Chapter 9
Robin took the whip in both hands, raised it above his right shoulder and gave two practice swings through the air. It had a pleasant swish and the handle, too, gave it a springy whip. He spread his legs, left leg slightly forward, right leg back, and again whipped the air.
Almost, but not quite right. His leather clothes were too constricting for full movement. He loosened straps in his shoulder and down the back and undid the fastening that kept his helmet down on his jacket collar. Now movement seemed freer.
He advanced towards Lizbeth, paused three paces behind her, brought his left leg forward, raised the whip in both hands, swung it behind the right shoulder and then let go. Swish!
Two broad straps of leather flashed through the air as one and landed within the same split fraction of a second on the right shoulder of the spread-eagled girl, tracing their double path down her back to her left buttock. Her body contracted as the blow fell and the powerful springs that tensed at her ankles and at her wrists, gave and then contracted again and the girl's nude body bounced for a few seconds up and down, up and down, as if she was attached to harp-strings, and for a moment her twitching, bouncing body was a gentle blur, then her motions slowed.
Robin surveyed his work. Down her back, running from right shoulder to left buttock, ran a twin-track of rose-red blush with unbroken skin. Robin shifted his weight the better to gaze at her front. Her breasts were heaving up and down, from the pain, from the twitching, from the spring-powered bouncing, and from her current deep breathing. Sweat was coursing down the valley between the ripe full mounds, running toward her flat belly that she had drawn in tightly, and losing its way in the great prickly bush of her under hair. As she pulled in her tummy she thrust out her hips presenting her pubis to the onlookers in fine fettle, and the tightening of her buttocks under threat of the lash, had made her open up correspondingly at the front so that her twat-seldom closed, anyway-was now yawning wide and pink folds were pulsating outward. From her cunt and the area around it, other pools of sweat were coursing down her legs.
Her head had been thrashing from side to side with the pain and now as it came to rest it hung down limply. The eyes were dilated and the mouth was open with the tongue protruding. She seemed the picture of dejection and yet there was something in her face, the memory of a leer, that spoke of wantonness and of lust, that seemed to rejoice in its current role, that seemed to suggest both innocence and seductiveness, both pain and joy, both anxiety and pleasure.
The look on her face goaded Robin to new strength. Again he raised the whip above his right shoulder, this time as he faced her from the front. The twin lash descended on her left shoulder and encircled the left breast before it descended her belly and buried its ends in her crotch.
She arched backwards as he slashed this time, so that her buttocks were pointing away from him and the belly and cunt seemed to form a receptacle for the final stings of the double whip. She quivered a moment, her can thrown back and down and her bottom in pulling her body away pulled down the wrists in their binding and pulled up at the ankles so that her body formed a shallow angle. And then, as the pain at her bruised cunt made its presence known in her brain, her body quivered and rebounded with the doubled reaction of the tensed steel springs and of the tensed nervous system. She jerked and bounced, her body thrusting alternatively backwards and then slightly forwards, the "V" formed by her limbs, opening and closing rhythmically so that Robin half imagined she would come to an orgasm in her whole body.
There was a murmur of approval from the watching group. The spectators drew closer to have a better look. Lizbeth bounced for a few seconds longer, then came to rest. She was drooling from her open mouth.
Robin looked around at the spectators. He stuck his whip down on the floor, resting on the handle as if it was a walking stick, and he surveyed the others in the room. His first time, and already his work was earning the approval of these seasoned experts. He must be doing something right, he mused.
The frontal lashing had won approval. Robin decided to give it another try. This time he faced the suspended and spread-eagled body of his victim from the other side and lashed at her, aiming more for the belly and the area of the gaping cunt where, he was sure, her reaction would be more electrifying.
He was not wrong. She had sensed it already as he was lifting his arms for the swing, and had withdrawn her frightened ass as far as she could reach-making the target area into an angled vault that seemed to resemble an archer's target to his lustful eyes, with the open red cunt as the bull's eye. The double lash hit her right in there, hit the bull's eye, and he was positive that for a second one of the lash-ends actually lodged inside her cunt, buried deep in like a love-crazed punishing leather done. She screamed and her whole pelvis rocked, backwards and forwards in rhythmic spasm, alternately swallowing the leather deeper and disgorging it. Her body kept quivering and bouncing as if in an obscene dance of fornication with the whip and the lash and the pain it engendered.
Robin could feel a sympathetic stirring in his own entrails. He felt as if his cock, straining and urgent, was an extension of that whip, as if his cock, like the whip he wielded in his powerful arms, served as the cruel messenger of the powerful tall woman whose ends he was serving, as if both he and his cock and his whip no longer belonged to him exclusively but were the property, the servants and the agent of that woman whom he craved to serve. He felt warm contentment in that role-and an urge to excel ever more in that service. He wanted to lash on, to slash harder, to make every blow harder than the one before it until his whip-or his cock, for they both seemed the same to him at this point in his wild excitement-finally quivered to its climax and its spent ending inside the violated and lifeless body of this victim of his mistress's passions.
He would have gone on but a word stopped him.
"Stop!" The voice of the dominating Arbella cut through the strained hubbub like the crack of a whip on a cold clear day.
"Enough!" She barked the order with a violence and a passion that made Robin tremble both with fear and with admiration.
"That will do. I asked you to demonstrate your skills, not to pursue your own erotic or sadistic ends. You're not here for your enjoyment; you're my servant. Now drop that whip."
The whip fell from his hand almost automatically. At the same moment his cock, that had been swollen inside the grip of the tight leather shorts for what had seemed like an eternity, drooped and collapsed. It happened in a split fraction of a second and was so sudden that it caused a sudden inrush of cold air that hit his balls with an ominous chill.
His heart froze and he stood for a moment, paralyzed, awaiting the orders or the acts of the demon-mistress. And then he felt something melt inside him, something warm spread from the base of his shrunken baby-sized cock through his tight-swaddled buttocks and through his belly and groin. It was a melting of subjection, a joy of surrender, a relaxation of passions that let him know that there was Another who controlled him, Another who gave the orders, Another who would take responsibility for every act and every thought he would oe allowed to own.
"You have overstepped your bounds, Cock-Robin my lad!" The derision in her voice was unmistakable. It reminded him of when he was about six and he had been called into the principal's office for punishment after infraction of a minor school rule. The principal, a tall stern woman with muscular body who had seemed to him then like a towering giant, had shouted at him and when that had made him cry she bade him hold out his hand which she swatted hard with a cane.
It had stopped his crying but had caused something else, something much more shameful, much more frightening, much more deserving of punishment: his little peter had boiled over and streams of hot piss had issued from it, filling up his small-boy pants, soaking him in its warmth, spilling over and out, running down his legs, cascading on the carpet of the principal's office.
The principal had been livid. She stopped the cane, pulled down his soaking clothes with brutal brusqueness, had him hold up the tail of his shirt and then she had laid him over her knee, his head in the warmth of her lap, and she had whipped his wet, shamed bottom with the flat of her hand till she had raised it to a raspberry hue and a warmth of flesh that threatened to boil him alive.
And when she had done, she had smiled at him, as if to say that in the completion of her satisfaction or the completeness of his dejection he had gained both forgiveness and the fullness of her love.
And now, standing in his dejection facing the tall powerful mistress whom he desired with all his heart and all his might to serve, he once more relived that self-same feeling.
"He thought he had some special grace and favor," Arbella spoke of him to her friends, treating him like a nothing. "Allow him a slight privilege, ask him to do a little service, tell him to demonstrate his skill and already he thinks he has earned some special place of honor among us. He'll have to be taught a lesson. He has to understand that he's just a slob, just a nothing. He is lower than the lowest; he isn't ready yet to reach even so high as the soles of Lizbeth here."
The crowd murmured its assent.
"How do you intend to prove your humility and servitude in the future?" Arbella asked Robin, turning to him but not caring to mask her disdain.
Robin found his lip quivering. "I'll do anything, anything! I'll lick your coots, I'll serve you like a dog. I'll lick out your cunt and lick your ass and beg you to soil me with your piss and with your shit-and I'll lick that up too. I'll show you my loyalty and devotion."
Arbella laughed, a laugh so deep and so powerful it made the chamber ring.
"Wretch!" she screamed with the full power of her lungs. "Imbecile! I propose to punish you and you ask to be allowed to satisfy your perverse desires instead. I ask you to prove your subservience and instead you want to suck me into catering to your further appetite. I must punish you for this. You must be taught to understand your utter worthlessness here among us. Take him!"
Her guests needed little urging. A dozen hands seized him roughly, pummeled him, shoved him, dragged him, and pulled him. There were kicks and punches that he could barely feel through the thick protecting leather and there were others that penetrated him through and through. His bare knees scraped along the floor and someone kept kicking him with pointed boot right in the exposed soft flesh of the backs of his knees. They dragged him to the heavy wooden bench and brought him up, off his knees.
With a sinking feeling, Robin realized the sinister purpose for which the rings and straps on his leather suit had been designed.
As if to confirm it, other spring-laden restraints were hooked into the rings at his ankles. Another set of tensed steel cables was snapped into rings at his thighs so that his legs were forced and spread out in a bow-legged horseshoe shape. His legs were pressed against the legs of the bench, his belly against the steel bar and his chest and head were stretched out by tension on the arms, and were pressed to the length of the bench. Other hooks were snapped into him and he could feel his whole body stretched with force and tension.
It had been the work of only a minute or two thanks to the providential placement of the rings on his jacket, shorts and boots and the obvious familiarity that those present had with all the equipment in the room.
He felt the tension and the humiliation, the harsh pressure of steel into his belly, the straining of his flesh and bones and muscles where the tight-fitting leather clothing molded it under tension. All of him was pressed against the bench, all except his ass which was sticking out and up, and his crotch which faced the cut-out space between the legs of the bench and below the steel bar.
A silence descended on the guests as they waited, apparently, for the mistress of the ceremony to give the next set of instructions.
It was the voice of the effeminate man, Milton, who broke the silence.
"A beautiful hump of a ass, that one. Seems a pity to keep it strapped down under those absurd little leather pants."
His remarks were met with guffaws and applause. Robin felt the blood of shame rise to his head and he felt that under his little leather shorts his bottom must be turning the same beet color with the embarrassment.
"You'd like to bare it, wouldn't you?" The supreme mistress asked, her statement a seeming invitation to the thin swishy man.
Robin had always had a strong aversion to homosexuals and their ilk. He found all forms of effeminacy in men distasteful, all contract between two males repulsive. Now he felt his skin creep at the threatened violation of his masculinity.
"Yes," the man named Milton lisped. "I want to see whether he's a man or a...."
He left the last word unstated but it evinced a titter of laughter from those present.
"Go ahead, he's yours." the haughty mistress of it all was disposing of Robin's person as if he were some trifling object of no importance. He sensed the shame, the infinite shame, the total and abject humiliation to which that exposed him. He was willing to be a slave, willing to be tied, willing to be hers--but hers to serve, hers to remain hers, not hers to dispose of as if his personhood meant absolutely nothing to her-or to the recipient.