Previously, I would have provided a written confession, a postulation for corporal punishment and a discharge of responsibility accepting all the consequences. The moralist would receive met to make up one's mind my penalisation, with a mandatory minimum sentence of 60 stroke and no upper berth bound. The sentence is not notified to me, I am just summoned to surrender myself for penalisation, let 's say on Sabbatum noon.

There are zero niceties from the offset. I am just barked brusk society and penetrating questions. I am not allowed to verbalise but to concisely answer such interrogative. Of course, there will be no kind of period countersign or anything like that. This is a existent punishment, not kinky play. Upon comer, right on the manse, I am ordered to leach down from crown to toes, including any jewelry or accessory, and throw off it all into a box on the floor. The slightest doubt or resistance are immediately treated with brutal blows to the face and lashes of a belt.

As soon as I am raw like just born, I have my manus tightly cuffed behind my backrest. My ankles are shackled to a bombastic leg spreader. A spider gag or any former kind of wide-open mouth gag is firmly attached to my head. Then I am harshly driven into a bathroom dragging my pinion feet, ordered to sit on the can facing the wall, use it and left there while everybody else arrives. I can see there is a photographic camera in the privy monitoring me.

I am left alone there, maybe for 2 or 3 hours. From time to fourth dimension, I can get word more people entering the home. My affection pounds in anxiousness, outlook and fear.

Next, two helpers come to the toilet. They pull the chemical chain to flush the commode, then drag me into the bathtub. They open the cold water supply and thoroughly wash away me with concentrated skirmish, like scrubbing a piece of wood. I am warned that 's my stopping point opportunity to toast if I need it. I gulp cold water down my wide-open gagged oral cavity. Once they 've made certain I am clean as a whistle, I am dragged to the penalisation Room without even being dried up.

The penalisation elbow room is prominent, maybe a huge basement, to provide infinite for freely swinging The Implement and for The People who are already there. The Implement can be an over 40 '' -long, 1 '' midst, soaked, sound Calamus rotang cane ; or a similar-sized unfeigned rhino pelt sjambok ; or the cut-along stride of a tyre with all its lugs and vallecula and a handle attached ; or anything equally vicious. The Implement is in the hands of The public executioner, a very vast and warm individual with massive brawn. In the middle of The Punishment Room there is The whipping terrace, designed to hold open the bum exposed high in the air and the caput low, to foreclose fainting. On the other incline of The penalization Room, The nursemaid waits besides the health check go-cart with the First Aid kit and all the healing stuff, which is certainly going to be needed.

cypher pays much aid to me. The People are mostly having a deglutition and chatting among themselves. I am held besides The debacle Bench while The nursemaid gives me a med check. Heart and breathe, bloodline pressure, a prick in my arm with a needle to see how I bleed and how fast I stop bleeding. The Nurse nods, meaning I am fit for The punishment. Immediately, I have the handcuff and shackles removed, but only to be restrained on The Whipping Bench, ankle joint, wrists and waist, with my bum exposed high school in the air and my capitulum low. The wide-open-mouth gag is kept to prevent me from biting my tongue.

Now The People are already taking their seats. The loss leader remembers The People -and me- why I am about to be punished with a stern, scornful articulation. Then, The Nurse paints my buttocks and my pussy with tincture of iodine. The massive Executioner taps them with the tip of The Implement, measuring the distance for maximum issue. I am scared to dying. I am probably crying already. The People is now paying aid. Department of Justice is about to be done. Then The Leader simply says :

'' One. ``

I cringe. The Executioner raises The Implement high, then golf stroke it total strength against my lower rear, as in a mighty golf game tee snap. The impact sounds like an explosion. My whole bum feel like suddenly bursting in unbearably blazing flames. A plunger of pain knife thrust down my entire body to my rotten caput, ejecting any thought or emotion through my bolt down center and my screaming sass, replacing them with pure painfulness. I ca n't bear it. I absolutely ca n't accept it. But it does n't cease, on the opponent, it seems to offend even to a greater extent and more and more with throbbing flaming. I try to fight, fly, beg. I ca n't, I am just capable to flinch and stimulate and squeal like the smutty hangdog gilt I am. The Leader just says :

'' Two. ``

And so they go on, at a incessant footstep, without paying the tenuous attention to my reactions. Maybe it 's one virgule every ten or fifteen seconds, I do n't know. All of them full military posture, like trying to hit a baseball out of the sports stadium. All of them on the lower two thirds of my hind end, once and again. By cam stroke ten, my buttocks are fully welted and turning lustrous red. By stroke twenty, the tegument is broken and I can palpate the warmly origin running down my clinching thigh. The pain is definitely unbearable, but that 's what punishments are for, are n't they ?

By shot forty, the lower berth two third of my rump are a mess of shredded hide and bloodline. At sixty, they are reduced to a throbbing flayed mush. I was expecting to get just the minimum mandatory sentence, but The Leader keeps on :

'' Sixty-one. ``

... and all Leslie Townes Hope vanishes. They go on, and on, and on, one fortuity every fifteen seconds, full military capability, non-stop, against the Saame abject two thirds of my destroyed bum. Even when I am already lying limp, softly sobbing, it does n't stop. At all. Whap ! -- -whap ! -- -whap ! -- -whap ! -- -whap ! -- -

It ends as suddenly as it started. The drawing card just stops saying Book of Numbers, and the shot stop. By then, I can barely remark it. The the great unwashed starts leaving for another rooms. The nurse comes to heal my lesion with something that burns like hell, but I am ineffectual to react. The public executioner leaves with The Leader. I am left alone there, still restrained to the Whipping Bench, crying my misery.

During the future hours, some men come to use my hole and a partner off adult female feel like playing with me too. It 's kind of like assault, but I do n't listen. I ca n't mind. I only mind that when they fuck my pussy or ass to their clump, my bum tone like being grated. early than that, anything is much better than The Punishment. And when some men start fucking my throat, I eventually start getting some liquidity : cum and pissing, which I anxiously swallow up. You do n't have it away how soundly piss and cum mouthful until you are craving for some water. The nurse comes from time to time to check I am OK, meaning I am not dying of anything.

Much later, I finally have the chasteness removed. I am helped back to the hall. I can barely take the air, but they take me there and gild me to get dressed and leave. I obey. I ca n't do anything but to obey. While I am painfully, confusedly putting my clothes on, I am told to come back twice a calendar week during the adjacent month for advance healing treatment. I am also told I am going to have permanent scarring.

I do n't bear in mind. At all. justness has been served. Now I finally do n't find guilty. I have paid for all my blame and I am pick, free again. I check my watch. It 's 20:15. I can be home for dinner. Nobody will know. Nobody must hump. And as I leave, I start thinking in the s installing. Because from now on I will live under The Implement, do you know ? Until beau ideal. Or else .