know where the next dozen are going.....my nipples. I look at the screen...I see the apprehension on my face. I see the fear in my eyes. I want to hide my nipples... make them small, but instead I feel them harden...responding to my fear. Sometimes I hate the way my body responds. The big screens show a closeup of my breasts. The crowd can see my erect nipples, I hear them voice their approval.
The next stroke strikes me directly across across both nipples. He hardened buds burn like fire, I shriek. I yank at my bonds, trying to tear myself free but I am exposed and another lash in the same place follows. My legs buckle but the bonds hold me upright. He moves to the other side and backhands me twice across the middle of my breasts slashing both nipples once again. I want to die. I have never felt such fiery pain.
I am screaming. I am sobbing. I look down thru my tears but I can’t see my nipples. They must be bleeding. I can’t see them but they hurt so much. I don’t do well with pain. He moves further to the right and the lash hurtles toward my chest. I look at the screen, I can not look at my breasts. The tip of the lash snaps on the very tip of my left nipple. It explodes in pain.... I see my mouth open wide and my scream is harrowing. Quickly he strikes in the same place once again.
I am going mad with pain. The man moves to the other side.....two more lashes bite into tip of my right nipple. My body is shaking from the pain. There are still four strokes to go. I won’t survive....I know I can’t survive any more strokes. But they do continue to fall, he increases the interval between strokes.....prolonging my pain. By the end I am shrieking, a continual scream. I know nothing but pain ....I can’t think of anything but the pain. ( to be continued)
I am back to reality and reality is horrible. I am given something to drink, some kind of stimulant to keep me alert, keep me conscious….so I can feel the pain? Someone in a white coat checks on me. He asks me questions . I answer his questions but I plead with him to stop this. I say that I can’t take anymore pain. I don’t do well with pain. He has a stethoscope, he listens to my heart, telling me to breath deeply, he listens to my lungs. He checks my blood pressure. I look at him, I beg for him to stop my punishment, my red eyes pleading. He smiles at me….”you are stronger than you think. You can take a lot more pain” He starts an IV and runs a bag of fluid into me.
My ten minute rest period has passed but the IV solution is still being administered. To keep the crowd engaged they are showing highlights of my punishment on the big screens. I can see myself screaming, tears running down my cheeks. I can hear myself pleading as the lash tears into my back, bottom, thighs, and my belly. I am incredulous that they are editing the video in real time until I hear over the speakers “video highlights of tonight’s proceeding will be texted to anyone who responds by texting YES to
9 321-153-6758 . As if , in unison, thousands of people lifted their cell phones to text. It was too soon for me but the IV was pulled from my arm.
It was time for another muscular young man to take his place on the platform and wield the whip. He too looks me in the eyes and smiles…why do they all smile? He is going to strike me across my breasts …he is letting me know that he will enjoy it. It’s almost as cruel as the beating. I am shrinking back against the frame, trying to make my breasts small. They have always been so sensitive. So sensitive to touch… I can’t imagine what the whip will do to my breasts. I don’t die well with pain. The crowd is getting anxious, I can hear them.
The first stroke strikes high on my chest at the tops of my boobs, the end of the lash snapping into my left armpit. I scream out, the pain excruciating. The man moves to my left and sends a backhand stroke in the same place only this time snapping into my right armpit. My face is screwed into a horrific painful grimace as I scream again. The crowd erupts. The muscular man snaps out another backhand stroke that catches the bottom of my boobs and snaps into my side ribs. He moves again and repeats the stroke on the other side. Then two more strokes across the top of my breasts only slightly lower. Then two more at the bottom only slightly higher. Eight down only twelve more to go. But I know where the next dozen are going.....my nipples. I look at the screen...I see the apprehension on my face. I see the fear in my eyes. I want to hide my nipples... make them small, but instead I feel them harden...responding to my fear. Sometimes I hate the way my body responds. The big screens show a closeup of my breasts. The crowd can see my erect nipples, I hear them voice their approval.
The next stroke strikes me directly across across both nipples. He hardened buds burn like fire, I shriek. I yank at my bonds, trying to tear myself free but I am exposed and another lash in the same place follows. My legs buckle but the bonds hold me upright. He moves to the other side and backhands me twice across the middle of my breasts slashing both nipples once again. I want to die. I have never felt such fiery pain.
I am screaming. I am sobbing. I look down thru my tears but I can’t see my nipples. They must be bleeding. I can’t see them but they hurt so much. I don’t do well with pain. He moves further to the right and the lash hurtles toward my chest. I look at the screen, I can not look at my breasts. The tip of the lash snaps on the very tip of my left nipple. It explodes in pain.... I see my mouth open wide and my scream is harrowing. Quickly he strikes in the same place once again.I am going mad with pain. The man moves to the other side.....two more lashes bite into tip of my right nipple. My body is shaking from the pain. There are still four strokes to go. I won’t survive....I know I can’t survive any more strokes. But they do continue to fall, he increases the interval between strokes.....prolonging my pain. By the end I am shrieking, a continual scream. I know nothing but pain ....I can’t think of anything but the pain. ( to be continued)
Attachments
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
I Don’t do well with Pain The Final Chapter
Finally I began to fight thru the haze of pain that engulfed me. I slowly became aware of my surroundings, they are untying my bound arms .Oh my god I made it. I made in thru the hundred stokes with number 5 whip. I survived it. Although I don’t do well with pain, I survived it. They are untying my legs now. I feel so weak I collapse in their arms. They are turning me to face the frame again. Why are they doing that …. I’m done…the 100 strokes are done.
I cry out as they start to fasten my arms as they were fastened for the whippings of my back and buttocks. “ you can’t do this, I’ve done my hundred. What are you doing, what are you doing? Then they reminded me that I had offered my body during my pleading half-way thru the 2nd installment of lashes. My sentence is increased by another 20 strokes. Oh my god, I can’t believe this is Happening. They lift my legs and push a table beneath them. Then they pull my legs down so that I am kneeling on the table. Their hands are rough, they hurt my bruised and welted flesh. My ankles are tied to the table, my feet hanging over the edge of the table.
I can see my face on the big screen at the far end off the stadium. I look horrible… I look like I’ve aged ten years in a matter of hours. I can see how aroused the crowd is. They are getting their money’s worth. I’m not sure whether they paid to see me suffer or not but I can tell they are enjoying the spectacle. I just want this to be over, they just want to enjoy more of my pain. Well they are getting their wish. If this doesn’t convince someone that breaking the law in this country is a bad idea.....what does. Damn it, it should be David that’s up here not me. He ran, he left me. Why....why, well this is why. I am resigned to take the next twenty. I don’t care if they are on the back or bottom, I will survive this.
The same man that whipped my breasts is loosening up for the next twenty. I guess this unexpected 20 strokes caught them unprepared....not having another fresh muscular young man in the wings. He looks me in the eye once again and smiles. This time the smile tells me he really enjoyed whipping my breasts and this is like frosting on the cake. I turn my head to look forward , bracing my body, both my back and bottom ready for the lash. I see on the screen, I see him reach back and step forward to deliver the stroke. I am ready, but I am ready for “where” the lash strikes.
The sole of my left foot exploded in pain. My god I never thought they would whip my feet. The second lash scorches across my right sole. This isn't what I expected, I had convinced myself that I could take 20 more strokes but this pain is excruciating.
It feels like someone is pressing a hot iron against the sensitive skin of my soles. The pain is radiating up my legs, coursing thru the nerves of my body. By the time the lashes started to overlap previous strokes I am delirious with pain. I am pulling at my bonds so violently, my body is bobbing and weaving on the frame. My welted breasts are wobbling and jiggling, in response to my gyrations. I can see the pain etched in my face. I can see my body reacting....my breasts moving .The crowd can see it too. I can tell by how animated they are that they are enjoying this. The strokes keep coming. It doesn’t matter how much I scream or beg, the strokes keep landing. I try to put my mind in another place but I can not....the pain is everywhere. It is consuming me. I don’t do well with pain. I am dying...I am dying slowly.
Then suddenly it stops. Finally it is over. I am removed from the frame. They lift me onto a gurney and I am rushed to an awaiting ambulance. I spend two weeks in a hospital. They treat me very well. My wounds are cared for. When I am discharged I am free to go back to the states. When I finally do get back home and open my luggage I find a DVD. I know what is on the DVD .... I will
never watch it.
I sink to the floor in my shower....mentally exhausted. I will never tell anyone what happened to me. And I absolutely never want to see that coward David ever again. The End
Finally I began to fight thru the haze of pain that engulfed me. I slowly became aware of my surroundings, they are untying my bound arms .Oh my god I made it. I made in thru the hundred stokes with number 5 whip. I survived it. Although I don’t do well with pain, I survived it. They are untying my legs now. I feel so weak I collapse in their arms. They are turning me to face the frame again. Why are they doing that …. I’m done…the 100 strokes are done.
I cry out as they start to fasten my arms as they were fastened for the whippings of my back and buttocks. “ you can’t do this, I’ve done my hundred. What are you doing, what are you doing? Then they reminded me that I had offered my body during my pleading half-way thru the 2nd installment of lashes. My sentence is increased by another 20 strokes. Oh my god, I can’t believe this is Happening. They lift my legs and push a table beneath them. Then they pull my legs down so that I am kneeling on the table. Their hands are rough, they hurt my bruised and welted flesh. My ankles are tied to the table, my feet hanging over the edge of the table.
I can see my face on the big screen at the far end off the stadium. I look horrible… I look like I’ve aged ten years in a matter of hours. I can see how aroused the crowd is. They are getting their money’s worth. I’m not sure whether they paid to see me suffer or not but I can tell they are enjoying the spectacle. I just want this to be over, they just want to enjoy more of my pain. Well they are getting their wish. If this doesn’t convince someone that breaking the law in this country is a bad idea.....what does. Damn it, it should be David that’s up here not me. He ran, he left me. Why....why, well this is why. I am resigned to take the next twenty. I don’t care if they are on the back or bottom, I will survive this.
The same man that whipped my breasts is loosening up for the next twenty. I guess this unexpected 20 strokes caught them unprepared....not having another fresh muscular young man in the wings. He looks me in the eye once again and smiles. This time the smile tells me he really enjoyed whipping my breasts and this is like frosting on the cake. I turn my head to look forward , bracing my body, both my back and bottom ready for the lash. I see on the screen, I see him reach back and step forward to deliver the stroke. I am ready, but I am ready for “where” the lash strikes.
The sole of my left foot exploded in pain. My god I never thought they would whip my feet. The second lash scorches across my right sole. This isn't what I expected, I had convinced myself that I could take 20 more strokes but this pain is excruciating.
It feels like someone is pressing a hot iron against the sensitive skin of my soles. The pain is radiating up my legs, coursing thru the nerves of my body. By the time the lashes started to overlap previous strokes I am delirious with pain. I am pulling at my bonds so violently, my body is bobbing and weaving on the frame. My welted breasts are wobbling and jiggling, in response to my gyrations. I can see the pain etched in my face. I can see my body reacting....my breasts moving .The crowd can see it too. I can tell by how animated they are that they are enjoying this. The strokes keep coming. It doesn’t matter how much I scream or beg, the strokes keep landing. I try to put my mind in another place but I can not....the pain is everywhere. It is consuming me. I don’t do well with pain. I am dying...I am dying slowly.
Then suddenly it stops. Finally it is over. I am removed from the frame. They lift me onto a gurney and I am rushed to an awaiting ambulance. I spend two weeks in a hospital. They treat me very well. My wounds are cared for. When I am discharged I am free to go back to the states. When I finally do get back home and open my luggage I find a DVD. I know what is on the DVD .... I will
never watch it.
I sink to the floor in my shower....mentally exhausted. I will never tell anyone what happened to me. And I absolutely never want to see that coward David ever again. The End