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Subject: {ASSM} Under Control - part twenty-five
Date: Tue, 18 Jan 2000 16:10:02 -0500
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Under Control - part twenty-five
copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish
granted to Christine Stevenson.
It was during the second session that Karen began to flag. She
kept on stumbling as they carried the trunks and, despite Paul's
urgings, seemed to get steadily weaker. He sensed Miss Delia's
eyes upon them and, though he was taking more of his share of
the work, sensed that, as a team, they were not doing well
enough.
"For Christ's sake make a bigger effort," he kept on saying, "or
we'll be for it."
"I . . I can't . . . . I c-can't . . . ." moaned Karen, sobbing
for breath.
"Think of that tawse on your bottom," warned Paul. But even that
frightening incentive seemed to make no difference. Then, on one
journey to the pile, Karen finally tripped and sprawled in the
dust . . . . bringing Paul down too.
Instantly, Delia's megaphone-loud voice boomed at them. "You two
.. . . over here . . . at once . . . ."
Karen and he struggled to their feet. Inwardly he cursed the
girl. One way or another she and trouble seemed to go together.
"Oh God . . . no . . . no . . . I couldn't help it, " she kept
whimpering as they doubled towards Miss Delia. Paul said nothing,
he had resigned himself to the inevitable.
"I've had my eye on you two," said Delia. "Your work rate's been
dropping fast in the last half hour. Just because back and
muscles begin to ache a bit, you think it's O.K. to slack off.
Well, it isn't."
Paul hated her. Did she know the agony of muscles straining to
the limit? Of course not. 'Ache a little,' she said. What a
hideous understatement. She pointed to the framework in front of
the dais. "Get yourselves over that," she ordered. Already Karen
was beginning to sob.
Paul felt the rough pine splinters against his belly. Then found
his wrists and ankles being secured by slim thongs to what looked
like large tent-pegs in the ground. Karen was similarly dealt
with, right alongside him. He saw Delia unfasten the tawse from
her belt . . . . and gritted his teeth.
"A dozen apiece, I think," said Delia. "That might encourage you
to put your backs into it."
The hideous injustice of it was like a dagger in Paul's belly.
Still, there was nothing to be done. One just had to accept it.
There was a rushing sound then the resounding thwack of leather
on flesh. Karen got the first one. A three-inch width of supple
leather nearly half an inch thick. Little wonder that a howl of
pain erupted from her. A sideways step from Delia and it was
Paul's turn to feel it. The flaming swathe blazed across his
flesh as Delia laid on with all the vigour she could command.
Paul's head jerked up and a grunt of torment came from between
his clenched teeth. Then Delia stepped back to Karen.
It was thus that the punishment continued. Alternate strokes.
Somehow it made it far worse . . . to hear the tawse falling
across another bottom alongside yours . . . knowing it was coming
to you in a few moments. Even worse than that was Delia's method
of application. At least, it was in Paul's case; for with
venomous skill, she laid on each stroke in almost precisely the
same area . . . so that the swathe of fire across him got ever
more agonisedly tender. No wonder, then, that after some half
dozen he was no longer just grunting but yelling out almost as
loudly as Karen.
No doubt the sounds they were both making were a potent reminder
to those who continued to toil in the background!
When it was over Delia released them both and they staggered to
their feet. Karen was weeping openly, desperately clasping her
hands to her plump bottom . . . a bottom now covered in pink-red
welts. Fortunately, Paul had not been reduced to the humiliation
of tears . . . even though the pain in his buttocks . . . a
single blazing belt of it . . . was well-nigh intolerable. He
had, of course, become incredibly hardened over the months.
"Get back to it . . ." rasped Delia. "And if I catch either of
you slacking again, I'll cane the living daylights out of you in
the Punishment Room tonight!"
Oh Christ, not that, thought Paul . . . and poor young Karen
uttered a shriek of dread. They both hurried back to the timber
they had dropped and were soon relentlessly sweating their guts
out again. Karen seemed to have acquired twice the energy. The
tawse, and the threat of the cane, had worked wonders!
So much had the threat concentrated their efforts that neither
of them noticed Delia's next action. The combination of hot
sunshine, power and punishment had set her blood boiling. She
returned to the dais and ordered the serving girl to kneel
between her black booted thighs. Then for the rest of the
session she basked in sexual pleasure; the girl lapping gently
and constantly, while Delia watched her charges sweating under
her control.
At long last the second stint came to an end. The exhausted
slaves were formed in their squads, chained together, and then
forced to jog-trot back to the slave farm. Four hours rest lay
ahead of them . . . and they needed every minute of it!
This story was released as an illustrated web book. For
details of Victor Bruno Books available please contact
VictorBruno@MsChristine.com
http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html
Warning! Turns your wife/lover into a Dominatrix.
The Fem Dom Training Software.
http://www.mschristine.com/program.html
mailto:program@Ms-Christine.com
The DOMestic digest is free of charge.
Subscribe in subject line:- DOMestic@Ms-Christine.com
Moderated by David & Christine Stevenson.
Subscribe online at http://www.mschristine.com/domestic.html
The DOMestic discussion list has been going well over three
years now, and the password site now has over 2,500 files
with pictures, articles and over 250 stories for $25 on CD-ROM
http://www.mschristine.com/cd.html
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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