ianwarrick
Magistrate
I think she should also be fastened to a caning bench in her masters study bare bottom high for a thorough caning in front of all the servants
-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
mark sessnatz's Deviated Artworks
- Thread starter mark sessnatz
- Start date
I think she should also be fastened to a caning bench in her masters study bare bottom high for a thorough caning in front of all the servants
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Chiller 1
EXT. OLD CHURCHYARD - NIGHT.
The snarling, HOODED GHOUL hops down from his HORSE, drags the struggling GWENDOLINE over to a gnarled TREE and ties her to the trunk with ropes. He TEARS open the back of her sheer nightgown.
EXT. OLD CHURCHYARD - NIGHT.
The snarling, HOODED GHOUL hops down from his HORSE, drags the struggling GWENDOLINE over to a gnarled TREE and ties her to the trunk with ropes. He TEARS open the back of her sheer nightgown.
HOODED GHOUL
Your ancestors in the church once condemned me to torture and destruction! But no God nor grave could suppress my desire for vengeance!
From under his cloak, he reveals a long black WHIP.Your ancestors in the church once condemned me to torture and destruction! But no God nor grave could suppress my desire for vengeance!
HOODED GHOUL
And now, no God can save you from the suffering I have waited centuries to return tenfold!
He WHIPS Gwendoline across the back. She SHRIEKS in pain.And now, no God can save you from the suffering I have waited centuries to return tenfold!
HOODED GHOUL
And when I have finished with you-
He WHIPS her again!And when I have finished with you-
HOODED GHOUL
-I shall hunt down the rest of your kin!
He WHIPS her again!-I shall hunt down the rest of your kin!
HOODED GHOUL
Until every last one of your infernal bloodline-
And again!Until every last one of your infernal bloodline-
HOODED GHOUL
-is eradicated-
And again!-is eradicated-
HOODED GHOUL
-from Creation!
Again!-from Creation!
GWENDOLINE
Oh God! Mercy! Mercy, please!
Oh God! Mercy! Mercy, please!
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Tropical Plantation 9
"You must have forgotten I'm a grown woman now, Papa!" Rosemarie shouted, flushed and shaking. "I can do what I like with my evenings!"
Colonel Tom Westley slammed his fist down on the walnut writing desk and leapt to his feet as fast as his aging knees would allow.
"You may be grown in years, young lady," he bellowed, jabbing the stem of his pipe in his daughter's direction. "But you've all the respect of snotty little brat, behaving this way!"
"You don't frighten me, Papa!" Rosemarie insisted, though she had flinched noticeably when he had struck the desktop.
"You are forbidden from seeing that DeClancy boy and that's my final word!"
"I'll be attending the cotillion this Sunday and you can't stop me!" She turned on her heel and strode for the study door.
"Roger!" barked the Colonel, and his stocky black butler snapped to attention. "Stop her!"
Roger sidestepped and blocked the doorway. Rosemarie stared him down.
"Out of my way, Roger!" she commanded. He ignored her.
"Roger, take Rosemarie here out to the lawn. She's picked up a few too many airs and graces from those DeClanceys over the river!"
"Sir," said Roger impassively, and took hold of Rosemarie's arm. Rosemarie struggled feebly against his grip.
"Two dozen with the horsewhip ought to strike some humility back into her! See to it!"
"You must have forgotten I'm a grown woman now, Papa!" Rosemarie shouted, flushed and shaking. "I can do what I like with my evenings!"
Colonel Tom Westley slammed his fist down on the walnut writing desk and leapt to his feet as fast as his aging knees would allow.
"You may be grown in years, young lady," he bellowed, jabbing the stem of his pipe in his daughter's direction. "But you've all the respect of snotty little brat, behaving this way!"
"You don't frighten me, Papa!" Rosemarie insisted, though she had flinched noticeably when he had struck the desktop.
"You are forbidden from seeing that DeClancy boy and that's my final word!"
"I'll be attending the cotillion this Sunday and you can't stop me!" She turned on her heel and strode for the study door.
"Roger!" barked the Colonel, and his stocky black butler snapped to attention. "Stop her!"
Roger sidestepped and blocked the doorway. Rosemarie stared him down.
"Out of my way, Roger!" she commanded. He ignored her.
"Roger, take Rosemarie here out to the lawn. She's picked up a few too many airs and graces from those DeClanceys over the river!"
"Sir," said Roger impassively, and took hold of Rosemarie's arm. Rosemarie struggled feebly against his grip.
"Two dozen with the horsewhip ought to strike some humility back into her! See to it!"
Klingsor
Spectator
Nice story… but she should hd to be whipped into surrender.
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Sisters of the Black Abbey
The devoted servants of the God of Night lived their entire lives within the impenetrable walls of the Black Abbey. Impenetrable, that is, unless the intruder was invited in.
Sister Alys knew the traveler who arrived with the storm was trouble. She knew the traveler was dangerous. And she knew, but would never admit, that it was the danger that she found attractive. Sister Alys had never felt attracted to another woman before. Or anyone, really. All she had ever known were her Sisters and her faith.
Alys invited the stranger in from the rain. She pleaded with Sister Katura and the other High Acolytes to shelter the woman for the night. Sister Katura eventually gave her reluctant blessing, cursing herself for always indulging her favorites.
Sister Alys and the stranger sat across from one another at the evening meal, and didn't speak much. Alys could feel Katura's eyes boring into her from the head of the table. But that night, they shared Alys' bed. The stranger took Alys into her arms and held her in ways Alys had never dreamed she could be held. Alys had never felt so warm.
The next morning, Alys woke to find the stranger had disappeared. She hurried out into the corridor, to find the Sisters gathered together, conversing in hushed, frantic voices. Sister Katura explained to Alys, with venom in her voice, that the ceremonial silver had been stolen from the sanctuary in the middle of the night. Alys' "guest" was a common thief, and for allowing the scoundrel into their sacred halls, Alys was to be severely punished.
* * *
According to the holy books, The God of Night was King of the Black Mountain, and he was attended by a royal court of 48 daemons. When the laws of the Sisterhood were broken, blood had to be repaid to each of the daemons, and to the King. Thus, 49 lashes of the Discipline was the custom.
Alys wept silently all the way out to the courtyard, but as they reached the place of penance, the tears stopped. He chest heaved with quick, panicked breaths. She became too afraid to cry. The sisters shackled her wrists to the sides of the pillar and, according to custom, cut the top of her robe and parted it, exposing her naked back. The destruction of her garment was part of the penance.
Alys strained her neck to see around the pillar. Sister Deirdre, who had always been like a mother to her, stood nearby, her eyes shut, lost in a meditative mantra. Sister Katura approached from behind, shaking out the long tails of the wicked black whip they called the discipline, a writhing hydra waiting to lick Alys' blood.
The Sisters invoked the name of the first of the daemons. The lashes began to fall. Alys clutched at the chains and choked back a scream.
The devoted servants of the God of Night lived their entire lives within the impenetrable walls of the Black Abbey. Impenetrable, that is, unless the intruder was invited in.
Sister Alys knew the traveler who arrived with the storm was trouble. She knew the traveler was dangerous. And she knew, but would never admit, that it was the danger that she found attractive. Sister Alys had never felt attracted to another woman before. Or anyone, really. All she had ever known were her Sisters and her faith.
Alys invited the stranger in from the rain. She pleaded with Sister Katura and the other High Acolytes to shelter the woman for the night. Sister Katura eventually gave her reluctant blessing, cursing herself for always indulging her favorites.
Sister Alys and the stranger sat across from one another at the evening meal, and didn't speak much. Alys could feel Katura's eyes boring into her from the head of the table. But that night, they shared Alys' bed. The stranger took Alys into her arms and held her in ways Alys had never dreamed she could be held. Alys had never felt so warm.
The next morning, Alys woke to find the stranger had disappeared. She hurried out into the corridor, to find the Sisters gathered together, conversing in hushed, frantic voices. Sister Katura explained to Alys, with venom in her voice, that the ceremonial silver had been stolen from the sanctuary in the middle of the night. Alys' "guest" was a common thief, and for allowing the scoundrel into their sacred halls, Alys was to be severely punished.
* * *
According to the holy books, The God of Night was King of the Black Mountain, and he was attended by a royal court of 48 daemons. When the laws of the Sisterhood were broken, blood had to be repaid to each of the daemons, and to the King. Thus, 49 lashes of the Discipline was the custom.
Alys wept silently all the way out to the courtyard, but as they reached the place of penance, the tears stopped. He chest heaved with quick, panicked breaths. She became too afraid to cry. The sisters shackled her wrists to the sides of the pillar and, according to custom, cut the top of her robe and parted it, exposing her naked back. The destruction of her garment was part of the penance.
Alys strained her neck to see around the pillar. Sister Deirdre, who had always been like a mother to her, stood nearby, her eyes shut, lost in a meditative mantra. Sister Katura approached from behind, shaking out the long tails of the wicked black whip they called the discipline, a writhing hydra waiting to lick Alys' blood.
The Sisters invoked the name of the first of the daemons. The lashes began to fall. Alys clutched at the chains and choked back a scream.
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Tropical Plantation 10
As you approach the plantation manor, you become aware of rhythmic gunshot-like cracks and a female voice screaming desperately. Rounding the bend in the drive, the scene emerges, a young woman, her ragged garment torn from her back, slumped over the post to which she was chained as a fearsome bullwhip cut across her naked back again and again.
"Her brother done run off," said the carriage driver, noticing you staring. "She helped him get over the river. The Big Man found out and, well..."
The woman on the post howled in agony as the whip came down again, her voice hoarse and weak. Her smooth brown skin glistened with sweat, mingling with the blood that wept from the stripes across her back. She was young. A grown woman, but no older than your fiancee back on the mainland. You lower your eyes.
As you approach the plantation manor, you become aware of rhythmic gunshot-like cracks and a female voice screaming desperately. Rounding the bend in the drive, the scene emerges, a young woman, her ragged garment torn from her back, slumped over the post to which she was chained as a fearsome bullwhip cut across her naked back again and again.
"Her brother done run off," said the carriage driver, noticing you staring. "She helped him get over the river. The Big Man found out and, well..."
The woman on the post howled in agony as the whip came down again, her voice hoarse and weak. Her smooth brown skin glistened with sweat, mingling with the blood that wept from the stripes across her back. She was young. A grown woman, but no older than your fiancee back on the mainland. You lower your eyes.
Holy heck, this is reaching white hot level of erotic for me, like the branding iron I am secretly hoping will be applied to my flesh….
Oh my God! The discipline… Yes, oh please yes! No wonder they would need to chain me before tasting that. Is there a way to volunteer as a penitent slave?
As you get closer, in between the loud whip-cracks and her screams, now becoming hoarse, you hear a strong voice keeping count:
“131…132…133…”
You can’t help yourself but say “oh dear Lord, I know she’s only a slave but surely it’s high time she was given a little mercy?”
As the carriage driver explained the crime, you hear the whip continue although the slave’s screams are silent. As the count continues, “143… 144…” you hear a chuckle from the whipmaster, scoffing at your naivety…
As you walk on towards the manor, a tear rolls down your left cheek…
Oh my God! The discipline… Yes, oh please yes! No wonder they would need to chain me before tasting that. Is there a way to volunteer as a penitent slave?
As you get closer, in between the loud whip-cracks and her screams, now becoming hoarse, you hear a strong voice keeping count:
“131…132…133…”
You can’t help yourself but say “oh dear Lord, I know she’s only a slave but surely it’s high time she was given a little mercy?”
As the carriage driver explained the crime, you hear the whip continue although the slave’s screams are silent. As the count continues, “143… 144…” you hear a chuckle from the whipmaster, scoffing at your naivety…
As you walk on towards the manor, a tear rolls down your left cheek…
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Maybe other plantations offer mercy.
And skinning of bare buttocks with paddle with holes
I’m not interested in merciful plantations, can you please direct me to the cruelest ones?
Me neither
argyll1968
Condemned
I just dropped into the forum and I am enjoying Mark's pictures banned from DA and some others I didn't know before. Looking forwards to more pics and thanks a lot!
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Interrogation 1
Stripped from the waist down, Jennie bends over the officer's desk, her knuckles white, her legs trembling.
"Ten strokes, Sergeant," orders the Detective coldly. "Hard as you can. Then we will resume questioning."
The Sergeant nodded and aligned the brutal rattan rod with Jennie's tender white buttocks, preparing to deliver a vicious blow.
Jennie closed her eyes. It was only pain. It was only pain. It was only--
Stripped from the waist down, Jennie bends over the officer's desk, her knuckles white, her legs trembling.
"Ten strokes, Sergeant," orders the Detective coldly. "Hard as you can. Then we will resume questioning."
The Sergeant nodded and aligned the brutal rattan rod with Jennie's tender white buttocks, preparing to deliver a vicious blow.
Jennie closed her eyes. It was only pain. It was only pain. It was only--
wulf
God-Emperor
Beautifully done, and thanks for sharing.
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Workhouse 7
Father,
I don't know when I will be able to write again. I beg you, I implore you, please help get me out of this place. Though it has been hardly three months since my sentencing, I already feel as though I have endured a lifetime of suffering. I was wrong. My actions were wrong and I will spend the rest of my life atoning to you and mother if I must.
Every part of me aches from the long hours spent on the millwheel or in the coal yard. The women and girls are beaten within an inch of their lives in here. Just yesterday I slipped and overturned a barrow and was whipped with twenty-five lashes. Oh, father, it burned like hell fire. The wounds on my back are still raw even now, and they expect me back to work before dawn tomorrow. I know I shall be too weak, and shall probably be punished further.
I know you must still feel angry and betrayed. I know because you have not written or spoken to me since you and the other Judges passed my sentence. But I have changed, Father. I have renounced all association with the underground. Somewhere deep within you must still be some spark of love for your daughter. I believe that. I have to believe that.
Please help me, Father. Please help.
Your Devoted,
Lillian.
Father,
I don't know when I will be able to write again. I beg you, I implore you, please help get me out of this place. Though it has been hardly three months since my sentencing, I already feel as though I have endured a lifetime of suffering. I was wrong. My actions were wrong and I will spend the rest of my life atoning to you and mother if I must.
Every part of me aches from the long hours spent on the millwheel or in the coal yard. The women and girls are beaten within an inch of their lives in here. Just yesterday I slipped and overturned a barrow and was whipped with twenty-five lashes. Oh, father, it burned like hell fire. The wounds on my back are still raw even now, and they expect me back to work before dawn tomorrow. I know I shall be too weak, and shall probably be punished further.
I know you must still feel angry and betrayed. I know because you have not written or spoken to me since you and the other Judges passed my sentence. But I have changed, Father. I have renounced all association with the underground. Somewhere deep within you must still be some spark of love for your daughter. I believe that. I have to believe that.
Please help me, Father. Please help.
Your Devoted,
Lillian.
cant wait to see her bloody buttocks
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Wasteland 1
"We caught her!" Theo exclaimed, presenting the captured woman at gunpoint. "We caught the scavenger who's been draining water from the tankers."
The Duke regarded the prisoner over his pipe. She was rather attractive for a wasteland scavenger.
"Anything to say in your defense?" asked the Duke.
Lyza fixed her eyes on the ground beneath her bare feet and said nothing.
The Duke paused a moment, then gestured toward the corral.
"Strip her down, whip her and sell her to the next patrol. 40 lashes. The usual for water thieves."
"We caught her!" Theo exclaimed, presenting the captured woman at gunpoint. "We caught the scavenger who's been draining water from the tankers."
The Duke regarded the prisoner over his pipe. She was rather attractive for a wasteland scavenger.
"Anything to say in your defense?" asked the Duke.
Lyza fixed her eyes on the ground beneath her bare feet and said nothing.
The Duke paused a moment, then gestured toward the corral.
"Strip her down, whip her and sell her to the next patrol. 40 lashes. The usual for water thieves."
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Wasteland 2
"Forty!"
The bullwhip snapped down across Lyza's bare back for the final time, the impact spraying a mist of sweat and blood into the air. Again she grunted involuntarily and slumped forward, her bound hands just barely catching herself against the fence rail. Forty agonizing, raw, stinging stripes throbbed across her back, but she had survived. She hadn't screamed.
If this was the price for her family's water, she could live with that.
"Forty!"
The bullwhip snapped down across Lyza's bare back for the final time, the impact spraying a mist of sweat and blood into the air. Again she grunted involuntarily and slumped forward, her bound hands just barely catching herself against the fence rail. Forty agonizing, raw, stinging stripes throbbed across her back, but she had survived. She hadn't screamed.
If this was the price for her family's water, she could live with that.
As usual gorgeous girl and beautifull whip marks! outstanding art
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Brea's Darkest Hour 1
Brea sprinted through the confounding maze of corridors as fast as her (infuriatingly short) legs would carry her. She was alone now, and afraid. The Citadel guards had cut her off from the rest of her companions several passageways ago. She'd had one last fleeting moment of eye contact with Kestin, then the arrows had started buzzing past her, and she had to turn and keep running. All she had to follow was daylight, and the desperate hope that her friends had gotten away.
She could feel her protective charms wearing off, and she didn't exactly have time to stop and work up any more. She would have to rely on her speed and instincts now, and her speed was flagging as well. The footsteps behind her grew louder, and closer.
"Make sure you get the witch alive!" shouted the guard captain, his voice reverberating around the stone walls.
Brea turned one last corner and skidded to a halt, her lungs burning, soaked with sweat. The Vaulted corridor dead-ended in front of her. So that was her charm well and truly exhausted, then.
The butt end of a spear clubbed her hard between her shoulder blades. She cried out and collapsed to her knees. The guards twisted her arms behind her back and cold iron manacles closed around her wrists.
"What of the rest of them?" she heard a guard say some meters behind her, his voice hushed but still audible.
"Waiting to hear," said the Captain, "but we think they made it to the other side of the canal."
Brea closed her eyes, feeling a twinge of relief.
"At least we're not completely empty-handed," sighed the first guard. "Make sure she's secure and then bring her to the Chancellor."
...
Brea sprinted through the confounding maze of corridors as fast as her (infuriatingly short) legs would carry her. She was alone now, and afraid. The Citadel guards had cut her off from the rest of her companions several passageways ago. She'd had one last fleeting moment of eye contact with Kestin, then the arrows had started buzzing past her, and she had to turn and keep running. All she had to follow was daylight, and the desperate hope that her friends had gotten away.
She could feel her protective charms wearing off, and she didn't exactly have time to stop and work up any more. She would have to rely on her speed and instincts now, and her speed was flagging as well. The footsteps behind her grew louder, and closer.
"Make sure you get the witch alive!" shouted the guard captain, his voice reverberating around the stone walls.
Brea turned one last corner and skidded to a halt, her lungs burning, soaked with sweat. The Vaulted corridor dead-ended in front of her. So that was her charm well and truly exhausted, then.
The butt end of a spear clubbed her hard between her shoulder blades. She cried out and collapsed to her knees. The guards twisted her arms behind her back and cold iron manacles closed around her wrists.
"What of the rest of them?" she heard a guard say some meters behind her, his voice hushed but still audible.
"Waiting to hear," said the Captain, "but we think they made it to the other side of the canal."
Brea closed her eyes, feeling a twinge of relief.
"At least we're not completely empty-handed," sighed the first guard. "Make sure she's secure and then bring her to the Chancellor."
...