Rupert_137
Governor
Anna's Flogging (II)
I am ruthlessly flogged from the front. Hissing, slapping... Again the whip bites viciously into my tits. The breasts tremble and bounce under the force of the strap; they protest so furiously that I have to scream. I feel hot fire burning on my skin and coursing through my boobs. Again and again the executioner examines my body as if he were looking for free areas of my tender skin without traces of the whip. But he won't find them on my breasts anymore... Why does he keep whipping my tits? I guess my beautiful boobs challenge him and the audience.
I can feel myself getting weaker. Even if I wanted to scream, I don't have the strength to do it now. Forty lashes, there's no end to it. Who can impose such a cruel sentence, who can enjoy it? But the audience is definitely happy.
It doesn't help, I'm tied to the post and can't free myself. I pant and groan, gasping for breath until the next lash hits me. "Thirty-three," seven more; finally, the end is in sight. There are angry shouts from the audience, but I hardly notice it anymore. Instead, my bladder is now making itself felt more and more urgently, stimulated by my fears.
Suddenly the fast tongue of the whip slaps between my legs, the hissing leather tears my labia apart and bites viciously into my intimate cleft. My whole body tenses, my thighs flapping, but they can't close with the shameful wooden spreader between my feet. The pain rages in my most sensitive femininity. I only screech briefly, then I'm out of breath, I moan in agony.
I can feel a few drops of pee getting my thighs wet. No, I don't want to piss myself; I don't want to give the executioner this satisfaction, I don't want to grant the public malicious joy. It trickles between my legs, but I pull myself together and close my bladder. I realize the executioner has found another weakness I can't protect. I feel so helpless, faint and vulnerable.
Still struggling for control and with the raging pain, I see the man with the whip in front of me, smiling mischievously as if to say "I've got you, girl!" I feel hate and anger. "No, attacking me with the whip between my legs, that's malignant and mean!"
He just grins and whips me again. This time he tears the strap from my left hip across my mons pubis to the base of my right thigh. I tense up, twitch and tremble, my tits jiggling. I have trouble controlling myself and not to piss again.
More tears flow down my cheeks and more drops of pee splash down my legs. A few drops? No, it's babbling before I can control it. Some pee runs warm down the insides of my thighs and it cools down quickly. But only the executioner seems to notice. His triumphant gaze wants to tell me, "See, I can conquer you." I nod resignedly and humbly lower my head. Yes, I am completely in his hands...
In the morning, when the guards came to my cell, I hastily drank some water, but I didn't find an opportunity to empty my bladder; now it's taking its toll. It was probably a bad intention to embarrass me... But no, I don't want to piss myself!
I groan and pant, gasping for air. It burns like hell between my legs and my whole front is on fire; from my shoulders down to my knees, I see red welts everywhere. I'm drowning in pain, but the vicious attack on my pussy startled me. The executioner did the worst to my breasts; I sincerely hope that he will finally spare my poor tits.
I look anxiously at the man with the whip in front of me – where will his next lash hit me? I wish I finally got over it. These forty lashes will not tear me apart, but they bring me endless torment.
The next two lashes hit my thighs, I twitch and my legs tremble. The pain is flooding through my body, but I clench my teeth and gasp.
"Thirty-seven" calls the counter. Three more, I've almost made it through, that gives me a sigh of relief and hope.
"Stick out your perky tits for the last three lashes," calls the executioner. No, that must not be true! Not my boobs again; they've already suffered so badly, they can't take any more. The pain is already pounding wildly in my breasts.
I shake my head in desperation. Then someone in the crowd yells, "Stick out your naughty tits, bitch, stick them out for the whip... do it!" The executioner looks at me and waits. In this moment I want to throw myself on the ground in front of him and the people and ask for forgiveness, I want to beg them to finally spare my breasts. But I am firmly tied to the post.
Again I hear their shouts, "Your naughty boobs have to be punished!" I realize there will be no mercy. Why are people so cruel? Why do they hate my tits? Why are my boobs naughty and need to be punished?
I see the judge nod approvingly to the executioner, I'm shocked. The hangman tells me, "Show us your pride, girl, be brave! You've heard what people are asking for." I'm scared, I don't want this, but I realize they're going to force me any way. My fear turns to anger.
"Okay, I'll show my pride... I'll bravely do what you want, but then leave me in peace," I say to myself. "No begging, no lamentation, I’ll brave the whip… My boobs will defy all his vicious attacks!"
I look at the hangman and suddenly nod in determination. I comply and gently push my breasts against the whip. My tits are throbbing and already on fire. “Three more lashes, somehow I'll get through this!” I am determined to fight.
I'm trembling, waiting for the next vicious lash. But they yell again, "Stick out your naughty tits further, much further!" This infuriates me even more, and defiantly I do as they demand.
I see the executioner raise his arm, hear the whip howl through the air. I hold my breath, then the blow hits me. Wildly slapping, the strap bites deep into my injured breasts. They are compressed by the force of the leather and jump back as if freed.
Moments later, the pain in my tits almost explodes and begins to rage for what feels like an eternity. And again some pee drips between my legs, but I hardly notice it.
I want to be brave, but I have to scream. Then I can't breathe, my strength dwindles. "Oh, God, how cruelly my tender breasts can hurt…"
I gasp and try to collect myself. "Two more, I can do it," I tell myself. I hear their calls again. I don't resist anymore, I do as they ask, I stick out my 'naughty tits', throbbing wildly, flooding my senses with pain. But I bravely push my boobs towards the next lash.
The whip howls, I close my eyes anxiously, but moments later I open them in shock again. It feels like my tits are being ripped off. And again the raging pain greets me. As I stare at my breasts in terror, I see my right nipple bleeding; I can feel my bud pounding painfully to the beat of my heart. My blood wells up, drop after drop collects on my injured nipple, only to fall under its own weight onto my belly and ribs. I see my whipped breasts hectically rising and falling with my breathing.
Someone yells, "Hangman, make her naughty boobs bleed some more!" It's still not enough for them. Again, others yell along; as if externally controlled, I submit and stick out my tits towards the whip and the audience... "More... more!" I try, I curve some more, I push out my chest even further… Of course, my perky boobs need to be harshly punished – my naughty tits must bleed for me and my sins!
It's crazy, but in anger I stick out my devastated tits; I wait and think, "Come on, whip my boobs even harder ... the last lash, go ahead now!"
I suddenly see it as if from the outside, how I arch my back, how my breasts boldly push forward and a little further, so proudly. I see the executioner pull his arm back far and hurl the thong at me forcefully. I hear the whip howl again. This time I feel no fear, I stick out my tits bravely, even a little further.
The leather hits me with a nasty hiss; my breasts are hit very hard, constricted deeply by the strap and tremble. The executioner struck with all his might. My breasts feel like they're about to burst, but they fight back bravely even as the pain explodes inside my tits almost instantly.
I sink back to the post, flooded with more agony; my tormented breasts don't want to put up with this treatment, they protest very violently. My knees are getting weak, I'm sagging, but I'm hanging securely at the post and I got through it. One last scream, then I gasp and let my tears flow. I weep with pain and with relief; I survived my horrific flogging.
It takes a while before I can concentrate again. My breasts are burning; the pain is throbbing with every heartbeat. I stare in horror at the many welts. "I'm sorry, dear titties, that you had to suffer so badly for me and my sins. You were so brave..." Then I look at the sky. "Oh, dear God, please let my tender boobs completely heal," I beg.
The hangman looks at me again. "Cheer up, you're a brave and strong girl," he says appreciatively. I just nod, exhausted, but I can't be happy about his unexpected praise, it has cost me too much pain and suffering. I would never have wanted the cruel competition they forced me into. It was the worst fight of my life... I just want to be left alone, finally, I want to be untied and get clothes again; I want to get away from all the people, wish my breasts would stop throbbing...
Now it's Barbara's turn, the young widow next to me. She gets thirty lashes for adultery and fornication. How can she commit adultery as a widow? Anyway, I got 10 extra lashes as a whore and thief, but what bad crimes did I commit? I wish her the strength to get through it.
Now I am glad to have some rest and to regain my strength. I'm still naked and can hardly move. The air is fresh, but my body is on fire and my tits scream out their pain, they won't give me rest. My shoulders also hurt from the immobile arms tied far back at the post.
I hear the howl of the whip again, I twitch briefly, but the hissing strap is not aimed at me, the woman next to me is now struggling with fear and pain. The viewers also turn to her and leave me in peace.
I close my eyes, I am stiffly tied to the post, I feel thirst and pain; my bladder squeezes ... my pee has to wait. I'm trying to collect myself, I'm slowly finding some peace. I try to hide the malicious happenings around me, but Barbara's screams wake me up again and again...
Soon I begin to worry, “Where am I going if I am untied here? How do I get through the crowd unscathed, barefoot in my penitential shirt, where everyone recognizes me immediately?”
The Conclusion
And with that, the final section of chapter 2 follows seamlessly with Conrad’s point of view…
I am ruthlessly flogged from the front. Hissing, slapping... Again the whip bites viciously into my tits. The breasts tremble and bounce under the force of the strap; they protest so furiously that I have to scream. I feel hot fire burning on my skin and coursing through my boobs. Again and again the executioner examines my body as if he were looking for free areas of my tender skin without traces of the whip. But he won't find them on my breasts anymore... Why does he keep whipping my tits? I guess my beautiful boobs challenge him and the audience.
I can feel myself getting weaker. Even if I wanted to scream, I don't have the strength to do it now. Forty lashes, there's no end to it. Who can impose such a cruel sentence, who can enjoy it? But the audience is definitely happy.
It doesn't help, I'm tied to the post and can't free myself. I pant and groan, gasping for breath until the next lash hits me. "Thirty-three," seven more; finally, the end is in sight. There are angry shouts from the audience, but I hardly notice it anymore. Instead, my bladder is now making itself felt more and more urgently, stimulated by my fears.
Suddenly the fast tongue of the whip slaps between my legs, the hissing leather tears my labia apart and bites viciously into my intimate cleft. My whole body tenses, my thighs flapping, but they can't close with the shameful wooden spreader between my feet. The pain rages in my most sensitive femininity. I only screech briefly, then I'm out of breath, I moan in agony.
I can feel a few drops of pee getting my thighs wet. No, I don't want to piss myself; I don't want to give the executioner this satisfaction, I don't want to grant the public malicious joy. It trickles between my legs, but I pull myself together and close my bladder. I realize the executioner has found another weakness I can't protect. I feel so helpless, faint and vulnerable.
Still struggling for control and with the raging pain, I see the man with the whip in front of me, smiling mischievously as if to say "I've got you, girl!" I feel hate and anger. "No, attacking me with the whip between my legs, that's malignant and mean!"
He just grins and whips me again. This time he tears the strap from my left hip across my mons pubis to the base of my right thigh. I tense up, twitch and tremble, my tits jiggling. I have trouble controlling myself and not to piss again.
More tears flow down my cheeks and more drops of pee splash down my legs. A few drops? No, it's babbling before I can control it. Some pee runs warm down the insides of my thighs and it cools down quickly. But only the executioner seems to notice. His triumphant gaze wants to tell me, "See, I can conquer you." I nod resignedly and humbly lower my head. Yes, I am completely in his hands...
In the morning, when the guards came to my cell, I hastily drank some water, but I didn't find an opportunity to empty my bladder; now it's taking its toll. It was probably a bad intention to embarrass me... But no, I don't want to piss myself!
I groan and pant, gasping for air. It burns like hell between my legs and my whole front is on fire; from my shoulders down to my knees, I see red welts everywhere. I'm drowning in pain, but the vicious attack on my pussy startled me. The executioner did the worst to my breasts; I sincerely hope that he will finally spare my poor tits.
I look anxiously at the man with the whip in front of me – where will his next lash hit me? I wish I finally got over it. These forty lashes will not tear me apart, but they bring me endless torment.
The next two lashes hit my thighs, I twitch and my legs tremble. The pain is flooding through my body, but I clench my teeth and gasp.
"Thirty-seven" calls the counter. Three more, I've almost made it through, that gives me a sigh of relief and hope.
"Stick out your perky tits for the last three lashes," calls the executioner. No, that must not be true! Not my boobs again; they've already suffered so badly, they can't take any more. The pain is already pounding wildly in my breasts.
I shake my head in desperation. Then someone in the crowd yells, "Stick out your naughty tits, bitch, stick them out for the whip... do it!" The executioner looks at me and waits. In this moment I want to throw myself on the ground in front of him and the people and ask for forgiveness, I want to beg them to finally spare my breasts. But I am firmly tied to the post.
Again I hear their shouts, "Your naughty boobs have to be punished!" I realize there will be no mercy. Why are people so cruel? Why do they hate my tits? Why are my boobs naughty and need to be punished?
I see the judge nod approvingly to the executioner, I'm shocked. The hangman tells me, "Show us your pride, girl, be brave! You've heard what people are asking for." I'm scared, I don't want this, but I realize they're going to force me any way. My fear turns to anger.
"Okay, I'll show my pride... I'll bravely do what you want, but then leave me in peace," I say to myself. "No begging, no lamentation, I’ll brave the whip… My boobs will defy all his vicious attacks!"
I look at the hangman and suddenly nod in determination. I comply and gently push my breasts against the whip. My tits are throbbing and already on fire. “Three more lashes, somehow I'll get through this!” I am determined to fight.
I'm trembling, waiting for the next vicious lash. But they yell again, "Stick out your naughty tits further, much further!" This infuriates me even more, and defiantly I do as they demand.
I see the executioner raise his arm, hear the whip howl through the air. I hold my breath, then the blow hits me. Wildly slapping, the strap bites deep into my injured breasts. They are compressed by the force of the leather and jump back as if freed.
Moments later, the pain in my tits almost explodes and begins to rage for what feels like an eternity. And again some pee drips between my legs, but I hardly notice it.
I want to be brave, but I have to scream. Then I can't breathe, my strength dwindles. "Oh, God, how cruelly my tender breasts can hurt…"
I gasp and try to collect myself. "Two more, I can do it," I tell myself. I hear their calls again. I don't resist anymore, I do as they ask, I stick out my 'naughty tits', throbbing wildly, flooding my senses with pain. But I bravely push my boobs towards the next lash.
The whip howls, I close my eyes anxiously, but moments later I open them in shock again. It feels like my tits are being ripped off. And again the raging pain greets me. As I stare at my breasts in terror, I see my right nipple bleeding; I can feel my bud pounding painfully to the beat of my heart. My blood wells up, drop after drop collects on my injured nipple, only to fall under its own weight onto my belly and ribs. I see my whipped breasts hectically rising and falling with my breathing.
Someone yells, "Hangman, make her naughty boobs bleed some more!" It's still not enough for them. Again, others yell along; as if externally controlled, I submit and stick out my tits towards the whip and the audience... "More... more!" I try, I curve some more, I push out my chest even further… Of course, my perky boobs need to be harshly punished – my naughty tits must bleed for me and my sins!
It's crazy, but in anger I stick out my devastated tits; I wait and think, "Come on, whip my boobs even harder ... the last lash, go ahead now!"
I suddenly see it as if from the outside, how I arch my back, how my breasts boldly push forward and a little further, so proudly. I see the executioner pull his arm back far and hurl the thong at me forcefully. I hear the whip howl again. This time I feel no fear, I stick out my tits bravely, even a little further.
The leather hits me with a nasty hiss; my breasts are hit very hard, constricted deeply by the strap and tremble. The executioner struck with all his might. My breasts feel like they're about to burst, but they fight back bravely even as the pain explodes inside my tits almost instantly.
I sink back to the post, flooded with more agony; my tormented breasts don't want to put up with this treatment, they protest very violently. My knees are getting weak, I'm sagging, but I'm hanging securely at the post and I got through it. One last scream, then I gasp and let my tears flow. I weep with pain and with relief; I survived my horrific flogging.
It takes a while before I can concentrate again. My breasts are burning; the pain is throbbing with every heartbeat. I stare in horror at the many welts. "I'm sorry, dear titties, that you had to suffer so badly for me and my sins. You were so brave..." Then I look at the sky. "Oh, dear God, please let my tender boobs completely heal," I beg.
The hangman looks at me again. "Cheer up, you're a brave and strong girl," he says appreciatively. I just nod, exhausted, but I can't be happy about his unexpected praise, it has cost me too much pain and suffering. I would never have wanted the cruel competition they forced me into. It was the worst fight of my life... I just want to be left alone, finally, I want to be untied and get clothes again; I want to get away from all the people, wish my breasts would stop throbbing...
Now it's Barbara's turn, the young widow next to me. She gets thirty lashes for adultery and fornication. How can she commit adultery as a widow? Anyway, I got 10 extra lashes as a whore and thief, but what bad crimes did I commit? I wish her the strength to get through it.
Now I am glad to have some rest and to regain my strength. I'm still naked and can hardly move. The air is fresh, but my body is on fire and my tits scream out their pain, they won't give me rest. My shoulders also hurt from the immobile arms tied far back at the post.
I hear the howl of the whip again, I twitch briefly, but the hissing strap is not aimed at me, the woman next to me is now struggling with fear and pain. The viewers also turn to her and leave me in peace.
I close my eyes, I am stiffly tied to the post, I feel thirst and pain; my bladder squeezes ... my pee has to wait. I'm trying to collect myself, I'm slowly finding some peace. I try to hide the malicious happenings around me, but Barbara's screams wake me up again and again...
Soon I begin to worry, “Where am I going if I am untied here? How do I get through the crowd unscathed, barefoot in my penitential shirt, where everyone recognizes me immediately?”
The Conclusion
And with that, the final section of chapter 2 follows seamlessly with Conrad’s point of view…
