Gromet's PlazaMachine Stories

My Personal Trainer

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2022 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: Machine/f; F+/f; hum; petplay; training; machine; voy; naked; outdoors; electro; bond; susp; whip; cuffs; mast; cons; reluct; XX

Continues from

…"Sir?" I asked, and there was no response from the evil machine standing before me. I then spit out the switches that were in my mouth, thinking perhaps that Sir didn't understand my mumbled attempt at speech.

"Sir, this is urgent!"

"DID WE NOT JUST DISCUSS THE ONLY PROPER WAY FOR DOGS TO SPEAK WITH THEIR MASTER"?

"Master?" I questioned in my mind, didn't masters own slaves, or were we still on this ridiculous dog thing exclusively?

"But Sir, I have to pee, like really badly."

"SO ASK FOR IT LIKE A GOOD DOG. WHY DO YOU MAKE THIS SO DIFFICULT?"

How on earth do I answer such a complex question while whimpering and barking? I wonder to myself, with or without my mouth full. Perhaps it's a rhetorical question though, something I'm supposed to think about and then answer to myself? I have more urgent problems though, and this demanding physical need to pee is affecting the way I think…

"Sir, I'm really trying here, and I don't understand what you want me to do. I HAVE to go to the BATHROOM!" I told him, and my tone is just this side of a gritted teeth outright demand, but being forced to ask for such brings me all the way back to elementary school… Raise your hand and ask permission in front of the whole class to go to the bathroom, with a big wooden hall pass in your hands as you walk the empty halls, this the very definition of humiliation.

"YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM, THE BATHROOM IS A PLACE, AND YOU WILL ONLY GO THE PLACES I ALLOW YOU TO, AND YOU WILL ONLY DO THE THINGS I ALLOW YOU TO DO ONCE THERE. YOU HAVE TO PEE, URINATE, TINKLE, WHATEVER YOU'D LIKE TO CALL IT. WHAT YOU REALLY NEED IS TO EVACUATE LIQUID WASTE FROM YOUR BODY. YOU CAN DO THAT ALMOST ANYPLACE, BUT NOT ON THE PAVERS NEAR THE POOL, AND NOT ON THE GRASS EITHER, AND DON'T YOU DARE DO IT IN THE POOL!"

"Sir, I can't do that."

"YOU CAN'T MANAGE TO EVEN DO WHAT A DOG CAN DO? THINK ABOUT THAT FOR A SECOND OR TWO. CAN'T OR WON'T IS THE REAL QUESTION HERE; THE SOLUTION TO EACH IS OBVIOUSLY DIFFERENT."

"Sir, I don't want to do that. Biologically speaking I'm quite certain that liquid waste will be leaving my body shortly, whether I'd like it to, or not." I conceded.

"HUMANS ARE SOMEWHAT UNIQUE CREATURES IN THAT THEY FEEL VERY SPECIFIC TYPES OF STRESS, SOMETIMES THAT STRESS IS THE FEAR OF FAILURE, OR MORE ACCURATELY THE FAILURE TO ADEQUATELY PERFORM TO OTHERS PERCEIVED EXPECTATIONS. OTHER TIMES IT'S DEADLINE STRESS, AS IN THERE IS A FEAR OF BEING UNABLE TO PERFORM TASKS WELL WITHIN YOUR SKILL SET, BUT NOT WITHIN THE TIME YOU HAVE ALLOTTED YOURSELF, THIS IS OF COURSE A SELF IMPOSED PROBLEM…"

"Sir, please!"

"…AND WITHIN THAT TIME STRESS IS IMPENDING BIOLOGICAL ACTION, CHILDBIRTH IS ONE SUCH CONDITION, EITHER IN THE HUMAN WORLD, OR THE ANIMAL KINGDOM. ANOTHER INVOLVES MORE SIMPLE AND ROUTINE BODILY FUNCTIONS, LIKE THE ONE YOU SO DESPERATELY NEED TO DO. AT SOME POINT, GIVEN ENOUGH TIME, YOU WILL SIMPLY VOID OUT, YOUR BODY OVERRIDING YOUR CONSCIOUS DESIRES, AND IF YOU DO THAT HERE THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES. IF YOU DO IT WHILE I'M PUNISHING YOU WITH THE SWITCHES YOU'VE SELECTED, THERE WILL BE EVEN MORE SEVERE CONSEQUENCES. IN OTHER WORDS, IF I KEEP YOU HERE LONG ENOUGH, SOMETHING YOU WON'T DO WILL EVENTUALLY SEEM QUITE REASONABLE TO YOU, GIVEN THAT ENOUGH TIME STRESS IS APPLIED. THE HUMAN BODY IS DESIGNED THIS WAY, IT'S HOW SOMEBODY WITH A BROKEN LEG CAN RUN OUT OF A BURNING BUILDING, PAIN, STRESS, EMBARRASSMENT, AND EVEN FEAR ARE TEMPORARILY OVERRIDDEN FOR AN EVEN MORE IMPENDING NEED."

I knew this mechanical monster was right, and I hated that he knew human nature so well that he could use his knowledge against me, but I had bought him for this specific purpose. He was tormenting me as well, apparently having fun with it at my expense, and he knew it too, running out the clock with his long winded speech while trying to make some high minded point about self control. I realized all this logically, but I was powerless to do anything about it at the moment…

We were also done talking, and Sir had won this battle as well. I then frantically scampered off on all fours towards the edge of the grass so I could pee like a dog in the dirt under a small tree, right out under the open sky. I didn't make it all the way there though, instead squatting in the sloping grass, then spreading my legs about as far as I could when the need overwhelmed me. I groaned like I was having an orgasm. It felt so good, my face as well taking on that "I really needed this" contorted look. The sound of my pee hitting the grass was obscene out in the silent yard like that, and some of it even splashed back on my thighs. Then my downhill left knee started to feel warm and wet, and my relief at getting this waste out of me was replaced with the horror of the mess I had just caused myself, all while being watched and judged as seriously lacking - even as a dog - by my new mechanical master.

Act like a dog, sure! I couldn't even manage to do that without f-ing it up I chided myself


…In the desert Veronica and her friends were intently watching, and laughing so hysterically that they almost had something similar happen to themselves. Her servants had been sent from the room to keep this somewhat private, but they still peeked, humans being naturally curious as they are.

"This is better than anything on TV these days," one of her breathless friends observes with tears in her eyes, once she gets enough control over herself to actually speak coherently.

"I thought her eyes would cross!" another observed, causing all the ladies to break into another fit of deep eye watering laughter.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Veronica admitted to the first, after they all got control of themselves once again. These were allegedly cultured ladies, wealthy even, although they weren't acting like it at the moment. The ladies talk amongst themselves some more, the live-feed still "going" in the background; the tinkling sound still heard softly through the high end surround sound system's many speakers. They didn't necessarily want to watch another woman pee in her yard like a dog, but the overwhelming humiliation at being made to submit and do something like that for their amusement; that was the darkly fun part for them. Animals and crude men went to the bathroom outside, at least in their world.

The ballet, fashion, gossip, as in who's sleeping and cheating on whom, or who was in financial or relationship distress; that's the kind of things that these ladies ordinarily got together to discuss, but never if Ray was around. Not any of the other husbands either, it just wasn't done like that in high society; the men had their busy lives chasing more wealth, and the ladies their own sometimes boring and pointless ones. It was a very comfortable cage, but it was still a cage, and they were still trapped in it, forced to live vicariously through the torments of another for a few minutes. This particular cage at least had the illusion of freedom though…

"Do you have interactive control of that thing?" another friend inquired, her tone telling the other ladies that this isn't just idle curiosity. The ‘Sir’ series were supposed to be extremely secure, it was why the very wealthy are using them to replace their less secure human staff, and in light of this the feed they were all watching was curious.

It was also darkly amusing just watching the torment of such a snooty former model, one that foolishly let herself go all to hell. This was, after all, somebody that many boys and men lusted for back in her prime modeling days, and to a woman they also knew that her face was still that of a one time model, very stunningly pretty, if not slightly full from both age, and the extra weight she had packed on. But, the ladies had all met and spoke with this particular woman, they'd seen her well dressed hip swaying form at Veronica's wedding too, she had pretty much upstaged the bride with almost no effort at all, although it was left just a bit vague if that was her actual intention.

In any event, this wasn't the more common in-these-days computer generated character there on digital TV for them, nor even a living and breathing actress stranger, but instead a real and known person to the group, a fellow flesh and blood woman. In this day and age "live TV" was actually rare, and had come to mean living and breathing characters, instead of the computer generated ones that didn't need to be paid, or feel pain and injury, or need seven takes to do a single scene.

Watching such characters for a generation, growing up with them while exposed to whatever the young edgy writers of the day could dream up - they themselves looking to shock the viewing public and make a name - desensitized that same viewing population and muted their empathy. Such wasn't an accident, nor all that good for society either, which is why those that could lived behind large security fences, or very far from the big cities, and bad people with no apparent limits on their negative behavior prowled outside of those fences at night. Even that wasn't entirely fair though, those "bad" people were a product of the times as well, and those that were hungry and wanting could be most desperate; could do almost anything for what they needed, and that's without the influence of a plethora of now legal narcotics.

This living and breathing former model might also just be successful, and get fit enough to be of interest to one of their own husbands, and not necessarily just Ray. Their husbands had all seen this former model at Veronica's wedding, she was a quite charming and popular dance partner there, and had come stag to the event. It was of course odd to invite one's ex-wife to your wedding, but Ray had been insistent. As a one time model she also knew how to walk, and how to dress to hide what she wished, and obviously flaunt the rest. She also had the well earned reputation of a sour and sharp tongue though, but she had worked especially hard at not showing that particular side of her lacking character that night, she'd been on her very best behavior for Ray at his second ever wedding, although he hadn't specifically asked for such. Ray noticed this, but more importantly, Veronica noticed that Ray noticed.

Had the "classy" ladies actually been there on that lawn, standing on that same grass near the pool and watching and hearing this living breathing human go through this embarrassing ordeal, they likely would have felt obligated to do something, but watching anonymously as they were on the flat screen these things had a less than real detached feeling. It was an odd thing and hard to put to words, but watching in the air conditioned comfort of that fine home, and on the flat screen as they were, the tormented Jessica couldn't see them watching, see them being much less than cultured and refined themselves. It was one thing to be privately uncultured, quite another for the general public to see you being so. None of these ladies, for instance, would ever go to a big city strip club, but they all had interactive porn accounts on their computers and smartphones, and they all got off on what they watched and heard there, some of that quite intense and not for the faint of heart.

"The deeper the pockets, the deeper the kink," had been observed a billion times before, and these ladies all had very deep pockets, or more accurately their hands in some very deep pockets. It was the price of admission to the proverbial club that they all presently belonged to. The men would let them have their fun too, right up until a point, they just wouldn't want to know the specific details of that fun, nor obviously be embarrassed by it…

This was also a potential real world future competitor here, who might just be successful in her goals of getting back into shape and reforming her sour character. And, it might just be best to deal with her while they could, put her in her proper place, and if they could have some twisted and sick vicarious fun while doing so, so much the better. This was brought to them via TV after all, they could turn it off any time they liked, or even pretend not to watch the rougher parts, but with Sir's autonomous programming the action would still be happening in the background, twenty-four seven, the highlights no doubt recorded for later viewing and study…

This might be dark, and certainly less than courageous, but it was also safe doing it in this way, the Sir was doing all the proverbial heavy lifting here. As a result, the "ladies" could be as evil and cruel as they wished, through their surrogate Sir, with little real world consequences; at least for them. They were also caught up in their friend's vengeance, although vengeance for what exactly was left just a bit vague to them, surely not just the dress she wore to the wedding, or the way she walked in heels. That would change though, Veronica would have to let her friends in on what she was doing, what her own goals were. It was a form of demented fun doing something like this, dominating and vanquishing a potential foe in this manner, but exponentially more satisfying if others in your close circle of friends could watch along with you, see the spectacle unfold before their eyes too. Such would also be a warning if any of the other ladies wished to perhaps one day trade up to "her" Ray…

"In real time," Veronica boasts, the venom clear in her tone, reminding her friends who specifically had engineered this unique retribution in the first place. Getting control of another's Sir was a serious matter; hostile nations would like to be able to do such things, the Sir series efficiently lethal with the right motivations. This was much worse than leaving a loaded weapon lying around the house someplace, as this "weapon" had a mind of its own and could fire at will in any proverbial direction.

"In real time?"

"What are you thinking?" Veronica asks. She has no proverbial skin in this game at all with the Sir on the job, but any guilt she may one day feel would be more evenly distributed if the other ladies in attendance actually helped with their own evil suggestions, instead of just passively watching. This was of course a "next step" for the gathered ladies, but Veronica was deep-down a manipulative soul, and nudging her friends down a certain pre chosen path came as easily as breathing to her. This was no chance occurrence, she didn't have to invite them over to see this; she had chosen to.

This was after all serious dark fun too - for them - a kind of interactive, but real quasi-porn. A second consideration would be any of the ladies having a change of heart and ratting Veronica out to Ray at some later point, or even the authorities. But, if they were also personally involved with this sadistic show, as scenario or ordeal suggesting participants, they couldn't easily do that. They were soon to go from amused spectators to conspiring accomplices, accessories to the crime, but even this didn't feel really real to them, presented as it was on the big screen.

"How does this thing work, exactly? The Sir series are supposed to be very secure, it's one of their big selling points." The cultured lady asking this question had desperately wanted a Sir for herself, right up until she had visited with Veronica this morning, and saw for herself what other things it could also be made to do…

"It has a program like they all do, well several interwoven programs actually. Its two complimentary primary directives here are to totally break her will, crush her into a submissive nothing, and then rebuild what's left, to allegedly correct her nasty toxic behavior. This is a parallel to prisoner reconstruction and rehabilitation, something the early Sir series were actually built for. Its secondary function is to get her back into modeling shape once again, both weight and conditioning.

To make this possible she has, by her own choice, and in desperation, overridden most of the safety protocols already; and short of intentionally maiming or killing her, that thing will do what it's been instructed by her to do. The irony is she actually paid for this herself, although with Ray's money, which by my way of thinking is really my money. How I got actual access to that specific machine is my own business, but I plan on having a grand time with this, and that grand estate for myself one day as a second vacation home, with that little former model ex-wife of Ray's as my repurposed and humbled human maid. I'll probably keep the Sir for security purposes though, just in case, that big fence you saw there isn't just for show you know."

"Don't worry, you girls can visit my little prison camp as often as you like, make that little bitch work her sassy ass off for you even. Do what you want with her, or to her, it'll be an absolute blast."

"How are you going to get Ray on board for that?" one of them asks. It was no secret that Ray was a good guy, and that he's still looking out for his former model wife; she actually has a larger estate than he presently lives in himself. Their current place in the desert is nothing to be ashamed of either though, and it's actually more convenient for his work, closer to the airport he uses quite frequently as he often travels, as he's presently doing.

"All in due time," Veronica told her friend.

"So this is in real time, as in right now?" the one clarified. She's obviously going someplace with this; she's laser focused on this specific detail.

"So I said. You don't believe me though, I can hear it in your voice."

"It's not that, it's just that seeing her fat ass whipped with the switches she was forced to gather would be super hot and satisfying, I'm kind of looking forward to that part to be honest," she admitted with a mischievous smile. There was almost a sexual hunger and light in her pretty green eyes when she says this, very important to her for some reason. This particular woman, Beth, was a walking contradiction, very pretty, and well dressed too; between what she is wearing in both clothing and jewelry a more common woman could buy a nice car. Her rough words and hunger to watch this spectacle unfold are something that would likely make a common laborer cringe though, the two apparently out of sync with each other.

"Me too. Okay, now I understand. It has its autonomous programming mode, and its training goals, but ‘we’ can modify those within the nearly open-ended parameters of her original modified program; remember, she did this to herself, we're just having some fun while helping. We're just providing the creative juice that makes this fun. Robots don't really do creative all that well, but they know how to get to a measurable end goal. More on that later though…"

"Anyway the prison program it's also running can be a bit rough, with rough punishments scaled to match the misbehavior, sass and backtalk are one thing, outright refusal to do something or attempted escape are something different. Again, how I managed to make this all happen is a bit of a technical trick, but it's my trick. Anyway, if I play warden here, tell Sir, with a text, that I still wanted to see her properly whipped, maybe even tell him how many strokes she should get, and if that works within his initial program goals, and it doesn't cause permanent physical harm, he'll likely do it. His first goal is to slowly break her will, utter eventual submission, but how he, and really ‘we’, get there, has limitless opportunities for fun. For instance, I told him rather vaguely right before you all got here that I wanted to see her treated like a dog, and what you see here is the result."

"How many strokes do you think she'll get?" Veronica asks rhetorically, but not with a real-world care for the answer one way or the other.

"I have a better idea…" she continued, obviously making this up on the fly. "…why don't we all write our suggestions on a scrap of paper, and I'll text them to Sir and let him decide which he likes?"

"I like it, what does the winner get?" her focused sadistic friend Beth asked. This is a real breathing flesh and blood woman pixelated on the big screen, but because it's on TV and not right before them, they are all divorced from the reality of what they're causing, in this particular case in real time. There just is no human empathy at all to be found in the entire group, green eyed Beth just happens to be the most vocally outspoken of the bunch.

"How about the winner gets to choose her next torment?"

"Oh, I like it," but then Beth went on to describe what she thought might be more fitting, and by this she really meant what she thought might be fitting if it was one day done to her instead, although she'd never have the courage to ask for such, let alone do it. Her friends saw right through her interest though, and they knew her unique porn interests too. Her own husband was surely a very lucky man, but he likely didn't know exactly how lucky, less her unsated hunger for kink wouldn't have to take this vicarious dark path with another.

"10…3…5…7." With the numbers messaged via text to Sir, and the rather unique Beth-supplied suggestion for how they might be specifically administered too, the ladies in their friend's desert mansion waited anxiously to see what happened, their pointless lives suddenly not quite so pointless…


"SEE HOW EASY THAT WAS PIDDLE PUP, ALTHOUGH IT SHOULD BE OBVIOUS THAT YOU IN FACT HAD YOUR LITTLE TINKLE ON THE GRASS, WHERE I SPECIFICALLY FORBID YOU FROM DOING SO."

What the hell was I actually thinking when I gave this thing full control over me, and why on earth had I told it specifically to call me degrading names that weren't profane? I wondered while trying to find the humor in all this. This was a temporary private prison, a nice prison, but prison all the same; one I even specifically paid and asked for, and my new sadistic jailer was standing tall and menacing before me. He could make my life a living hell in the short term if I pushed his buttons, but he couldn't really injure me, or at least I was pretty sure of that.

"Sir, I don't think I like being a dog," I tried experimentally, just to test the limits here in a less confrontational way.

"A CURIOUS NEW TONE AND POSITION, AS I DON'T THINK YOU HAPPEN TO MAKE A VERY GOOD DOG EITHER. IF SOMETHING DOESN'T WORK, WE TRY SOMETHING THAT DOES, AND I PROMISE YOU THAT I DON'T GIVE UP EITHER. ARE YOU REQUESTING THAT I TREAT YOU AS A HUMAN INSTEAD, ON A TRIAL BASIS MAYBE?"

"Can I do that, Sir?"

"YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU LIKE, IT'S THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS AFTER THE FACT THAT YOU MUST BE WARY OF."

Was this not in direct contradiction to his earlier position that I'll only go the places he lets me, to do the things he'll let me do once there? I understood the consequences message obviously, it's something that I must specifically learn here, or perhaps relearn, but I also thought I was missing something too. I don't exactly know what I expected here, when I initially hatched this crazy plan, but I didn't think things would go sideways like this for me in such short order either. I expected to maybe have some control over this experience, where it seems that another has control instead; but who knew that programmers could be so cruel and sadistic, or a machine so creative in its application?

"Sir, what are the consequences of you treating me like a human here, going forward, as opposed to like a dog?"

"A WISE QUESTION TO ASK JESSICA. DOGS DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT OFFENDING, SAYING THE WRONG THINGS, ONLY PIDDLING IN THE WRONG PLACE, OR PERHAPS BARKING AT THE WRONG TIME, OR EVEN SLIPPING THEIR COLLAR AND LEASH. BEING A DOG WOULD BE A RATHER CAREFREE EASY LIFE FOR YOU ON SOME LEVEL, BUT IT HAS ITS LIMITS OBVIOUSLY. I AM CHARGED WITH CREATING A BETTER MORE USEFUL HUMAN AFTER ALL, NOT MAKING A BETTER DOG OUT OF YOU. HUMANS WHO MAKE MISTAKES GET CORRECTED, AND ONES THAT MISBEHAVE GET PUNISHED. THEY GET THEIR SOUR SNARKY TONE PUNISHED WITH A SWITCH TOO, WHICH I STILL OWE THE HUMAN YOU, IF YOU SO CHOOSE TO ELEVATE YOURSELF AND TAKE THAT PATH."

"Sir, I'd really like it if you could treat me like a human going forward, consequences and all." At least I was back to being called Jessica, so this was progress; but at what eventual cost?

"YOU HAVE COURAGE JESSICA, I'LL GIVE YOU THAT. OR, IS THERE SOMETHING ELSE HERE FOR YOU?"

"I don't think I understand, Sir."

"I THINK YOU DO, BUT I'LL GIVE YOU THE BENEFIT OF DOUBT FOR A MOMENT HERE. 'MISBEHAVE' AND 'PUNISHED' ARE BOTH WORDS THAT HAVE SPECIFIC CONNOTATIONS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, AS IT HAPPENS YOUR PRIMARY BASE LANGUAGE, AND BOTH WERE CHOSEN BY ME SPECIFICALLY TO TEST YOUR SINCERITY AND GAUGE YOUR INTEREST."

"Sir, I still don't understand," I lied, as I well knew that both words caught me off guard, and I felt my heart skip and the slight smirk creep to my face at the mere thought. If my own former human staff had only once revolted, taken the initiative and stripped me bare, and then dragged my naked struggling form to the center of the courtyard and paddled me right there like a naughty little girl, until I was reduced to pleading and begging real-tears, all of this could have been avoided. And afterwards, I would have been most grateful and humbled too, as in "I will do anything" to make atonement for my earlier actions.

It was therefore their fault, and Ray's, and a hundred other people's along the way that I had become the self-centered monster that I now am. I could behave when I really had to, put on that type of pretend show, but my natural normal state was the snarky monster one; the one that must be eradicated, by extreme measures if necessary.

"AND WE WERE MAKING SUCH PROGRESS THERE FOR JUST A BIT, MY DISHONEST CHARGE. HOW SHALL I PUNISH YOUR MISBEHAVIOR, AND YOUR LACK OF CANDOR WITH ME?"

"Anyway you see fit I should think," I told my Sir, knowing I had been caught in a lie. Both words had a profound almost sexual effect on me, and the worst part was that my Sir now knew this as well, my little secret was therefore out. I deserved this, and I needed this unique form of atonement too, the irony of a machine having to make me a better human, once again not lost on me in the slightest.

"INDEED!"


…Back in the desert the watching ladies were hardly blinking, they at least had forewarning though as to what was coming next, as they had discussed it in detail between themselves and then specifically requested it of Sir, so as to see just a bit more of his capabilities dynamically. He had verbally manipulated things so adroitly that it almost seemed to the ladies that these were Sir's ideas, and not their own twisted and sadistic ones brought to the proverbial light of day by this complex machine. Words and the finer nuances of language were obviously two of his many skills, but as compared to the more physical ones, perhaps his weakest traits.

There was of course that unique voice of command though, but it's unclear if the ladies in the desert knew about that at this point, as each unique "tone of command" was unique human to human. It's something that must be honed and polished to perfection, an almost moving target that requires a very smart machine to pull off consistently. This was a really much more of a physical machine though, designed around physical security, controlling unruly humans physically, violently if necessary, and it was this world that he was designed to operate in most efficiently. There was a time for words, and a time for blindingly fast actions too…

Seen objectively, the Sir series was a powerful and frightening machine, and the ladies, to include Jessica, had so far only seen a small sample of what it could do, using it's perhaps least impressive skills. This was something that simply shouldn't exist, but by the watching ladies' way of thinking, this was negated by the fact that they had control of it. It was their exclusive toy to use, abuse, and torment the sometimes snarky Jessica with; but control is sometimes a temporary thing too. To a woman they had already collectively decided that none of them would ever be purchasing a Sir series machine of their own, this thing just too dangerous of a toy to have about in one's "own" home, despite the entertainment they were presently getting from this one in anothers.

None of this stopped any of them from staring at the big screen and waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop either…


"…SELECT A NUMBER BETWEEN THREE AND TEN JESSICA."

"I don't understand, why Sir?"

"BECAUSE I TOLD YOU SO."

"Very well, three Sir," I told him, although I don't know why I chose that one, other than maybe it was the minimum number choice I was given. Was this part of my "do and chose the minimum" attitude in life, as in do the very least required to get by? I wondered to myself.

"PREDICTABLE, BUT BE THAT AS IT MAY, I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER THAT NUMBER, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE YOU TO FORGET IT."

"I still don't understand Sir."

"YOU WILL. WHEN I TELL YOU TO RUN I WANT YOU TO RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN TO THE DRIVEWAY GATE, TO SIMULATE AN ESCAPE ATTEMPT. IF YOU GET THERE BEFORE I GET TO YOU, YOU'LL ONLY RECEIVE THREE SWATS ON YOUR RATHER PROMINENT FLESHY BEHIND, AND NOT THE FULL TWENTY FIVE THAT YOU DESERVE. BUT IF YOU FAIL TO EVADE ME YOU WILL RECEIVE THE FULL COUNT, AND THEN WHAT YOU HAVE COMING TO YOU FOR LYING TO ME EARLIER."

"Sir, can I actually outrun you?"

"THAT IS THE BENCHMARK THAT I WISH TO ESTABLISH, AND I THINK YOUR MOTIVATION SHOULD BE SUFFICIENT, UNLESS YOUR YEARNING FOR PUNISHMENT CLOUDS THIS GOAL FOR YOU, BUT AGAIN, THIS IS SOMETHING TO LEARN AS WELL."

"ESCAPE, RUN, MY BULKY CHARGE!"

stood there dumbfounded and staring, expecting some kind of "get ready" warning first, but when Sir lurched forward on his rubber tracks I remembered what I was to do, all to avoid my twenty five strokes, basically being whipped with the switches I had selected. Where the number twenty five specifically came from was a mystery, but it sounded unnecessarily harsh to me at the time.

I held my boobs with one arm to stop them from flopping around while I ran barefoot for the gate, but even doing that I'm quite certain that running in my skin at my present weight wasn't a very pretty sight. I didn't dare look over my shoulder to see how far behind Sir was, but I did soon hear something that reminded me of a hovering hummingbird, right before the tall grass rose up to meet my face and things went black…

…My limbs had just suddenly stopped moving, but I was still trembling uncontrollably and face down in the grass, not entirely certain what had just happened. It hurt like hell though, starting at my hip and radiating outward, I was quite certain of that part. A trip and fall perhaps, medical emergency even? But, that just didn't make any sense, the uphill grass where I had landed was likely the softest and smoothest on the whole estate, nothing at all to trip on, and nothing to injure myself on when I hit either. Sir then grabbed both ankles and rolled me over as I looked at the hovering device over what would be his shoulder if he were human, this thing some kind of drone like the ones they sometimes used to deliver small packages, only this one had a cord running from it to my thigh. It sounded like a big angry hummingbird hanging there in the air, and this maybe explained the curious noise I heard right before I fell. I watched Sir remove the little pronged dart-like devices from my leg, and the hovering device dropped it's end and landed on Sir, returning back inside him through a hidden top door.

Of course the blasted thing had drones built in, I paid extra for them too, but I assumed that they were for observation, as in a spare set of electronic eyes, not a spare set of electronic fangs for this mechanical monster standing over me triumphantly.

I had never been Tasered a single time in my entire life, and the only good thing I could say was that I had already had my tinkle, as I surely would have wet myself if I hadn't. I still didn't have control of my muscles, but my brain was racing to figure out why Sir would do this to me, it seemed unnecessarily sadistic, even for him. Unless he wanted to demonstrate this capability of his for some reason that I didn't yet know. I didn't know they actually put Tasers on drones, but it made sense that they would, from a security standpoint, eyes AND teeth, all in one quick little highly maneuverable package. I wasn't really escaping through, this was a mock drill, or at least it was supposed to be. It just didn't make any sense.

"PRISONERS ATTEMPTING ESCAPE WILL BE STRUNG UP AND PUBLICLY WHIPPED TWENTY FIVE TIMES FOR A FIRST OFFENSE, AND HAVE AN ADDITIONAL YEAR ADDED TO THEIR SENTENCE." Sir proclaimed, as if making an announcement to a courtyard full of inmates and wishing everybody to hear. I couldn't verbally respond yet, and I couldn't really move my appendages either, but I also noticed that Sir still had a firm grasp on my ankles, pinning them wide and immobile to the soft grass with two of his many arms. Twenty five strokes with a switch were probably exponentially better than twenty five with a bullwhip though, something I could see happening in the "good old days" when prison was someplace nobody wanted to go. Hard ways for hard men though, or so the books of the time claimed, but one could also make an equal case for sadistic entertainment for a sadistically minded jailer.

How would one like me have fared in such an environment, back in the day? I wondered silently.

As I laid on my back staring up at my Sir machine, the one that just Tasered me flat on my face while running, the indignity of the affair started to brew in my seething mind. This thing just attacked me, unprovoked, ME, I OWNED THIS DAMN THING!

"Bastard!" I called him, staring him down angrily when I could finally form words again.

"IF I HAD A HEART, SLOWPOKE, I'D BE HURT. AS IT IS WE'LL HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT SHARP CURSING TONGUE OF YOURS THOUGH. PROFANITY IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE FORM OF EXPRESSION AND MUST BE CORRECTED, BUT NO WORRIES, I HAVE JUST THE THING TO KEEP THAT TONGUE OF YOURS IN CHECK…"

Even though Sir had exponentially upped the ante on this game of ours - that didn't really seem very much like a game any longer - I instantly knew that I had gone too far in calling him a bastard. As evidence of this Sir whisked my high into the air by my ankles none too gently, my own hands keeping my head from dragging through the grass as he did so. I was reminded of his mass and physical power, this thing outweighed me by hundreds of pounds, holding my body aloft and inverted by my ankles didn't even make him sway on his tracks. He took me towards the willow tree as I watched from my down low inverted position, the place where a great deal of this started just a short time ago by the clock, but a lifetime ago by experience.

He stopped under a stout branch at least ten feet from the ground, and with other arms not seen by me put a heavy cargo strap like thing first on one ankle, then on the other, hanging me from the limb inverted like a freshly slaughtered hog. The straps were at least four inches wide and crossed over my ankles and went outwards, holding my legs spread wide, but other than that actually quite comfortable considering my present weight. These were a kind of suspension cuff, and while I didn't have the courage to either own, nor play with such things personally, I did get myself off regularly while watching others getting strung up in them and abused, usually with a whipping scene, as those had become my recent favorites.

Living without a lover, my own personal porn tastes had grown quite dark lately, and it was this and a hundred other things that had convinced me that I needed to do something to fix myself, before I was too old to. This of course led to my Sir device hanging me by my ankles from a tree, an ironic unforseen chain of events to be sure.

All this seemed so logical and well thought out, even as late as this morning; what exactly happened between then and now? I asked myself just as logically.

…Another's human input, as a wild variable in the calculation, was the answer, but I of course didn't know about that at the time…

I put my wrists together behind my back as I hung there without being asked, knowing from my porn viewing favorites that this position was one of two that offered maximum exposure to my naked flobbly flesh. I maybe didn't look quite exactly like a shar-pei dog, but I felt like one hanging on display for Sir like that, fortunately exclusively for my Sir though, as he alone would experience my rehabilitation humiliation; or so I intended. This position as well had my hair hanging well out of the way of what I knew to be coming next.

Sir then put some wide cuffs on my wrists as well, and then attached a short cable with a spike on it, driving the spike deep into the dirt and pulling my arms down behind me in the process. My boobs hung to my chin, and my excess flesh hung as well, so I felt my weight in a unique and odd way. Again, this was not likely the most appealing visual picture in the world, and I was once again happy that Sir couldn't share these rather unflattering images with anybody else. In my mind Sir was as secure and private as anything could be in this modern world, his famous trademark all but confirmed it for me, and I was equally secure in this fallacy, as were hundreds of thousands of other wealthy customers all over the globe…

"DON'T GO AWAY MY FOUL-MOUTHED CHARGE." Sir tells me sarcastically, he then tracking away to leave me hanging there with my thoughts, and in anticipation of my first ever long overdue corporal punishment. I'm of two minds here, first is the indignity of my treatment over the last few hours, we weren't even fully into our first day together. This thing, this Sir, had easily dominated me as if I were an ignorant child, established the pecking order here on my estate with me on the very bottom. It was a new humbling position for me, one I had no experience with personally, and to punctuate that new experience he was going to physically punish me, punish my bottom with the switches I had selected for him to use on me. This would cement our new relationship, the one where I served him and did his bidding, and not the other way around.

…Yes I had initially asked for something like this to correct my behavior, but Sir with that unique voice of his had intimidated me into giving the codes and bank routing numbers on my mind at that instant, likely the only ones he knew as he had prompted me with them. I had more than one account obviously, but the way Ray had set me up here there was a house account that all things house, or estate related, were to be paid out of. He did this as a gift, there was no legal obligation on his end to do so, he just did it. This was the account that staff salaries were drawn from, groceries, data, and the electric bill as well - plus a bunch of other things too numerous to list that Ray took care of personally - so it made sense that Sir's "salary" would draw from the same account. I gave it no more thought than that at the time, but Sir hadn't given me much opportunity for real thought when I became flustered, as it would have been far wiser to have given my own personal account information for the unique programming changes to Sir. I could easily afford this, Ray had set me up most generously in that way as well, but that part actually WAS part of the settlement; I got a boatload of revenue generating investments, and he retained the title to the estate that I still considered mine…

My other mindset was that this was exciting, sexually exciting if I were to be honest with myself. With all his sensors, and probably even the watch I was still wearing, Sir had figured that right out. A big part of me got off on this, at least in concept, because as I've said, being dominated and punished in the real world was something completely new for me. I seriously got off on it poragraphically; watching such things on the big screen in surround sound while entertaining myself really got me "there," but the scary part for me was that each time I needed deeper and more "out there" kink to take me to the place I wanted to be. In those depictions I identified most with the "victim," the one having XYZ done to her, usually against her will as she was bound and struggling, and many times begging for mercy in between the cracks of the whip or flogger. I say "victim" lightly, because the women in those scenes got off on all that rough treatment, just as I got off with them while watching in the privacy of my massive bedroom; assuming of course that those actresses were human and not computer generated as was the norm these days.

There were a few notable differences in my mind between those paid porn "victims" playing a part for my torturous dark entertainment and myself though. I was doing this solo, nobody was watching my debasement, and secondly, no other human was doing this to me, a rather complex machine was instead; or again so I thought at the time…

"OPEN YOUR POTTY MOUTH AND STICK OUT YOUR TONGUE" I was told, pulling me back to the here and now with Sir standing before me; my face reddening with the blood flowing to it hanging as I was. To remind me what could happen if I should choose not to, that menacing taser drone was again hovering behind me, with a clear shot at everything from my ankles to my shoulders. I felt the chill of its many spinning rotor blades on the bare skin of my spread legs, telling me how close it really was, and how impossible it would be for it to miss, even something quite tender positioned as I was.

With little choice I therefore did what I was told, resistance at this late stage of the game not a serious option for me…

"FURTHER," Sir commanded, my tongue now sticking out painfully, and I felt ridiculous doing so. I watched in horror as he cut one of the switches into pieces with a shear he had built into one of his many arms, looking like something the gardeners used to prune heavy limbs from a shrub. If it could cut through heavy limbs, it could easily cut through much softer things, like fingers and toes if he wanted, the frightening thought brought home by his working inches from my face as I was helplessly suspended and bound.

His cuts yielded two ten inch sticks, and it was with these and some rubber bands that he captured my tongue, trapped in between the two and impossible to pull back into my open mouth without injury. It felt ridiculous, but it didn't really hurt, although forming intelligible words, curse words or otherwise, was all but impossible now. Sir had kept his word though, my tongue and less than welcome speech apparently wouldn't be a problem, for the next few minutes anyway. Excess drool would be though…

Sir's drone was hovering around like a camera man trying to get the perfect angle, and this plus a hundred other clues should have told me that this "show" was for more than Sir's eyes. Perhaps I was in denial, or perhaps I had put too much faith in that famous trademark, forgetting the human element present in everything, but I digress…

Sir swings the remaining uncut switch past my face with an ominous swish sound as it cuts through the air, I both hear the foreboding sound of its passage, and feel the displaced air on the sensitive skin of my face. I can't back away, or even hold my hands to my face to block and protect, the feeling of being very exposed and helpless almost overwhelming to me. I think my cringing face gives this away, and I just hold as still as I can so that Sir doesn't miss and pummel my face accidentally.

Sir is soon standing alongside me, and with his many arms, and his overall bulk, he can target almost any part of my naked body like this. The drone is now hovering right in front of me, so as to get a great facial close up shot of this first ever for me. I hear that first angry swish through the air behind me, and I've steeled myself for it's stinging bite across my exposed ass, but instead I feel it's bite across my straining shoulder blades. I'm surprised by it's delivery there, and my body reacts automatically, my hanging boobs jumping, and my body rocking in it's suspension. I squeal out of my held-open mouth in a most mournful tone, but the truth of it is that while this does sting and hurt, it's nowhere near actual torture. I can do this, I tell myself, and perhaps my face even gives this away.

"COUNT FOR ME JESSICA, OR WE START OVER," Sir tells me. It's not a threat, just the way things are, the rules of the game.

"Ooon." I try to annunciate as clearly as I can, with this unique gag in place.

The next one lands maybe six inches up from the first and is just as hard, in other words it's manageable, dare I say almost a letdown, although I dare not state that openly. In this case the gag is a good thing, odd though if thought about it in this way though. This time the very springy tip of the switch has tracked around my far side torso, and if not for the mass of my hanging boobs tugging them towards my chin this one would have gone across my right side nipple. That would have hurt like madd, but it still stung where it kissed my underboob.

"Ooo," I called out.

The next one is six inches up from the last, and a pattern is emerging, I am perhaps to be left looking like a zebra with its stripes by the time we're all done though. Sir isn't exactly drawing blood here, so again, this is manageable, but not exactly quite like foreplay either.

"Eeee" I called out…


"LOOK AT HER FACE! This is bullshit!" Beth calls out from back in the desert. "Is this foreplay, or a beatdown?" she then clarifies. Her tone gives her away, Beth perhaps with a bigger ax to grind than even Veronica has, although exactly why will have to be left for another day…

This apparent light treatment didn't stop any of the watching ladies from grinding on themselves, the building orgy-like lust present in that nice room impossible to miss, as was the frustration of more than one at the perceived missed mark here. One could smell the arousal and anticipation in that fine room, something akin to a shark feeding frenzy about to take place though.

"Harder!" one of them tells Veronica breathlessly, her own fingers quasi-discretely busy inside her panties trying to "enjoy" the show.

"MAKE THE LITTLE BITCH SCREAM!" Beth clarifies angrily for the group, to which there is nodding consensus in the room; each of the watching ladies in some stage of unabashed self entertainment as they sat separated from each other in the large room. Each could see and hear the large TV clearly though, and that was where the real drone captured action was, augmented with Sir's own cameras and microphones as necessary. This was like a homemade torture porn with somebody they knew as the star, the only thing better was maybe being that star, if one was inclined to have those thoughts and desires, as some of the ladies secretly did…

"HARDER, MAKE HER SCREAM!" Veronica rapidly pounds out on her smartphone in the form of a text, nearly shattering its touchscreen… after she snatched the thing from a nearby table and nearly lost it under a couch. She knew she had the whole room entranced with this torturous spectacle on her big screen - as was she herself - this was no time to go easy, there really was no motivation to, quite the oppisite in fact.

"COMPLIANCE," was the one word reply from Sir, Veronica's earlier text requests not even generating any kind of a response though…


Sir had actually wound up with his switch to give me number four when he stopped mid swing, I heard the swish through the air suddenly stop, and at first I thought Sir had found a new way to torment me. I held myself clenched up in anticipation of that coming blow until he got back in front of me and spoke.

"THERE IS THE THREE YOU HAD OPTED FOR EARLIER," Sir explained, although this just confused me further. I expected the full twenty five he had promised, and then maybe something after that even. To compound my confusion Sir removed my rather unique tongue grabbing gag, it was covered in my drool anyway and I was obviously grateful to be rid of it, but I had expected far more from this first ever corporal punishment of mine that this.

"YOU WILL REMAIN HERE WHILE YOU PONDER THE GRAVITY OF YOUR ACTIONS. I WILL SOON RETURN TO GIVE A MUCH MORE PROPER PUNISHMENT, ONE FITTING FOR YOUR ATTEMPTED ESCAPE."

I didn't say a word, but I wondered why Sir had to leave just to come back and punish me some more. It obviously wasn't a real escape attempt, but I didn't think it was in my best interest to point that out at the moment either. "The gravity of my 'your' actions" was a form of humor maybe too, although I didn't know if Sir actually had a sense of humor, nor what kind it was if he did. I also had noticed that the little Taser drone was still hanging around me, keeping an eye on me like a pacing and watching guard dog, just waiting for the command from its master to strike. Sir had gone in the direction of the house too, a further curiosity.

I hung there for what seemed an eternity as my face got even more red from excess blood, but it was likely only a few minutes, Sir then returning with something in one of his many arms. When he got closer I saw it to be one of my wide leather belts from one of my own well stocked closets… My former husband Ray had said none to kindly once that it seemed I never wore an outfit twice, and while that might be an exaggeration, looking good in clothing had once been my career, and I had several rooms full of clothes that I both fit into, and didn't any longer, both in style, and out. I hated to get rid of clothes too, it was like an obsession for me. The irony for me was that while I had rooms full of clothing, shoes, lingerie, and heels galore, I was presently nude by my new mechanical masters wishes. Rooms full of clothes, and I was out here in nothing but my excess skin, it was embarrassing to be honest; or it would be if somebody else were actually watching…

…Realization was a few seconds late in coming for me, but of all the things Sir could possibly grab from one of my closets, the belt he had chosen could only be for a single purpose.

"What are you going to do with that Sir?" I asked foolishly, the fear in my voice and expression most real now. The watching drone captured this as well, but I still didn't know what it was doing with this information, these recordings.

"PUNISH YOU ANY WAY I SEE FIT, TO PARAPHRASE YOUR OWN WORDS."

"You'll tear the flesh from my very bones with that thing!" I tell him, there is an obvious edge in my tone now, this is way not play time. I should obviously be frightened of my Sir on some level, and I am, but I'm almost irrationally frightened of that belt in his hands. The one, plus the other in my mind add up to far more than maybe they should.

"LOOK CAREFULLY AT THIS BELT, INMATE NUMBER ONE JESSICA, IT HAS BOTH A FINISHED SMOOTH SIDE, AND A ROUGH SIDE" Sir dragging the tail end of my belt up my face and letting it dangle inches from my eyes, amplifying my helplessness. I see what he means, and I also understand this has something to do with the way this animal hyde byproduct is actually made. Nobody has real natural leather anything these days, well almost nobody, except for the wealthy that can afford such things. Leather is a luxury in this day and age, food and shelter a necessity.

…The haves, and the have nots, there being an ultra thin dividing line between the two, and I am fortunate to be on the "haves" side of that. Just like my belt that Sir was dragging around my face, a smooth and easy side, and a rougher side that nobody is intended to see, the one nobody really cares about. It was profound for me, an awakening, and I then wondered what was to become of my former employees, the ones displaced by my Sir? Did they not like to eat too?

"THE SMOOTH SIDE WILL ONLY STING AND MAKE NOISE, THE ROUGH SIDE WILL LEAVE A LITTLE MORE OF A LASTING IMPRESSION, BUT THOSE WILL ALSO FADE IN TIME. IN EITHER EVENT I INTEND THE IMPRESSION IT WILL LEAVE IN YOUR MIND ABOUT THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR WORDS AND ACTIONS WILL BE MORE PERMANENT. I ASSUME YOU'LL CHOOSE THE EASY WAY HERE TOO, BUT I CAUTION YOU THAT I STILL EXPECT TO HEAR YOU SCREAM AND WHIMPER, OR I'LL JUST DO IT HARDER UNTIL YOU DO."

"I deserve none of this Sir," I told him solemnly.

"OH I THINK YOU DO."

"That's not what I mean, This fine house, this estate, all those nice things inside that fine house, none of it. I had earned some serious money modeling, but I spent serious money back in the day too, and that was also quite some time ago. I live like this now due to the charity of another, and I truly deserve none of it…"

"Do I still have a choice Sir, as to which side of the belt I'm to get?"

"YES JESSICA, YOU DO."

"Very well Sir, first off I'd like to apologize for calling you a bad name, and second, I'd like the rough side of everything between you and I here, going forward."

"YOU DO HAVE COURAGE JESSICA, OR PERHAPS MAYBE EVEN A SLIGHTLY SADISTIC STREAK? DO YOU REMEMBER THAT NUMBER FROM EARLIER?"

"I do Sir," and the second the words left my lips I realized that I could be answering either of his two questions, or even agreeing with his courage assessment. I let it stand though, I knew if Sir wanted clarity, he would seek it.

"USE IT IF YOU MUST, TO ESCAPE YOUR FATE."

"Yes Sir," I answered respectfully, but again I realized that my answer could apply equally to either question.

"KISS THE WHIP SO WE MAY BEGIN." Sir commands, which I do, although it seems odd and out of place.

Who exactly am I doing this for? I ask myself.


…Back in the desert the watching ladies' anticipation was also building after the brief intermission, but they had specifically asked for something harder that would make Jessica scream, and it appeared they were going to get it; and likely get off on it too. Jessica's confession about being undeserving of her station in life had faithfully been sent, but not necessarily received just as faithfully by those who needed that message almost as much as she did herself.

In other words, the ladies were painfully lacking in self-awareness; were they also not deserving of their comfortable easy life, and instead living off the charity of another? There were no deep introspective thoughts such as these to be had in that fine desert estate that day though, other than perhaps by the humble servants that had been sent from the room after the latest round of beverages had been properly served. The servants had also noticed the conspiratble mood in the room as well, all as the ladies watched their torture porn, not that this was something unique for this bunch; and they also best knew to stay away unless specifically summoned.

Sir's first blow with Jessica's borrowed leather belt landed precisely six inches up from his last one with the switch, those first three marks not even visible with the few minutes that had passed between them and the belt's. The ladies all watched the TV screen transfixed not only by the horrific action, but also the incredible punishing sound. The crack of the belt where it met bare flesh was an angry sound, it actually echoing off of something nearby and also faithfully reproduced a few milliseconds later in the high end surround sound system's many speakers, all for the watching ladies' dark pleasure. This clearly wasn't "play time" for Sir, fully into punishment mode with the hanging inmate number one, his first failed escapee of the day.

Jessica's bound and hanging body arched away from the blow reflexively, even before the scream left her open mouth, it a long drawn out wail that lasted until all the air trapped in her lungs had been fully exhausted. Tethered by her wrists behind her she wasn't going very far, but her reflexes didn't know that.

The blow had been aimed at her back, but the belt had snaked all the way around to her upper stomach. Sir had even quickly and expertly dragged the belt backwards, with it's rough side towards her skin as she had asked, twisting her body and making the welt that would soon form all that much more impressive.

The watching ladies perhaps didn't fully appreciate the velocity required to cause centrifugal force to overcome gravity, so that the relatively light belt could complete its menacing arc through the still air to Jecssica's bare flesh; the switch almost gentle in comparison. To a woman they all collectively realized that the last one really hurt, her face as well gave this away; Jessica's panting ragged follow up breaths both seen and heard in surround sound afterwards. The next blow snaked across her belly button, and the one after just above her mound, the raised welts several seconds behind each and also caught in high definition pixelation.

Jessica was a shuttering panting mess, and some of the ladies about the same, but for different reasons to be sure. Some had elected to rub themselves off through a layer of clothing, while others had shucked off some of theirs to gain better access, oblivious to any of their friends watching. It was almost like a teenage sleepover party, except these ladies were older than that, although one might not know it by their motivations. This was at best a childish form of envy and spite, not befitting one of wealth and means, let alone ones with such a powerful ally to do their bidding.

The next several blows formed a welted path from Jessica's right upper thigh to her ankle, the belt wrapping around her leg completely and causing her to rock violently and twist in her bonds, unsolicited muscular contractions mostly to blame. Sir then worked his way down her left leg, the rough count at fifteen when the watching ladies started to reach orgasm. The first one was Beth, who had stripped off her dress and had one hand crushing her breasts through her lacy bra as the other savaged her womanhood. Beth's vocal popping off got the other girls over the edge themselves, there nothing better for an orgasm than watching and hearing another have one.

Jessica was trying to catch her breath as the ladies were doing much the same, but in Jessica's case she still had more to go. The camera panned her abused sweaty body, but she didn't once cry, or beg for mercy either, as the ladies surely thought she would. They had used her and gotten what they wanted, they all had brought themselves off as she had vicariously entertained them live in real time, and Veronica could easily end this now with a simple text message, a proverbial reprieve from the warden so that she didn't get the full measure.

Instead Veronica looks over towards Beth, who hadn't bothered to get back into her dress just yet, she crashing low after her big orgasm. Veronica calls her friend over with her eyes, and Beth grabs her wine and makes her way over, the two ladies apparently having something in common in regards to Jessica.

"Look at the little bitch," Veronica tells her friend, gesturing at the TV with her half full wine glass.

"She looks like she got ran over by a delivery truck," Beth agrees, "fuckin hot as hell, thanks for letting me in on this."

"True, but look at her, really LOOK, the little bitch is getting off on this!"

"Seriously?"

"I'm pretty sure, she's nipping out and her snatch is all soaked, but Sir can find out for us in a little bit…"

As the two ladies are bantering between themselves about the best way to see if Jessica is getting off on this "punishment," little nervous conversations also start up around them, everybody wanting to get back to "normal" after all this. Sir has apparently decided to take his last ten strokes on the front side of Jessica's hanging body, starting at just under her hanging boobs so as to have a continuous ring of artistic red welts around her entire body.

The ladies are now in groups of twos and threes and facing each other, not really paying any attention to the suffering Jessica, the din of their independent conversations even gets louder to mask Jessica's screaming howls, nobody even looking at the big TV any longer, it's just background noise to them now…

28.05.2022

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