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Master to dispense his correction from behind.
After handing the cane to Master Wilhite, McPherson
retreated to the pedestal near the head of our penitent line of
soon-to-be victims. He opened the book to a page in the
middle, marked with a slender black ribbon, and took out a
fountain pen. As Wilhite called out our names and demerits,
and sentenced us to the number of our count, McPherson
dutifully recorded us into that book.
"Joy."
A tall, black woman at the front of the line, lifted her chin a
little. From the way she shivered as she looked at the Rack, I
knew she'd been here before.
"Failure to Posture," Wilhite said. "I'll give her six. The
same for Treasure. Argumentative. I'll do them first. It's been
a while since I've had you under my cane, Treaz. This will be
a pleasure."
The petite blonde, second in line, said soft and tremblingly,
"Yes, sir."
"Mimic. Back Talking. This is twice in as many months.
Twelve should ensure there is no third time."
Poor Mimic, she wavered faintly on her feet. She bit her
lip, something she was probably wishing she'd done earlier
before earning her demerit.
For Laggardly Behavior during exercise in the Crater,
Tawny received a count of three, the smallest given. And for
Ebony, the Outright Defiance of a Master's Command earned
her eighteen. Ebony was the female right beside me. A
beautiful woman, with skin the color of coffee and cream, her
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Judgment
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bottom as round as a bubble, she began to cry when Master
Wilhite pronounced her sentence.
Then Master Wilhite looked at me, "Red?"
"Mischief," the Sub-Master interjected.
"What?"
McPherson raised his head from the Black Book and said,
"He's just named her. It's Mischief."
"How very apt." Lightly taping the cane against his leg, he
came down the line to stand in front of me. "We haven't had
a Runaway in years. I'd be inclined to give her two dozen for
that alone, but that—" He tapped the cane against my second
white Demerit button. "The Abuse of a Master's Property is a
serious offense and should have gone to the Assembly Block."
He pressed the end of the cane under my chin and gently
forced back my head so he could see the strangulation
bruises where they already marred my throat.
"Maybe because she's so new," McPherson suggested.
"Maybe because he's got plans for her bottom that don't
involve its being ruined first. It's vastly more interesting to
pump a woman until she groans, than to have her already
groaning and in so much pain she doesn't even notice your
pounding. I'm in the mood for generosity. Twelve for running,
but it will be a walloping eighteener for the AMP." Wilhite
turned and headed for the Rack. "Let's get started, shall we?
Joy, my luscious dark-skinned beauty, bring that saucy
bottom of yours over here. I mean to teach it a lesson."
Voluptuously formed, Joy meekly followed Master Wilhite.
That she had been through all this before was blatantly
obvious when, without waiting for instructions, she stepped
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Judgment
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up to the Rack. She held his pro-offered hand for balance as
she slipped her feet into the padded ankle-stocks that ran
across the bottom. She held perfectly still while McPherson
adjusted the height, raising the pommel until it nestled right
up against her groin. Thus 'saddled,' they strapped her legs to
the vertical part of the Rack, and Joy lay her torso down
along the padded horizontal 'L' stretch.
McPherson lowered a bracing bar across the small of her
back, pressing her hips flat to the Rack and subsequently
thrusting her bottom well up for Wilhite's cane. Then taking
hold of her wrists in each of his hands, he braced his foot on
the ankle stocks along the bottom and pulled, hauling her
fully forward.
Her graceful back curved, her taut round buttocks parted,
Joy was well and truly stretched for whipping.
Master Wilhite tossed back her yellow bib of an Elite skirt
and gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Dear me, how did this
happen? Joy," he declared, "You haven't a mark on you! How
long has it been since your last thrashing?"
Her legs, all I could see of her, quivered and, as she briefly
struggled and failed to clench, her dusky bottom hole seemed
to wink back at those of us apprehensively waiting our turns.
"Six weeks, sir."
While Master Wilhite folded his arms across his chest and
covered his eyes with one hand, McPherson grinned and said,
"We'll have to rip her barrack's master for neglecting this
sweet little thing."
Wilhite glared good-naturedly at Joy through parted
fingers. He smiled dryly. "I am her barrack's master." While
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Judgment
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McPherson threw his head back and laughed, he said, "How
embarrassing. I'll never live this down. Joy, dear?" He tapped
her hip with the end of his cane. "How have you gone six
weeks without so much as a bottom warming? And don't say
you were good. I'll never believe it."
There was no way to answer such a question. Master
Wilhite tapped her hip again with the cane before she
hesitantly said, "I d-don't know?"
"Hm." He tapped her flanks yet again. "My fault I suppose.
Well, can't undo the past, can only go forward, and all that. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]