© Copyright 2015 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-F; F/f; M/f; MF+/f; college; credits; protest; exposure; naked; caught; arrested; cell; cuffs; court; punish; public; shackles; display; spank; toys; insert; climax; cons/reluct; X
I was a student at a west coast university some years ago, with several changes in major and not really expecting ever to graduate. My way was paid in full, and I saw no reason to hurry to get out in the "real world" and get a job, and all that get up early garbage I saw some of my friends doing. My present major was political science, and the only reason I chose that was it looked easier than my last major. Despite the easy nature of my latest chosen field, I found myself falling below the GPA level that guaranteed my free ride, but fortunately I wasn't alone.
Before spring break I found myself in the professors office looking for the extra credit he had suggested would be available to those of us who needed it. I got up and out later than my motivated classmates, and was therefore last in line to see him, but had taken the time to dress in as little as I could get away with. I was prepared to do what I had to do keep my free ride, and providing some quick fun for a long haired old fool in his office wouldn't be a first for me.
During my last major I had a female professor that offered me a unique way to repair my terrible exam grade, and I was still unsure to this day if she enjoyed giving me that extra credit more or less that she enjoyed my receiving it. I went to see her in her office after the staff had left for the day, and I asked if we could talk about my latest grade. She had my test booklet right in front of her as if she expected me, but I saw no marks on it as of yet. She told me she had looked it over, and if she were to grade it as it stands, I would be lucky to receive a twenty five. She knew as well as I did that such a low grade would end my free ride, and that I was at her mercy.
I have to stop here and describe this woman, she was in her fifties and she dressed smartly. Nice dresses, high heels, and expensive jewelry, and there was an air of power and intimidation about her. I instinctively knew not to screw around with her! It was always obvious what my male professors wanted for a passing grade, but with this woman I just didn't know...
We both knew the position I was in, and I asked if there was any way for me to repair my grade. She said there was, and that it was a bit unusual, but she would work with me if I could prove my understanding of the test material. She told me it was simple, and she handed me a ping pong paddle from her desk and explained what was expected of me... I agreed to her terms with no other "easy" solutions to my situation, and she got up and locked both her outer office door, and the one into her office proper.
As per our agreement I stripped out of my little dress and panties right in front of her, and I saw her ever so discretely lick her lips as she sat at her desk and watched me. I then bent over her desk long ways and pressed my naked breasts down on the cold polished oak, and I grabbed the far side of it tightly as instructed. She then placed a one inch diameter wood dowel in front of me, and I examined the thing closely and saw countless tooth marks in it indicating it had been used many times in the past. The depth of the marks should have told me something as well, but this was at the time uncharted territory for me.
I opened my mouth to accept the dowel, and I clamped down on it as if I were a pony and it was my bit. The professor told me it wasn't fair to the others if I could only profit from this extra credit of hers, and in light of that my test score was right now technically a zero, and could only go up to the class median average no matter how well I did with her. She reminded me that if I let go of the desk, or dropped my gag, my grade would be chosen by my actions.
I nodded my head, and expected no less.
She went over the first question on the test giving me the answer, and then she smacked me hard with the paddle to drive the proverbial point home, surprising me with her strength. It was only a ping pong paddle, but she swung it in a practiced way, and the noise it made when it contacted my relaxed ass was intimidating. I managed not to drop the dowel, or let go of the desk, and I was prepared when she gave me the next answer. I clenched my ass muscles hard, and when she swatted me with the paddle I didn't jiggle as I did with the first swat, but it didn't feel all that much better either. I had just gone from a terrible twenty five points, to four points with the two swats of her paddle, and I didn't think at the time that I could possibly last long enough to reach the twenty five I had started with.
My professor went over each question, and I could tell she was enjoying herself at my expense as I suspected I would have something to remember her test by every time I sat down in the coming week. By the time she reached twenty five I was drooling all over her desk, not that the drooling surprised me, but my neither regions were doing much the same. I tried to deny it to myself, but there was little chance of hiding my bodies excitement from my worldly and dominate professor.
I rode that professor's desk and bore down on her bit all the way to the end of her unusual test review, and I have to admit that she taught me something that day, a truly rare occurrence for me in the world of academia. I still dropped her major as soon as I could however, as this was anything but the easy ride I was looking for...
When it was finally my turn to see my political science professor I suspected from talking to my friends leaving his office that with this guy "extra credit" was actually that. They wouldn't tell me any of the details as if they were sworn to secrecy, and I was just a little disappointed, and relieved that I wouldn't have another session like with my last sadistic professor. This long haired guy was really into his causes, like animal rights and no nukes, and I learned that all I had to do was form a protest of his choosing, and document how I did it. I could receive extra, extra credit if I managed to get myself arrested during my protest, and he assigned me the last, and I suspected the least desirable thing to protest from his list.
I was to travel to a small Mexican tourist town, (one that I don't want to name for obvious reasons), and protest the treatment of their donkeys used for the tourist shows. I took buses most of the way, and the bus on the last leg of the trip had some of the local women from the town on it. It was clear, even though I hardly spoke the language, that they didn't appreciate my manner of dress. I thought to myself "screw them" ninety degrees in the noon shade and no air conditioning on the bus, I didn't care if they had a problem with my brief wardrobe or not. I had the body for it and they didn't, and besides, I would need something to get the townspeople's attention to form my protest. I had packed precious little to wear in my carry on bag as I didn't plan on being there very long at all.
The town was like two towns in one, the old part was set up like a sleepy western tourist town, complete with little shops, and stables for the donkeys in question, and a jail and courthouse in the town square for the tourist shows. The new part of the town held some wonderful modern hotels with all the amenities one would expect, but that wasn't the part I was interested in, nor were they in my budget. I went into one of the little shops and bought a local colorful dress made from tissue paper, it was layered, but still looked quite cool with it's fragile construction. It was intended to be worn over a suitable foundation of undergarments, and I had none with me, but most importantly I presented a desirable package with which to attract my fellow protesters while wearing the disposable garment. I hid my stuff behind one of the old buildings and I took some of my precious cash with me to the saloon to find some liquid courage, and volunteers to help me protest on behalf of the poor overworked donkeys.
The locals knew I wasn't part of the show even though I had dressed the part with my new and colorful dress, but the tourists drinking with me assumed I was. Immediately proceeding the show I heard an old fashion fire cart washing down the dirt street, and I encouraged my new friends to follow me onto the slippery street to liberate one of the donkeys from the cart, intentionally in clear sight of the man playing sheriff and watching the show from the porch of the tourist jail. I thought if all went well I could even get myself "arrested" by this man, and leave this town the next day with my extra, extra credit satisfied.
From there things went to hell almost instantly. The dirt street was slippery and the poor donkey got spooked when we ran up to it and tried to unhitch it, and this pissed off the man on the cart with the fire hose, as well as the ones driving and pumping the antique machine. My new and exclusively male friends ran for the cover of the porch in front of the saloon, but I was determined to hold my ground and get myself arrested for the stupid donkey's own good.
I slipped and fell onto the muddy road when the frightened donkey reared up, and the men on the fire cart turned their hose on me to keep me on the ground and away from their stupid donkey until the mock sheriff could come over and arrest me. The tourists, (including my new friends from the saloon), had gathered to watch what they thought was the start of the show. They cheered when the men started blasting me with the freezing water thinking it was all part of the act.
My tissue paper dress disintegrated before the eyes of the cheering tourists under the careful assault of the hose, and this caused the men to erupt in applause as I was stripped bare before their eyes by the deceptively powerful stream of water. The man with the hose was savage with his aim, and only stopped when the mock sheriff told him to. He pulled me to my feet and cuffed my arms behind my back with his antique cuffs, (fully displaying my muddy body to the tourists), and they once again erupted in applause with the totality of my exposure.
I stood in place as the sheriff backed away, and several commands in Spanish from him had the man with the hose blasting me once again sadistically with the freezing water, ostensibly to wash the mud from my bound body without even the freedom of my arms to protect myself from the onslaught. I had been to nude beaches and had been just as wet and naked while exiting the ocean, and I knew the all men and some of the women there looked just as lustfully at my body from behind their reflective sun glasses as the cheering tourists did. The ocean however wasn't freezing cold, and when there I wasn't the only one on display, but most importantly the gentle waves didn't threaten to violate my body like the well directed stream of water did.
Once I was spotlessly clean the sheriff lead me toward the tourist jail in full view of the cheering crowd, and once inside he sat me down on a wooden chair in front of his desk, still wearing only cuffs and dripping all over the floor with my hair in a mess.
"What the hell was that all about?" he asked in perfect English
"I'm here to speak up for your poor donkeys and to protest their terrible treatment", I told him most proudly.
"Oh God, not another one. Let me guess, political science right."
"Excuse me?" I asked, but my tone confirmed the man's suspicions..
"This is some kind of extra credit homework assignment from that idiot professor up north that knows about as much about donkeys as I do about super computers, isn't it?"
"Yes sir, it is. Are you going to arrest me so that I can get extra, extra credit, like with a mug shot and all that?"
"Oh you're under arrest all right, I may play this part for the tourist show, but I assure you that I am the for real sheriff of this town. You are under arrest for causing a public nuisance, as well as public indecency. You may plead innocent to both charges, but I warn you that I have hundreds of witnesses to contradict this. If you choose to plead innocent anyway you will be given a real trial, when the judge returns from his scheduled rotation in several weeks. Until then I will hold you in custody, unless of course you can show me some identification and post your bail."
I shrugged my shoulders as best as I could wearing only the cuffs, telling the nice sheriff that I obviously didn't have my things "on me", and he laughed as he looked me up and down as if confirming that I was telling him the truth. I told him where I had hidden my bag, and he promised to look for if right after he spoke to the mayor about my stunt. The sheriff escorted me to the antique jail cell after asking me if the cuffs were too tight. His question could have been an offer to remove them for me, but I answered honestly that they weren't as I kind of liked the way they felt on me. He closed and locked the iron bared door, and I felt oddly secure, and helpless all at the same time. He then left me there to drip dry all over the cool concrete floor as he left the building, presumably in search of my clothing after his other duties.
I had no idea that the tourists could tour the jail where I stood on temporary display, but they did in threes and fours as each got an even better view of me than they did in the street. The men had fire in their eyes while looking at me on display, clearly my nudity and cuffed helplessness was exciting to more that just me. Their wives and girlfriends accompanying them looked pissed off at me, but I had seen that look before. They all complimented me on my performance still thinking I was part of the entertainment, and I thought it best to let them, instead of admitting that I was the dubious leader of the worlds shortest protest.
The sheriff returned with the tourist town's mayor, but not my bag. He told me my bag wasn't where I had told him it was, and he had no choice but to hold me for the next several weeks until the judge returned, unless of course I wanted to plead guilty to the charges with the mayor standing in for the judge to certify the jury's sentence. The mayor explained that this was a special consideration because of my popularity with the tourists, (after he looked me up and down like the sheriff had), and that the sentence the mock jury passed would be binding, but not to exceed twenty four hours as per his instructions.
I thought playing this part for only a day, if they could find me something to wear, would be an easy price to pay for a continued free ride through school. There was a tiny part of me that was enjoying all this "exposure" with these people that I didn't know, and would likely never see again, just like at the nude beaches. I could tell that both the sheriff and the mayor were more amused by my stunt than angry, but I also realized they were opportunistic as well by including me in their show as an unpaid actress.
"It appears I have little choice, but could you please find me something to wear?"
The man rolled his eyes playfully as if to say "If we must". "You will be presented with a stripped jail costume from the gift shop before you are sentenced in our tourist court, by our tourist jury. You are only being given this opportunity, (the mayor saw fit to repeat), because of the interest you have generated with our paying visitors. Your spectacle developed into something decidedly more adult themed than we ordinarily like around here, but there is no denying the tourist's interest, and in keeping with this theme we are going to charge a premium admission for your sentencing and punishment, and to obviously exclude those underage."
I realized tourist justice moved rather quickly when I was presented with my striped paper prison sack dress from the gift shop within the hour. I slipped the fragile one size fits most garment over my head after my cuffs were briefly removed, and I was once again cuffed behind my back and taken to "court". The thing kept falling off of my shoulders on the way it was so big, that was until perspiration had the thing glued to my body and threatening to fall completely apart if I moved around too much. I was soon standing in an antique looking courtroom with the jury box filled with tourists that paid extra for the privilege of passing my one day sentence.
I noticed the forewoman of the jury wasn't a tourist like the others, but the woman from the bus that gave me hell for my lacking wardrobe. I sensed this wasn't going to go like I had expected with her leading the jury, and the fact that the jury itself was exclusively female, and no doubt made up of the wives and girlfriends of the men who far too enthusiastically enjoyed my brief show. The phrase 'sentencing and punishment' popped into my head, I had heard the mayor say them quite clearly, earlier, but the punishment part was suddenly a concern.
The spectator area was so full that tourists were standing along the wall in the back of the court room, having paid a premium to see justice handed out by the mayor as if this was all planned in advance.
The "judge" entered the courtroom and took his seat, and then asked me my name, age, and occupation formally as I stood before him with my arms cuffed behind my back, and my baggy costume prison dress getting weaker by the second in the hot and humid over packed courtroom.
"Paige Turner sir, twenty nine years old, and I am a full time student."
"How do you plead on the first count of causing a public nuisance by attempting to harass one of our donkeys miss Turner?"
"Guilty as charged your honor."
"And how do you plead to the second count of public indecency?"
"Guilty as well your honor."
I felt like an actress that had just delivered her lines a little too quickly, but I was in a hurry to wrap this up as I wasn't the only one who noticed my costume's disintegration.
The judge then read the details of my crimes, dragging them out as he also saw the deteriorating condition of my costume. He had a showman's flair for the dramatic and made me sound quite deserving of the jury's wrath, but his actions confirmed for me that my impending exposure was no accident.
I turned to face the jury box respectfully as they deliberated my sentence, knowing that it shouldn't exceed one day as the mayor had promised. They spoke and looked and pointed at me in a most dehumanizing way, and then spoke some more, and finally the jury forewoman stood and told the judge that they had reached a sentence. She also had a flair for theatrical delay, and would likely like to see my costume fall off of me right here where I could potentially be charged with contempt of court for the exposure.
"Your honor, we ladies of the jury feel an appropriate punishment for the first count of causing a public nuisance should be ninety days of hard labor pulling the wagon for the poor overworked donkeys... but since you have instructed us to limit our punishment to twenty four hours, we will accept twenty lashes with the strap to be delivered in the town square with the defendant fettered to the whipping post."
My jaw hung open as a slow and ironic smile grew across the jury forewoman's face with her 'poor overworked donkey' sarcasm, and I thought for the briefest moment that I had been betrayed by the mayor. At first I thought 'twenty lashes with the strap' had to be similar humor for the tourists benefit as well. At the worst I expected to be spending the night in the jail cell, despite any sentence passed by the jury.
"In regard to the second count of public indecency, twenty more lashes with the strap to be delivered after the first, and not concurrently, your honor."
An insane thought formed in my mind after the forewoman's second statement. "Could this be real, and if so, might I like it as much as when my dominate professor paddled me in the privacy of her inner office last semester?"
Those thoughts rolled around in my head as I again faced the mayor as if in a dream, and I realize now that he was waiting for me to beg for mercy from either him, or the jury forewoman. As it was my mouth was suddenly very dry, and when we stared at each other for what he must have thought was long enough for me to beg for leniency, he smacked his gavel and said, "The sentence is accepted and will be carried out within the hour".
On the short walk back to the jail cell I didn't even care that my prisoner's costume had started to disintegrate in earnest, and expose certain intimate parts of me to the packed courtroom, they had after all seen me in much less only hours before. I was more concerned that my body was once again betraying me with desires I wished it didn't have, but of that I wasn't even sure. On our short walk to the jail I looked up at the old whipping post and stocks mounted on the elevated platform in the town's square, thinking it funny that I didn't notice them earlier as they blended into the back round scenery for me.
"What on earth did you do to that woman?" the sheriff asked me once I was uncuffed and safely back behind bars.
I explained about our brief discussion on the sweltering bus ride, and he laughed at me suggesting that I obviously had a way of bringing out the best in people, as she is the unofficial matron of the tourist town. He explained that she doesn't need to ride the bus, but that she likes to from time to time as she owns the bus company, and several others in town.
"You know that you could have begged for leniency, don't you? Likely getting your sentence reduced to something like five lashes if you groveled on your knees before the jury."
I ignored his words and got right down to what was on my mind, it was too late for any groveling anyway.
"What does this paddle look like, and who is going to be wielding it?"
The sheriff chuckled once again, but it was easy for him to be jovial considering our relative situations. He went into a back room and pulled out two sinister looking black leather straps mounted to oak handles. He handed the two identical looking objects through the bars so that I could examine them, and both were about two feet in length and four inches in width with identical handles, but there the similarities ended.
The apparently real one had weight to it, and rigidity to the leather face as I smacked myself experimentally on my ass through what was left of my paper costume. That one stung, and even with the relatively light tap I gave myself my dress tore exposing my ass, but that didn't explain the tingle I felt in my belly. The sheriff looked on while pinching his lower lip as if in deep thought, and I handed that one back to him through the bars.
The second strap had no weight or rigidity to it at all, and I smacked my ass again, but this time my paper costume hardly tore, and missing was the crack of the first shot I had given myself, and the resulting sting.
"The second one is from the gift shop, the first very real. You see we have done this once or twice before, and we usually hide a man under the platform with the real strap and something to smack, preserving the illusion of a genuine strapping for our tourists. Ordinarily the volunteers for that part of the show have several layers between them and the strap, and I think the worst part of your punishment will be your exposure as your costume won't likely survive your forty lashes, but it would have survived the five you could have had!"
"As to who is going to be wielding the strap, a woman of means who you know has paid a hansom sum to deliver your punishment herself, but her identity will remain secret as she will be hooded in traditional black leather. On a lighter note, does the condemned prisoner want a last meal before I take her to the gallows?"
"Yes please, I suddenly have my appetite back."
I felt slightly better about my impending punishment, even though I had a very good idea who would be delivering it.
I heard and saw a crowd form about the perimeter of the platform the sheriff called the gallows, but I thought that name only applied to the platform where people were hanged. I felt in no need to contradict his English, assuming there was no direct translation for the two similar structures.
A short time later a bell could be heard outside, apparently it's mournful tone a signal to bring the condemned to the gallows to pay her debt to society. The sheriff affixed thick leather cuffs, (also brought from his secret back room), to my wrists in front of me that were connected by a stout and very real chain. His instructions that I grasp the chain once fettered to the whipping post to relieve the tension on my wrists brought home the authenticity of at least part of my punishment. Thick cuffs went about my ankles and were likewise attached to each other, but in their case by an overlong chain that would do little except drag on the ground between my legs as I walked, unless I attempted to take some very long strides running away from the sheriff.
Escape would be pointless as the gathered crowd could easily subdue me, and there was also a growing desire in my belly to see this through as well.
The crowd cheered as the sheriff brought me toward the gallows, and they parted as we approached to make an easy path to the stairs, and I counted them as we mounted the old structure. My ankle chain dragged each dry and cracked step noisily as the sheriff directed me from behind with one hand on my shoulder, and his other on the small of my back.
Twenty one steps in total, and I wondered at the significance of the number. My head had been lowered in shame on my walk to the structure, but up here with the wind blowing ever so slightly I looked out at the gathered mass of people with lust in their eyes, completely surrounding the platform. I felt the drafts through what was left of my costume, knowing I would be providing more than one kind of entertainment for the excited spectators before it was all over.
My hooded "executioner" stood impatiently waiting my arrival, an oak handled strap already in her hands as she had apparently provided her own. The sheriff escorted me to the post on the small platform, it being intentionally small so that everybody who wanted to could see what they wished from their position below. He told me to put my feet together and forced me to reach up as far as I could, and the result was that it appeared I was straddling the smooth five inch thick post when he affixed my cuff's chain to some firm point high on the far side of the post, stretching me out as my cheek rested on the left side of it.
The sheriff then unlocked the chain attaching my ankle cuffs just as he had done with my wrist cuffs, and he ran the long chain on the far side of the whipping post as well and reattached it, forcing me to hug the post for stability while standing awkwardly. My ass was thrust out with my unnatural position, and I saw the logic of it from that point of view. I felt several new drafts develop as I was made to mount the post, and I wondered if my costume would have even lasted for the five lashes the sheriff suggested.
Before the sheriff retreated he told me quietly that my "executioner" now has total control of me, but that she will give me instruction that it would be wise to follow. He said not another word and I heard him walk down the twenty one steps, and I looked out at the faces before me, recognizing several of them, much to my horror. There was my political science professor, and flanking him were several of my fellow students who were know to be his chosen favorites. They looked right at my face confirming that this was no chance occurrence, and they seemed to be quite amused at the situation before them. I saw two other professors I had at various times, forgetting that all these people shared a faculty lunch room where I realized I must have been the subject more than once. The leering students irked me more that the professors did, as I was nearly ten years older than the bulk of them, making it all the more shameful for them to see me like this.
For the briefest moment when I first saw those familiar faces I thought one of them would have thought to rescue me from my fate, but I soon realized they were only here to watch and be entertained just like the other tourists. I then saw the jury forewoman talking to the mayor and the sheriff, and I wondered who my hooded executioner was as my earlier assumption was obviously wrong.
A voice and hot breath eventually whispered in my ear, and I recognized it as belonging to my last sadistic professor who introduced me to this peculiar obsession.
"Now listen to me carefully" she hissed, "forty lashes with a strap is nothing like my ping pong paddle, and if this gets too much for you, I want you to flip me off so that I know to back it down some. You must still receive the full count, but I am quite skilled at this, and can either make this very fun for both of us, or quite terrible for one of us!"
"I also have two presents for you, not that you deserve them."
The first "present" was a dowel, just like the one she had given me to bear down on while she paddled me bent over her desk last semester. I opened my mouth to accept her present deeply, knowing it had the purpose of preventing me from injuring myself should things get out of hand, as well as gagging me. A leather strap was already tied on one end, and she passed the strap around the back of my head and tied it off firmly on the other, making it impossible to drop it this time.
I now knew why she wanted me to flip her off instead of using some kind of safe word.
The second "gift" she held in her hands next to my ear as the crowd started to get noisy in anticipation of my punishment. I could still hear whatever it was clack together as she shook her hands while grasping them loosely. She opened her perfectly manicured fingers slightly in front of my eyes so I alone could see what she held, and I was surprised to see two ceramic "balls" captured within.
"These can make this quite entertaining, but only if I use the real strap, as I had every intention of doing with you anyway!"
I nodded my head as any speech was out of the question for me at the moment, but still giving her my permission to place the entertaining little balls that I had heard about, but never used.
She made it look as if she were checking my ankle chains, and she used her body to block the tourists from seeing her place the items deep inside my slick womanhood with surprisingly little resistance. They were cold, but I was so wound up that they would be as warm as I was in seconds. I felt them inside there, and had to clamp down on them to keep them from slipping out, as she had warned me if they did I could expect the full deal from her with very little in the way of mercy.
My executioner backed away and retrieved her strap from where she had laid it, and then approached me and delivered the first swat squarely on my ass as I clenched up to prevent her from dislodging the little balls she had placed deep inside of me. They bumped into each other in their warm hiding spot, but I still screamed out around my gag as her blow stung like mad. The resounding crack the strap made as it contacted my ass told the more attentive spectators that this was much more real than they thought it should be, but the woman who was delivering my punishment was known to be experienced in such things. I was determined not to beg for mercy from this woman, and the second blow was even harder than the first, actually bouncing me off of the post I was riding as my costume tore away below my back and the little balls smacked into each other hard enough to make me twitch.
My executioner stopped her assault and approached the crowd, telling them that those were only warm ups and didn't count, and if they didn't keep track of her lashes for her she might have to start all over again. The crowd cheered her humor, but before she continued she reached into the neck line of my costume and tore it from my body and threw it to the ground in front of the platform. The crowd went absolutely mad, and my executioner went back to her position behind me, and wound up and swung. The resounding crack delivered on the bare flesh of my ass made a sound like no other, and she held her index finger aloft signifying one, or the first of forty. The crowd chanted "one", and I had thought she was only kidding about starting all over again.
I made no effort to control my yelps, not that I could have, but the little balls were also making themselves known as I twitched with the first hint of an approaching orgasm of epic proportions. I mashed my arms and legs about the whipping post with my breasts bisected by it, and I watched the assembled group of people getting more and more aroused with every shot, just like I was. Some of the men had their ladies in front of them as they watched the spectacle, and the men were grinding on their ladies asses as they stared at my torment, and some of the ladies were grinding back. It was obvious that they were using my torment as a kind of visual aphrodisiac, and I felt quite used because of it.
Swat number seven brought about my first orgasm that I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to. I clutched the whipping post fiercely, as if holding on to a lover for dear life. The devilish little balls vibrated around inside of me with my contractions like they had a life of their own, but eventually the aftershocks subsided. I was slick with desire, and it was running down both thighs in a shameless display as I am sure many realized. I ironically had possibly the best orgasm of my life as I was chained and naked while getting strapped in front of hundreds of people, and my executioner was even compassionate enough to allow me to experience it in total before she resumed her work.
At first I sensed she was holding back on me, possibly because my ass felt like it was bright red already, or maybe to allow the little balls bumping around inside of me to tease me to another orgasm. It then occurred to me that she used her strap like an extension of her body, and that she was playing with me. In her experienced hands it was like a sex toy to be skillfully used on another, and at the moment that was me.
When I tried to get into a rhythm with her she moved her point of impact randomly, and then it was a surprise when and where the next one landed. .
I made some new and very high pitched noises past my gag after the strap snuck around to bite some of the more tender areas on the front of my body. I still however refused to flip her off and take advantage of her secret offer of mercy, as I think she intended. I was engaged in a battle of sorts with the powerful woman behind me, and in my own way I intended to claim victory if she couldn't get me to make the secret request of her. It was a foolish thought because I was little more than a toy for her to play with, or more accurately, to be seen playing with...
When the crowd counted "forty" it almost seemed like it came too soon, I did get to have another orgasm at stroke number thirty seven, and she delivered the last three as I hung in my cuffs due to the total exhaustion of not only my punishment, but two incredible orgasms. I was a sweaty and sticky mess as she came up to me while the crowd filed past the platform down below, and she gave me a little peck on the cheek and told me I could keep her gifts.
By tradition I had to stay on display until all the spectators either walked past, or had left, and that meant I hung up against that post for another twenty minutes. I knew things would never be the same back at school, and certainly not with my classmates who had seen things I wish they never had while they no doubt critiqued my failed protest and resulting punishment.
The sheriff collected me and helped me walk back to my cell for the night on legs that wouldn't work quite properly. On the scraps of my torn prison costume I noticed coins and cash that were thrown there, and it looked like more than enough for me to buy some real clothes and a bus ticket back to the states. The sheriff saw my gaze and told me they were tips for my wonderful acting, and that I was free to go in the morning with them, if I wanted to...
story continues in part two
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