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Short Stories and Poems by CF-Members

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„Orgasm Ruination Game“

orgasm-ruination.jpg
"Alright, Player 5... let's play a game of Orgasm Ruination. And what is a better way to ruin a female orgasm than a bullet blowing her vagina up. The rules of this exciting game are simple: Those couragous ladies behind the curtain, who by the way volunteer to play this game, will try to masturbate to a genuine orgasm as quickly as possible. The goal of this game is stopping them from cumming by blowing their pussies up using this modified automatic gun. You can shoot one bullet every 30 seconds in order to ruin an upcoming orgasm. You have a total of 11 bullets in the gun. The girls are required to announce the oragasm 10 seconds prior to their orgasm by yelling out loud: "I'M CUMMING! SHOOT MY CUNT!", in order to make the orgasm count. Once a girl couldn't be stopped from cumming, she is free to go and will get her $50,000 prize money. During the game I will suck your cock. The game is over, when you shot all 11 bullets or when I made you cum. Shooting any other body parts or killing a girl will disqualify you and you'll have to pay the penalty fee. Let's see how many orgasms you can ruin. The high score of this game is 8! Are you ready?"
 
Last edited by a moderator:
impaler49152 said:
View attachment 1491275
"Alright, Player 5... let's play a game of Orgasm Ruination. And what is a better way to ruin a female orgasm than a bullet blowing her vagina up. The rules of this exciting game are simple: Those couragous ladies behind the curtain, who by the way volunteer to play this game, will try to masturbate to a genuine orgasm as quickly as possible. The goal of this game is stopping them from cumming by blowing their pussies up using this modified automatic gun. You can shoot one bullet every 30 seconds in order to ruin an upcoming orgasm. You have a total of 11 bullets in the gun. The girls are required to announce the oragasm 10 seconds prior to their orgasm by yelling out loud: "I'M CUMMING! SHOOT MY CUNT!", in order to make the orgasm count. Once a girl couldn't be stopped from cumming, she is free to go and will get her $50,000 prize money. During the game I will suck your cock. The game is over, when you shot all 11 bullets or when I made you cum. Shooting any other body parts or killing a girl will disqualify you and you'll have to pay the penalty fee. Let's see how many orgasms you can ruin. The high score of this game is 8! Are you ready?"
Click to expand...
A short story need always a title!
 
Crucified by barbarians

We were told barbarians might be coming to plunder us some day. We were told they always struck in the fall. But we did not believe them, nor did we prepare ourselves accordingly.

We foolishly assumed they would not find us. We believed we were too small to bother with. But we were wrong.

They struck our small village when our men were off fighting in the King's wars. We were not expecting their raid. Thus, we were virtually defenseless.

They swooped in, killing and plundering. They took our grain, our livestock, our mead; all of our provisions. Anyone who resisted them was mercilessly cut down.

Those they did not kill, they took away to sell as slaves. As their captive, I resigned myself to becoming some man's mistress or sex slave. But they had a far worse fate in store for me.

They stripped me down before nailing me to a wooden cross. Then they put me upright within the shadow of the assembly hall. The only thing that protected me from total humiliation was a sheer wrap they put around my waist, not that it covered all that much.

It was an agony unlike anything I had ever experienced before. There was intense pain in my hands and feet. Worse, I had to endure that pain just to lift myself up enough to breathe. It was a cruel fate to be exposed virtually naked like that, struggling just to try to breathe.

I did not understand why they were leaving me in agony. One of them must have thought I needed explanation. As I suffered, it was told to me how they always crucified a young maiden if we were not ready with our tribute for them. It was to serve as a warning to all the other villages.

Lycia and Magdala broke away and came running over to me. But they could not figure out how to get me down. That's when I saw the archers.

I tried to warn them, but it was too late. Arrows flew, cutting down my dear friends. They lay before me, dying upon the dirt outside the assembly hall.

Strangely, I was not afraid during the raid. I was not even afraid at the sounds of the carnage all around me. But I became greatly alarmed after they left, as an eerie silence settled in all around me.

Lycia and Magdala writhed and groaned as they lay upon the ground. But in my agony, there was nothing I could do for them. They had sacrificed themselves for me in vain. My punishment was to watch them until they stopped moving and lay silent.

I hung there all through the afternoon, praying for deliverance. I hoped someone would come along and find a way to get me down. But as day was replaced with night, I experienced a despairing chill from the night air.

I could not sleep. I had to keep lifting myself up enough to get another breath. This only added to the pain in my hands and feet.

Morning dawned, and a renewed hope swelled within me. But staring at Lycia and Magdala's pierced, naked bodies brought me back down to despair. There was no sound, not even that of a bird flying nearby.

The sun enveloped me at noon, and I felt the full force of its rays. I was hungry, but I thirsted even more. I prayed for the return of those barbarians, if only they would somehow give me something to drink.

The hours dragged by without any respite. I began hallucinating. Lycia and Magdala would get up and leave me to suffer in silence. But when I blinked my eyes, they were back in their positions of death.

The pain in my hands and feet never went away, especially when I tried to lift myself up enough to get a decent breath. I could feel it starting to extend up my legs and along my arms. It was getting harder to lift myself up to get breath after breath.

Evening came, and with it came the cool night air. I was chilled, and I often shivered. The pain became so intense that I started crying out.

Was anyone out there? Could anyone hear my cries? I allowed my agony to make me vocal in my suffering on the chance it might attract salvation.

I do not know how many times I tried to sleep. Each time, I was awakened as I tried to rise up on my feet for another breath. That's when I realized that hunger, thirst, and spreading pain in my arms and legs were taking their toll.

The sky began to lighten. But this time, it did not bring any hope with it. I hurt all over.

I finally reached the point where I tried to let myself die. But my body would not allow it. Instinctively, I pushed up on my feet and pulled with my arms, wanting that next breath. The pain was incredible.

I had long since cried myself out at the sight of Lycia and Magdala. They had suffered, but not nearly as long as I was suffering. I began envying them.

The sun rose higher, mercilessly beating down upon me. Thirst, hunger and agony were finally taking their toll on me. It was getting harder to lift myself up for a breath.

I could not keep my head lifted upward. I bowed forward, praying for deliverance. But I believed in no deity, and this was ultimately to be my punishment for my disbelief.

I cursed Lycia and Magdala, wishing I had died with them. Then I begged their forgiveness. In my delirium, I saw them rise up, only to be arrowed and collapse all over again.

The sun rose higher, baking me. I suffered from hunger, thirst, and an agony I wished would come to an end. But my body would not give me mercy. It always wanted one more breath... always one more breath.

And then it got harder. Each breath got more difficult. There was too much pain; I was too weakened.

I rested, the pain not quite as intense as when I tried to rise up to breathe. Each rest felt wonderful. How could moments of temporary peace be immediately accompanied by such periods of agony?

I tried to lift myself up yet again. But this time, the pain and my weakness would not let me. It was all the way down my arms into my chest; all the way up my legs into my stomach.

I needed to breathe; my body wanted to breathe. I wanted to taste the late morning air. But I could not rise up!

I tried to cry out, but I had no breath. Fear enveloped me. I fought to lift myself up despite the incredible pain in my arms and legs. But this time, it was not happening.

I tried to lift my head. But it was too heavy. Instinctively, I tried to fight, to wriggle, to move. But nothing would respond to my commands.

My chest began to heave in protest. It was a new agony, a frightening agony that told me the end was near. I should have embraced it, but my body wanted to live. But it no longer had the strength.

I went into painful spasms, my hands flexing as my toes curled. My stomach rippled as my chest heaved. But there was no breath forthcoming.

I experienced it all over again in my last few seconds: the pain of the nails, the arrowing of Lycia and Magdala, each breath I had to fight for during the long hours of agony. My heart slowed as my chest heaved and heaved. Then it finally stopped, and my suffering was at an end.
190301MikeHunt10.jpg
6-24-24 Inspired by Mike Hunt's render and his story idea.
 
riwa said:
Crucified by barbarians

We were told barbarians might be coming to plunder us some day. We were told they always struck in the fall. But we did not believe them, nor did we prepare ourselves accordingly.

We foolishly assumed they would not find us. We believed we were too small to bother with. But we were wrong.

They struck our small village when our men were off fighting in the King's wars. We were not expecting their raid. Thus, we were virtually defenseless.

They swooped in, killing and plundering. They took our grain, our livestock, our mead; all of our provisions. Anyone who resisted them was mercilessly cut down.

Those they did not kill, they took away to sell as slaves. As their captive, I resigned myself to becoming some man's mistress or sex slave. But they had a far worse fate in store for me.

They stripped me down before nailing me to a wooden cross. Then they put me upright within the shadow of the assembly hall. The only thing that protected me from total humiliation was a sheer wrap they put around my waist, not that it covered all that much.

It was an agony unlike anything I had ever experienced before. There was intense pain in my hands and feet. Worse, I had to endure that pain just to lift myself up enough to breathe. It was a cruel fate to be exposed virtually naked like that, struggling just to try to breathe.

I did not understand why they were leaving me in agony. One of them must have thought I needed explanation. As I suffered, it was told to me how they always crucified a young maiden if we were not ready with our tribute for them. It was to serve as a warning to all the other villages.

Lycia and Magdala broke away and came running over to me. But they could not figure out how to get me down. That's when I saw the archers.

I tried to warn them, but it was too late. Arrows flew, cutting down my dear friends. They lay before me, dying upon the dirt outside the assembly hall.

Strangely, I was not afraid during the raid. I was not even afraid at the sounds of the carnage all around me. But I became greatly alarmed after they left, as an eerie silence settled in all around me.

Lycia and Magdala writhed and groaned as they lay upon the ground. But in my agony, there was nothing I could do for them. They had sacrificed themselves for me in vain. My punishment was to watch them until they stopped moving and lay silent.

I hung there all through the afternoon, praying for deliverance. I hoped someone would come along and find a way to get me down. But as day was replaced with night, I experienced a despairing chill from the night air.

I could not sleep. I had to keep lifting myself up enough to get another breath. This only added to the pain in my hands and feet.

Morning dawned, and a renewed hope swelled within me. But staring at Lycia and Magdala's pierced, naked bodies brought me back down to despair. There was no sound, not even that of a bird flying nearby.

The sun enveloped me at noon, and I felt the full force of its rays. I was hungry, but I thirsted even more. I prayed for the return of those barbarians, if only they would somehow give me something to drink.

The hours dragged by without any respite. I began hallucinating. Lycia and Magdala would get up and leave me to suffer in silence. But when I blinked my eyes, they were back in their positions of death.

The pain in my hands and feet never went away, especially when I tried to lift myself up enough to get a decent breath. I could feel it starting to extend up my legs and along my arms. It was getting harder to lift myself up to get breath after breath.

Evening came, and with it came the cool night air. I was chilled, and I often shivered. The pain became so intense that I started crying out.

Was anyone out there? Could anyone hear my cries? I allowed my agony to make me vocal in my suffering on the chance it might attract salvation.

I do not know how many times I tried to sleep. Each time, I was awakened as I tried to rise up on my feet for another breath. That's when I realized that hunger, thirst, and spreading pain in my arms and legs were taking their toll.

The sky began to lighten. But this time, it did not bring any hope with it. I hurt all over.

I finally reached the point where I tried to let myself die. But my body would not allow it. Instinctively, I pushed up on my feet and pulled with my arms, wanting that next breath. The pain was incredible.

I had long since cried myself out at the sight of Lycia and Magdala. They had suffered, but not nearly as long as I was suffering. I began envying them.

The sun rose higher, mercilessly beating down upon me. Thirst, hunger and agony were finally taking their toll on me. It was getting harder to lift myself up for a breath.

I could not keep my head lifted upward. I bowed forward, praying for deliverance. But I believed in no deity, and this was ultimately to be my punishment for my disbelief.

I cursed Lycia and Magdala, wishing I had died with them. Then I begged their forgiveness. In my delirium, I saw them rise up, only to be arrowed and collapse all over again.

The sun rose higher, baking me. I suffered from hunger, thirst, and an agony I wished would come to an end. But my body would not give me mercy. It always wanted one more breath... always one more breath.

And then it got harder. Each breath got more difficult. There was too much pain; I was too weakened.

I rested, the pain not quite as intense as when I tried to rise up to breathe. Each rest felt wonderful. How could moments of temporary peace be immediately accompanied by such periods of agony?

I tried to lift myself up yet again. But this time, the pain and my weakness would not let me. It was all the way down my arms into my chest; all the way up my legs into my stomach.

I needed to breathe; my body wanted to breathe. I wanted to taste the late morning air. But I could not rise up!

I tried to cry out, but I had no breath. Fear enveloped me. I fought to lift myself up despite the incredible pain in my arms and legs. But this time, it was not happening.

I tried to lift my head. But it was too heavy. Instinctively, I tried to fight, to wriggle, to move. But nothing would respond to my commands.

My chest began to heave in protest. It was a new agony, a frightening agony that told me the end was near. I should have embraced it, but my body wanted to live. But it no longer had the strength.

I went into painful spasms, my hands flexing as my toes curled. My stomach rippled as my chest heaved. But there was no breath forthcoming.

I experienced it all over again in my last few seconds: the pain of the nails, the arrowing of Lycia and Magdala, each breath I had to fight for during the long hours of agony. My heart slowed as my chest heaved and heaved. Then it finally stopped, and my suffering was at an end.
View attachment 1492206
6-24-24 Inspired by Mike Hunt's render and his story idea.
Click to expand...
I love it. I happen to be writing a story about a barbarian attack as well, I hope it will be as good as Riwa's work.
 
The trial of 3 silenced traitors

My fate is written, I will die very slowly, being the instigator of a coup attempt is punishable by torture and the death penalty. Five guards arrive in my cell. they free me, but tie my hands tightly behind my back with a coarse rope which hurts my wrists. they gag me with a piece of white cloth, then put a bag over my head and we walk. after long minutes, I feel on my bare skin that we are outside. They put me on my knees, my hands still tied behind my back. I hear the queen's voice begin to speak.


- “My dear friends, today is a serious time, I was the victim of an attempted kidnapping yesterday” an immense hubbub arises from a crowd that I cannot see. -"But don't worry, the culprits have been arrested, and justice will be done!!" my hood is removed, I then discover a crowd of hundreds of people in front of me. Beside me, the two other prisoners are also there, in the same situation as me. Gagged, I look down at the impressive crowd, totally defeated.


-"Observe carefully the three traitors who are there before you, may they serve as an example to all those who think of questioning my authority! Follow the same voice as these miserable pests, and you will end up like them : kneeled and humiliated in front of the people. For your involvement in an attack targeting my person, and the entire kingdom, I sentence you to death!”


We scream as one through the gag and struggle, eyes wide. knowing that you have been condemned is one thing, hearing it officially in front of thousands of people is another. I pull with all my strength on the bonds, but they do not give way and my hands remain firmly attached. same thing for the gag which is firmly attached behind my head: impossible to articulate a single word in these conditions. I would like to beg the queen, beg her to let me live, or simply to kill me quickly but nothing helps, all people see is a completely submissive man, gesticulating, incapable of the slightest gesture or the slightest word, naked, at the feet of a woman who has just condemned him to death without any remorse or pity.“MHHHHHPPHHHFFFF”


“Shut up, you miserable worms” the queen blurted, giving me a violent kick in the ribs, cutting off the laughter of the crowd and our muffled pleas. Finally, the queen turns to me. “Take these three turds out of my sight immediately!” we are picked up and brought back inside. Once back in my cage, again gagged and handcuffed, I burst into tears. I am going to die very soon and from now on nothing will be able to stop it.
 
Sinful betrothal

"Change quickly, Zack! Your beloved's parents must recognize you as punctual!"

"I'll be ready in a minute, Dad!" It was - precisely because of very special a day today - that my fingers were shaking, and whenever I thought of Sarah, other parts of my body stopped listening to me. I was also nervously struggling with my pants so that everyone wouldn't immediately see what I looked forward to most in marriage. It seemed to me like another hypocrisy. I'm twenty-two, and I hide things from my parents, even though most of the time, it's just that I watch vulgar cartoons in the evenings. At the same time, the Lord said that man is polluted by what comes out of him.

When my restless body calmed down - and I tucked my shirt in - I went down to my parents, who were cheering unhealthily. My father, a thick-armed white guy, and mother, a tall black lady in a red evening dress, weren't praising me mostly. Today, however, their eyes shone with gratitude and appreciation, for I would soon bring them a daughter and a mother of grandchildren to the family hearth. Grandchildren freed of the inheritance baptized slaves. It took us just over half an hour by car to get to the house of Chuckworths, which until recently hosted the insectologist Dr. Danesh. His trip to see disease carriers turned from a professional expedition into a medical indisposition. The family was a newcomer to our church, and we won the race to see who could be their first official friends. I won the absolute race between the young men to see who could become the best friends with their daughter.

The head of the family, Martin, led us to a wide table, his cheerful face watching us from behind round clerical glasses. But as I have already emphasized, I am not concerned with banal body parts. By then, I was more interested in his wife Sandra because her long legs, slender waist, and round, provocative buttocks were all passed to her very desirable daughter, who nevertheless did not show up for dinner yet.

"Runaway bride run away too early?" I joked, trying to sound apologetic in advance.

"I'm sure she'll be coming soon," said Mr. Chuckworth, scratching himself between his blond hair. "We're just trying not to let her get lazy in her homeschooling program, and today, I gave her a math problem that seems to be causing her more trouble than it should be."

Lord, I almost forgot that they are homeschooling her. I doubted it made sense. I found it funny when parents try to give their children lessons that read you from the Gospel from beginning to end and ensure they don't get acquainted with evolution too quickly.

Sarah came in a few seconds after our conversation. Her green dress couldn't hide anything that haunted me in both night-dreaming and day-dreaming. Long, slender calves and cute thighs, which I wanted to climb up to her tiny but fertile garden of pleasures. Distinctive, firm rear, which, after being revealed, a man could consider a beautiful moon, even more perfect than the one God placed in the heavens. Thanks to her glasses, much larger than her father's, and braids made of her golden hair, she looked like a schoolgirl even at her age, as her parents probably wanted. But I wanted to be her teacher now and teach her what it means to be a full-fledged adult woman. Creature hor from every angle, innocent but with a spirit that commanded man's blood.

She gave us and her parents a big smile.

"I hope you enjoy my pancakes," she said, looking mainly at me. I nodded my head and stroked my stomach, though my hand itched to slide a little lower, especially when Sarah landed her butt on the chair. I enjoyed the dough, the whipped cream, and the cranberries, but I had to push myself to the table as much as possible to cover my hard, fidgety dick, to which I was sending images of Sarah. So far, I imagined her in her underwear. She could have had a white bra, but maybe with a pattern. On the other hand, the panties could match the dress, like a jungle hiding a beast.

"Congratulations to the chef!" I exclaimed after eating the last bit. "You have to make me pancakes again right after our wedding. And then on each of our anniversaries!" I tried to sound both joyfully serious. I exaggerated a bit because I couldn't mention a more monumental desire.

"I'd like to show you my mother's cookbook. I love to cook and could show you the dishes I could make for you on our first married week." She lowered her eyes slightly to the table, but pride sounded in her voice.

"Feel free to go to the kitchen, but be back in two weeks," Mr. Chuckworth ordered. I went to see my future bride on an expedition, and out of pure politeness, I lagged a few steps behind her.

We stopped as soon as we climbed the stairs. Sarah spun in place and grabbed my hand. "No, I left it in my room!" She took my hand and quickly pulled me behind a nearby half-open door.

There was everything usual in her room, but then some more. She had a cozy-looking crib with a checkered blanket and a small side table beside it. I didn't have to examine the lying book to find out which one, so I looked at the wall instead. Contrary to common expectations, there was no large mirror but a school blackboard with a washing sponge. The smaller table probably fulfilled the role of a teacher's desk and was accompanied by one chair on each side.

"Do your parents teach you in your room?"

Sarah nodded. "Everything except domestic chores. Both parents are teachers, so they thought it best for their daughter to wake up right in class."

I shrugged. "As you can see, you even read from the cookbook here," I reminded Sarah why we were there and lightly poked her on the elbow.

"I'm not such a sworn cook." She opened the drawer and pulled out a book with a faded housewife picture on the cover. I saw that the book wasn't completely closed, but I didn't understand what served as a bookmark between its pages until Sarah dramatically opened it up on the pages with the marble cake recipe.

There lay a dark wooden spoon, and Sarah as she rolled her eyes cutely. I didn't understand what he was doing. I tried to make our eyes meet, although I tended to examine her titties, which she practically put on the pages of the cookbook.

"Patrně víš, že tohle není jenom k samotnému vaření."

She sounded playful, so I imitated her tone. "I suppose your mom hit your ass a few times, but I don't think it could have been very often because you're too well-behaved young lady for that. Or is that why you're like that?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Most of the time, it didn't happen, but in our case, it was true that any week, I get a few blows with a wooden spoon for the first sin and, for the second, a long beating with a hairbrush. However, the latter happened only once during my homeschooling. However..." Suddenly, she became frighteningly quiet. "However, I found out that my Daddy spanks Mommy."

Although the first thing that came to my mind was something else, I controlled myself before I spoke because I realized that Sarah was probably not talking about an ageplay scenario.

"You mean he's punishing her like that?"

Sarah nodded. "They don't know, I know, but I've heard them twice. The first time was when the neighbor's wife came to us. My mom and her had gone too high with wine, but my dad couldn't believe his own or his ears when he came home and heard my mom agree to the suggestions they got on the derby. I wish you could see the dance. The neighbor had to leave the house, while mom had to stay at home, and the dad dragged her into the bedroom. They forgot to close themselves properly, and I heard the belt slapping and my mom screaming. First came the complaints, then the pure screams of pain, and finally, it was clear that she would do anything and not even think about the horse anymore in order the horrible thing would stop touching her ass.

At the time, I thought my dad would never have done it otherwise, but two weeks later, my mom did something again. She borrowed Dad's car and came back with a horrible scratch. I saw my dad over her shoulder putting a hairbrush in his coat pocket, and my mom turned pale with fear. I think that in another place, it has taken on color. I could tell because, for a few days, she almost didn't sit down and took thick pillows at lunch and dinner. When she worked in the garden or taught me, she was rubbing her ass for a long time. That's how I knew I'd discovered the secret to their marital harmony."

She approached me. "And now I would like to know. Are you a man enough to treat me the same way, and are you ready to show it?“

"Now?"

"Now!"

I had to make a decision quickly. On the one hand, my previous ideas about the gal revolved around something other than beating that ass, this could have allowed me to take off at least one layer of clothing, and at the same time, I was fond of the idea that Sarah would defer to me.

"You heard your dad. We have only less than a quarter of an hour." So?" Sarah gave me a dull look, but I knew it was an act.

Jesus Christ, her panties were pink and so cute. I wished to see through them, but it was also amazing how beautifully they hugged the shape of the round, challenging buttocks. I couldn't see their skin, but underneath, the bare thighs attracted me, marked only by a few freckles that made Sarah look a little more like a work of art, except that she was a creation of God the Father.

At first, I used a wooden spoon as a naughty finger. I ran it through each asscheek and a little in between. I touched places with it that I didn't have the right to yet, so I stroked Sarah from the front as well.

She wasn't complaining.

I enjoyed a fraction of my husbandly rights. I finally raised the wooden rod of justice. The first movement of my arms was just a practice, but when my hand returned, I took care the spoon smacked properly on the panties!

"Owww Hooah!" Sarah's scream surpassed the slap on her spanked behind. I tried to surprise her, so I hit her with even more force on her unprotected thigh. The girl squeaked like a bag of mice when you pulled their tails at the same time. From that moment on, her waist began to twist in all directions.

I knew it was necessary to arrange an order. Otherwise, this moment could never come again. "Hold still!" I admonished her, supplementing my words with three burning blows on her bottom. She stopped fidgeting, but she cried incessantly. I clung to the hem of her panties. I was sorry that it hurt her, but I started to enjoy it, and I regretted that I couldn't pull them off and show her how it hurts on bare.
 
"You'll get more - Seven," I decided.

"I must confess," Sarah moaned. "Ouch!"

"That was for mentioning the Catholic concept!" I tapped her tortured muscle with a wooden spoon.

"I was going to say I'm starting to enjoy it!" Sarah held out her hand helplessly.

"Me too. I must compensate it for you and make it more painful!"

The wooden spoon had only a small area to hit with, but I tried to make up for it with a vigorous swing, followed by a stretched sobbing, as at a concert.

I dealt the promised seven blows and dealt all over the surface of her panties. I loved the new spot on her thighs, but I didn't want anyone to notice them when there were more of them. Sarah symbolically moved her buttocks after each blow, and in addition to moaning, she also exhaled delightfully. The exhalations were getting longer and longer, and I was proud of the opportunity to give her pleasure and pain at the same time. I put more force into each punch and aimed three of them at the same place so I could smack it with the sharpest, the most stinging smack of them all afterward.

"Aaa-aahh! Sarah made a sound like a mare in heat. I grabbed her shoulders, helped her straighten up, and turned her toward me. Our faces came closer, our eyes stared into each other for a long time, and finally, we started kissing. We tasted our lips for a while and then our tongues. I thought I'd reach her above the place where her legs begin to catch the heat radiating through her panties. In the end, I scared the kissed girl, stroking her gently on the small of her back.

We drowned in our senses so much that we forgot about common sense.

Mrs. Chuckworth slammed on the door. Ironically, since she was already half in the room. She came to us with her lips from ear to ear. She could afford to look condescending, unlike my mom, who walked into the room, taking small steps without asking, sitting on one of the chairs for Sarah's education.

The Chuckworth daughter was also shocked and breathed loudly until her breasts were swinging. I made myself turn around and turn to her mother.

"So you saw us kissing?"

"I've seen a spanking, too," said Mrs. Chuckworth. "At least the conclusion. I went to the kitchen to hear about your favorite dishes but quickly realized I wouldn't find you there."

"It's the cartoons he watches in secret. They made him a pervert!" my mom complained.

"Why a pervert?" asked a male voice from the hallway. The dads followed the moms, and Mrs. Chuckworth was happy to explain what we were doing here.

"Now he's got to marry her!" said Mr. Chuckworth, and I hoped he would insist. My dad came up to me and started shaking my shoulders. "How could you make her do that? In a few months, you could be doing -"

"It was my idea," Sarah confessed, walking toward her parents with a shuffling step. "I wanted to try it because that's how it goes in our family."

Mrs. Chuckworth lost her smile and her detached view. "And I thought I'd give it to you as marriage advice."

"What do you mean?" asked Mom. "Your husband is spanking you?"

"We found that if we just talked and argued, we solved very little," said Mrs. Chuckworth. "Of course, if we agree that I deserve smack on my ass for what I've done, most of the problems will soon disappear. And I have to say that a grown woman learns to do that and processes more than a naughty kid."

"And you want it to happen to your daughter too?" Mom turned to her in her chair, but she couldn't get up yet.

"If it suits her, it can strengthen her marriage. Of course, and this is a big mistake tonight, marital discipline falls into things that are only supposed to exist in marriage." She looked at me. "You touched my daughter inappropriately. It doesn't matter that she wanted it herself."

I looked at Sarah, but I couldn't look into that helpless, depressed face. "It's a pity you can't punish me in the same way as Mr. Cuckworth does." It probably wasn't entirely appropriate, but suddenly I couldn't get rid of the idea of a woman's ass displayed and serving to demonstrate husband's authority.

"On the other hand, why not?" Mrs. Chuckworth turned to my dad. "Has your son ever received corporal punishment?"

"I had to go to him twice with a belt," admitted my dad.

I bit my lip. The second time, he chased me around the apartment, and the punishment was even longer.

"This is our house. Therefore, we have the right to punish him. Even me, if I'm supposed to be his mother-in-law. What do you think about it?"

"Your house, your rules," Dad answered unoriginally, and Mom didn't dare to contradict him.

"And you, young man?"

I had to answer truthfully. "I'll do anything to get your daughter."

"Martin, fetch me a hairbrush," Mrs. Chuckworth asked her husband. "And you, Sarah, go away. You can't see him like that."

Sarah did walk away, looking at me apologetically the whole time. Mrs. Chuckworth had something much less kind in her eyes. She straightened up in her chair and crossed her legs. I had to remind myself that this was how I would get to the happiest day of my life.

She didn't have to give me any more orders. I stood next to her, feeling like a criminal the whole time, which felt better than feeling like a little boy.

It wasn't until Mr. Chuckworth handed over the wooden hairbrush to his wife that she instructed me: "Pants down!" but I was already unbuttoning them anyway. I kept the undies because I believed that Mrs. Chuckworth would not go any further. I was right, but this caring mother encircled my waist with her arm and forced me to lie on her lap. I looked at the floor, not wanting to look my mother in the eye. Among other things, I realized that I had brushed my elbow against the breast of Mrs. Chuckworth, and I thought that maybe this was also arousing, also due to the contact with her thighs.

Whack, Whack WhaCK!

At first, I thought it wouldn't be so bad, but Mrs. Chuckworth was only practicing the movement of her wrist. Too early, she invested her motherly energy in her hand and turned it into the agony of my behind. It wasn't just about the speed and power of the strokes, although those alone drove me crazy. The strokes of the hairbrush landed not very far from each other, so the pain was building up, and I was screaming so much that people must have heard me in the street. I didn't care about marrying Sarah. I was hoping someone would come to save me from the punishment and shame that came with it.

Of course, it was a ridiculous idea, and no help came. I couldn't count every smack, but there must have been tenths of them. Mrs. Chuckworth was a beautiful but strict woman who could not deny her inner teacher. She didn't forgive sin just like that, and it took a long time before she got tired of my whining and spoke again.

"Whose house is this?"

"Yours and your husband's!"

WHACK!

"Is Sarah your wife?"

"Not yet!" I shot out an answer because I wanted the consequences to be behind me.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Are you sorry for what happened?" "Yes, honestly, ma'am!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The incredible pain finally stopped, and Mrs. Chuckworth helped me up. Initially, I wanted to run away from that cruel matriarch named Sandra quickly. But it was still clear to me that you must negotiate with the family you marry into, which in many cases means submitting to it.

"Thank you," I said timidly, but I wasn't humble enough to kiss the lady's hand. I wanted to step back, and suddenly, an unexpected reaction of hers stopped me. She stood up to me, and her lips touched my forehead. Speechless, I pulled my trousers on, fighting the heat under my skin, which didn't diminish. Truthfully, I would be grateful if I could walk around naked here. Maybe it's true that scorching one's bottom is more effective on adults than on children.

effective on adults than on children.

"I hope he learned his lesson eventually," my dad said, and I did what could nod if a dull one. Dad looked at me. He might have wanted me to say something, but I was too worried not to start crying. It took a few seconds, but then his face changed. The expression "Okay, I'll help you, you idiot" appeared in it.

"Now that you've taught my son," Dad looked thoughtfully at Chuckworths. "Maybe you could help me with what to do if I want to bend my wife over my knee."

Mom jumped out of her chair. "The only one who deserved it here was Zack! I never behave like a little girl or a fool!"

"Darling, we need to bring our families closer together." Dad looked at her and blinked a few times. "Maybe we could try a less orthodox approach if that's what young ones will be practicing."

I expected Sarah not to be far, and I was not wrong. She was standing by the stairs, stroking her ass, and unlike me, she let her tears flow down her face red with shame freely. When we looked at each other, we came together with a faster step despite the mutual pain. We hugged and immediately started whispering.

"Did Mom hurt you too much?"

No, don't worry, nothing terrible happened. Now even my dad is trying to spank mom, so it's going to be for a long time."

"Then I have to compensate you for what happened to you because of me!"

She began to unbutton and pull down my pants. It was clear what she was up to, and after today's experience, I was thinking about stopping her. However, it's also true that from the moment I got up from her mother's lap, I started to have a hard-on and wanted to replace the experience of suffering with a moment of pleasure.

It wasn't long before Sarah was on her knees, and to my satisfaction, she looked impressed with my liberated and strong dick. You know, I had African genes on my mother's side, and as far as I know, my dad wasn't underdeveloped either.

Sarah took me into her mouth so that she lovingly pushed the foreskin aside on the most masculine part of my body and involved her whole head in the subsequent caresses. She masterfully applied enough pressure and slightly turned from side to side. It was a penetrating experience, comparable to a visit to different woman's hole. On my part, lovemaking consisted of scratching between her hair, sometimes kind, sometimes animalistic. I think that even the burning on my butt helped me to enjoy it a little more. Sarah used everything she had and knew. She alternated the romantic care of her lips with the slow, sensual work of her tongue. She topped it off at the moment when my pleasure reached a satisfying peak, and I felt how she guaranteed with a circular movement that everything from my body ended up in her throat.

I swore that my mouth would pay the same attention to her on our wedding night.
 
T442163 said:
One of my new Digital Flash Card Stories [corrected]
AI assist screwed up that first attempt inserting the wrong edit.
Let me know what you think and if a second part is needed or not?!

View attachment 1531574
Click to expand...
However, I believe this [V2] version, utilizing an AI Image by: Pymgordon
does more effectively depict the true horror of the situation.
Let me know what you think?

The New Government Takes Control [V2].jpg
 
Last edited:
Picture by SCOTTXRT

The Book Review

The following intake photo and excerpt appear in a recently published book, Faces of Punishment: Women of the Hardcastle Prison 1876-1948, by Julia Shelburne. With individual stories painstakingly compiled using inmate records, newspaper articles, state archives, and personal interviews, the author paints a harrowing portrait of pain and brutality suffered by the incarcerated. The survivors often bore severe physical and mental scars the rest of their lives.

Ms. Shelburne stated that the cruel fate of young Emma Claire Wilson affected her the most. A video of our full interview with the author is available below and on our social media platforms.

Inmate # 605721
Emma Claire Wilson
Age: 19
Conviction: August 28th, 1936 for Theft of Valuables
Sentence: 24 months

PNG image13.jpg.png

Log:

September 10, 1936 - Arrival and Intake
-Paddle: 20 swats bare buttocks (Standard)
-Paddle: 10 swats bare buttocks for failure to strip when ordered (Additional)

September 16, 1936 - Violation for failure to consume all food on tray
-Knotted rope: 10 lashes bare buttocks

April 3, 1937 - Violation for failure to complete laundry duties
-Paddle: 15 swats bare buttocks
-One week bread and water

April 11, 1937: Violation for sleeping during laundry duties
Note: Inmate claimed she fell unconscious from weakness
-Horsewhip: 30 lashes bare back and buttocks

June 19, 1937- Violation for failing to report escape attempt on outdoor work detail
-Bullwhip: 25 lashes bare back in front of assembled population

June 23, 1937- Inmate deceased in infirmary (Fever)

J. Ford Livingston, a prison reform advocate, was present at Emma Claire’s bullwhipping. He described the terror on the unfortunate girl’s face as she approached the post and the shameful exposure of her naked heaving chest to hundreds of people. A veteran of The Great War, the normally stoic Livingston admitted shedding a tear at the piercing cries accompanying each lash. He noted that Emma Claire was covered with sweat and blood by the end of the punishment with deep wounds carved into her slim back.

The incident and Emma Claire’s subsequent passing were included in a landmark report authored by Livingston. He also recounted the gruesome and fatal fifty-lash punishment suffered by Josie Tanner, the twenty-two year old inmate that attempted the escape. The report generated widespread press coverage and public outrage, eventually helping to usher in a new era of humane treatment in the state’s prisons for both men and women.

In a heartbreaking twist, Emma Claire’s file contained an affidavit dated May 10, 1939 which detailed the confession of one of her close cousins, Harriet Emory. Just before she succumbed to tuberculosis, Harriet admitted to taking the jewelry for which Emma Claire was incarcerated. She was jealous of her cousin’s recent engagement and knew Emma Claire would be blamed for the theft. The jewelry was later found hidden in the woods in the place Harriet described.

An additional document noted that Emma Claire’s conviction had been posthumously expunged. Her remains were disinterred from the prison cemetery on September 7, 1939 and shipped at state expense to her hometown for burial in the family plot.
 
Ramon71 said:
Picture by SCOTTXRT

The Book Review

The following intake photo and excerpt appear in a recently published book, Faces of Punishment: Women of the Hardcastle Prison 1876-1948, by Julia Shelburne. With individual stories painstakingly compiled using inmate records, newspaper articles, state archives, and personal interviews, the author paints a harrowing portrait of pain and brutality suffered by the incarcerated. The survivors often bore severe physical and mental scars the rest of their lives.

Ms. Shelburne stated that the cruel fate of young Emma Claire Wilson affected her the most. A video of our full interview with the author is available below and on our social media platforms.

Inmate # 605721
Emma Claire Wilson
Age: 19
Conviction: August 28th, 1936 for Theft of Valuables
Sentence: 24 months

View attachment 1532015

Log:

September 10, 1936 - Arrival and Intake
-Paddle: 20 swats bare buttocks (Standard)
-Paddle: 10 swats bare buttocks for failure to strip when ordered (Additional)

September 16, 1936 - Violation for failure to consume all food on tray
-Knotted rope: 10 lashes bare buttocks

April 3, 1937 - Violation for failure to complete laundry duties
-Paddle: 15 swats bare buttocks
-One week bread and water

April 11, 1937: Violation for sleeping during laundry duties
Note: Inmate claimed she fell unconscious from weakness
-Horsewhip: 30 lashes bare back and buttocks

June 19, 1937- Violation for failing to report escape attempt on outdoor work detail
-Bullwhip: 25 lashes bare back in front of assembled population

June 23, 1937- Inmate deceased in infirmary (Fever)

J. Ford Livingston, a prison reform advocate, was present at Emma Claire’s bullwhipping. He described the terror on the unfortunate girl’s face as she approached the post and the shameful exposure of her naked heaving chest to hundreds of people. A veteran of The Great War, the normally stoic Livingston admitted shedding a tear at the piercing cries accompanying each lash. He noted that Emma Claire was covered with sweat and blood by the end of the punishment with deep wounds carved into her slim back.

The incident and Emma Claire’s subsequent passing were included in a landmark report authored by Livingston. He also recounted the gruesome and fatal fifty-lash punishment suffered by Josie Tanner, the twenty-two year old inmate that attempted the escape. The report generated widespread press coverage and public outrage, eventually helping to usher in a new era of humane treatment in the state’s prisons for both men and women.

In a heartbreaking twist, Emma Claire’s file contained an affidavit dated May 10, 1939 which detailed the confession of one of her close cousins, Harriet Emory. Just before she succumbed to tuberculosis, Harriet admitted to taking the jewelry for which Emma Claire was incarcerated. She was jealous of her cousin’s recent engagement and knew Emma Claire would be blamed for the theft. The jewelry was later found hidden in the woods in the place Harriet described.

An additional document noted that Emma Claire’s conviction had been posthumously expunged. Her remains were disinterred from the prison cemetery on September 7, 1939 and shipped at state expense to her hometown for burial in the family plot.
Click to expand...
The poor thing.

And just think of how many other unfortunate girls suffered equal or worse abuses in that place who we'll never know about. Just think... :D
 
Ramon71 said:
It’s just horrible to imagine!
Click to expand...
What I find so disturbing about such history is that such sheer brutality ran rampant in a supposedly civilized country so very recently.

Also I find it incredible the inordinate sadism the guard must have employed to have killed even a small woman with only 25 lashes. Bullwhip, certainly, but my Ghod they must have used it extremely roughly to cut her up deeply enough to cause an infection so severe as to kill her- which is what I presume to have happened.

And then to discover she was innocent all along. I feel guilty about my kink when reading this sort of history, it’s so sad… and then it will invade my kinkbrain for guilt wracked pleasure.
 
Hot Seat

Just after waking up, I made beautiful and passionate love to my wife Linda, but it happened that I had breakfast with two of my dearies, without my infidelity being recorded in any way.

At first glance, it would seem that I am talking about an SMS I am looking at on my cellphone.

I'll give you everything you want. I'll be even more efficient than ever, but you'll have to pay me. Miss A.

I wondered what kind of girls my mistress had just likened to when her face suddenly appeared on our TV screen. I took a bite of the chocolate-covered waffles and watched it and her.

"June has driven to us on the wheels of the hot sun, but nothing is as hot as the wheels of a race car, especially when Amelia Burnquist is behind the wheel. The woman confuses the whole world that no one can find Niki Lauda among her relatives, even though her race car confidently outperforms every competitor. There may not be a single crash at her races, but many something crashes – especially the dreams of the many macho men in her shadow. If, of course, the stars would cast shadows."

"The stars are traveling slowly, my dear. I'm a comet," replied the blonde with wavy hair, whose muscular but sexy body hid a race car outfit stretched by the pair of breasts, which were as impressive as the racer's list of victories. Amalia was talking about the competition planned for tomorrow.

"You told me that you and the board would have dinner with the NASA delegation tonight," Linda reminded me. It was delightful to have a wife so willing to accept my lies. Guys like me have to appreciate it and, at the same time, protect the family's comfort by not using such excuses too often.

"Of course," I agreed. "I'll stay at the City Hotel. I'll hug you at lunch tomorrow."

"I'll tell George and Patrick how much you're looking forward to chatting with them."

"Modern technology has diminished the point of the boarding schools," I said.

My Linda is a reliable and faithful wife, but we had to work hard to become a perfectly functioning married couple. It has partly made it possible for us to take care of our two wonderful sons, but I also believe that I emphasized to Linda that my word is a law and that I will not rule by word alone. As soon as she took off her wedding dress, I pulled my belt out of my pants and showed her behind what would happen if she wasn't decent and dutiful. But there are so many women, and each pussy represents a different joy. It would be a sin not to try more of them, just as you can't lick the same type of ice cream all year.

Take that NASA representative who was interested in my technology. Her teeth were as white as the Milky Way, and her butt in a tight-fitting white skirt was rounder than many planets. I left in her presence, but we had to split up, and I drove to the hotel in the city, as I told Linda. It has small rooms, and you can't get cable TV, but when I cleaned up a little, I could easily open the door and let in the woman I helped out of her long, disgusting coat. And so, suddenly, she was standing there.

My mistress Amalia Burnquist.

She wasn't a professional stripper, but when she undressed, the individual parts of her suit radiated the same energy as her curves. Stockings, garter belt, panties, the bra- No, there was no bra. The individual parts of her clothing were magical. But her body was stunning. Her long legs were muscular. They could give her speed even without a race car. However, the silhouette of her calves, buttocks, and giant breasts would make whole armies run after her.

"You wanted to ask me for something, Amalia."

She smiled at me. "I know it's best to do what I'm here for, Frank." She came to me, and her nipples flew into my hands.

Amalia was beautiful in the light, but when we turned off the light, she gained mystique qualities. Phantasm of my dreams that I could touch and enter its soft flesh with the hard part of my body. She liked it and threw me on the bed. I never allowed Linda to be on the top during sex, but Amalia owned that position. She was driving me, and I felt how demanding she was. Clutched with her tight pussy and crushed by her thick thighs, I soon reached the climax of the pleasure, but not until I made her roar like the engine of the cars she was accelerating.

When we finished, I had to stretch lazily in bed while the naked Amalia searched for more toys like a pet. Even in the dark, her eyes and the rest of her face lit me up as she leaned against the chest of drawers.

Some of my mistresses lit a cigarette at that moment, but she looked at me as if I was her only drug, which made me happy.

"So tell me, little princess, what do you want from me?"

Uncharacteristically, she turned her face away a little. "It concerns Robert Atkins. He'd like to buy your plating because he's preparing twelve commercial shuttles, but he'd like a favor for you. Eighty percent of the usual price."

When it came to money, it was getting serious.

I turned on the light. "Who is Robert Atkins?"

"That is clear, isn't it? Another industry man I associate with as I do with you."

That made me angry. I got up and walked over to the naked beauty, putting my hand on her shoulder. "I think you're ruining our romance, doll. I love you, but you won't talk about other guys you are fucking in my presence."

"Why?" she laughed cheekily. "Does it bother you that we both have a harem?"

I realized she needed to be tamed. To Amalia's shock, I turned her around and forced her to lean forward to pout her firm bottom. I smacked it. It was a single blow, but I put tremendous strength into it and immediately let Amalia go.

"You jerk!" she shouted. She spoke softly, but you could see the anger in her eyes. She wanted to slap me, but I grabbed her wrist. "Do you want more?" I asked.

She hissed like a viper. I guess she wanted more. Again, I turned her around. This time, I was determined to give her more than just one stroke.

"I don't want you to talk to me about other guys!" SMACK! "I don't want you to compare your polygamy with mine!" SMACK! "And I don't want you to ask me for a discount for anyone!" SMACK!

She twisted her ass to the sides and tried to free the arm from her grip, but I released her only after three strokes. A pink shade spot was now visible on the right cheek of white buttocks, but Amalia surprisingly did not tend to touch it.

"Is this what would you do to your wife?" she asked me.

"I would do much worse," I said proudly.

"So show me!" She surprised me monumentally because she once took my shoe from the floor, handed it to me, and bent over on the bed, displaying her already reprimanded behind.

It took a different direction than I expected, but I thought it was nice to accommodate her in a way that would make both of us happy. I knelt, gripped the shoe, and focused on the still intact left cheek.

WHACK!

Amalia screamed, and it was an unprecedented sound. It started as painful, continued as blissful, and ended as painful again. I paid attention to every stroke and tried to increase my strength. Otherwise, it wouldn't have made sense. Five whacks left their signature on the behind of my mistress, and I directed the last one at both cheeks. Ass was already starting to glow outright crimson.

At the end of the thrashing, Amalia jumped to her feet and hurried to the chest of drawers, from which she pulled something.

"Last time I brought it here, but it looked like you are not into this!" she said and handed me the martinet, the famous French miniature flogger for disobedient animals, children, and sometimes certainly females. I gladly took it over, sat on the bed, and made her bend over my lap. Soon stingy strings began to dance on her butt and draw red lines on it. Her breathing convinced me we would enjoy each other a few more times tonight. However, I thought her experience should not be incomplete, so I secretly exchanged the martinet for my belt, folded it, and started slapping Amalia's skin, wondering if she would complain. True, she screamed and kicked her legs, but she didn't succumb to the pain. She allowed me to tann her ass raw, turning it into a black-and-blue mess.

The next day, Linda cleaned the house while I looked forward to the next round of marital love and watching the sporting events.

"The whole world of race car fans is wondering why the legendary Amalia Burnquist ended up in fourth place, and several times it looked like her car was going to go up in flames when she couldn't handle a corner..."

Unlike the race car fans, I knew their favorite racer was dealing with a minor fire in her pants. That was probably why her sports performance was more difficult than usual. Even a strong, emancipated lady must know she shouldn't provoke and tame her passions.
 
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