Curiosity Causes Carol Considerable Pain

"Hold out both you hands", he told me. Thinking that he was about to place the strap back in my hand I held them out, straight in from of me as he had instructed. Slap, Slap. A single stroke across each had. I kept them straight out this time. One learns! The sting was severe on palms still damp and soft from the shower! "Thank you Sir".

He placed the strap on my hands and I turned and delivered it the lady. "Bend over the back of that chair. Grip the seat and place your feet on the outside of the chair's back legs". "Yes Madam", I moved to comply. The air, although warm, felt chillsome around my still damp and tender sex, which was obscenely exposed to the couple. I gripped the chair and waited.

The lady came alongside me to the left and rested the strap on my backside, judging her distance and position. A couple of taps and a sudden swish as the heavy leather descended. A loud 'crack' as it connected with my tender bottom and I gasped with the sudden flame of pain sinking into the flesh. Uncertain if I was meant to count I decided that it was safer to do so and hissed out 'One, Madam'.

I felt the shudders still running up my thighs and around my waist when the second stroke fell a fraction lower. "Two, Madam", I gasped and felt the shudders running up and down the entire length of my legs.

'CRACK' and the third stroke connected with just the lower part of my left bum cheek, curling a little into the open crack and the inner part of the top on my left leg. The pain cause involuntary quivers down that leg that had my foot tapping on the ground. I lifted my foot and move my legs closer together, just remembering to whisper 'three'.

"Move again and the stroke does not count", said the man, and I quickly resumed the set position.

Four, Five and six descended in short order and my flaming backside was bouncing violently as I gripped the seat of the chair in an attempt to keep in position. The strokes had now covered from a little above my knees to the top of my posterior.

There was a pause and I was conscious of the lady having moved to my right hand side.

Swish – CRACK. "Seven" I felt the square end of the strap flick against the battered right cheek.

Eight, Nine, Ten, worked their way up my right leg and across my bum.

Eleven. I leapt up and grabbed the point of impact. Dancing around trying to stop the pain. It had connected right across the join between the top on my legs and the curve of my backside. "You are not to count that one", said the lady. Now get back before we start adding to the number for gross disobedience".

Gingerly, stiffly, I bent back over the chair. Eleven. Twelve. I almost yelled out the last two numbers as they drove the very breath out of me with their severity. Remembering, I stayed in position until, after inspecting – intimately –the effects of her handiwork, the lady gave me permission to stand up. "Thank you Madam". I stood rigidly to attention, hands at my sides, trying not to sway, fearing what would happen if I did not.

"You handled that quite well", she said, "You may have another drink. I did not really want that drink but I reasoned that it gave me a few minutes more respite. "Thank You Madam".

As I stood at the table with my drink, frantically trying to drive the pain from my body, the couple came over to me. The lady spoke. "You are half way through your punishment and have done very well so far. What is to come includes some elements of pain infliction that do not fall into the categories one would normally associate with the old ideas of, shall we say, schoolgirl discipline".

"Now you could argue that some of the cleansing and humiliation from the first half of your time with us would not be classified that way either, but we believe that there was nothing there to take you beyond the pain levels you could be expected to tolerate. Later on there could be. Knowing what you now know, we are asking you to decide from three options".

"Stop now and go home with the knowledge that you did well in what you have experienced and can return if you feel so inclined in the future".

"Stay and receive just a severe canning- beyond what is currently promised but still within the limits of some schoolgirl punishments of old".

"Stay and try and take everything we had planned as your introduction to this world of discipline. Even this is not everything that you could expect if you ever decided to explore the field further, but it would give you a good insight into most aspects of the art".

I looked at this very ordinary, outwardly respectable couple and considered. I had been hurt and humiliated – but this is what I had been looking for. They had done nothing that had caused me lasting damage or anything that I could not have stopped or prevented at any time. They seemed to be quite trustworthy. I was both intrigued about the possibilities and afraid of what I was possibly getting into.

"May I ask a question, Sir'?

"Yes". I could see that they both had given me a kindly look as he answered. They were clearly pleased with what I had learned so far that night. That alone almost answered my question.

"If I decide to stay for just the canning would I be able to come back to you some other time to experience some of the other punishments and, I suppose the converse of that, If I stay with a view to trying to take all the things you had in store for me, and fail to stay the distance, would I be able to resume at a later date?"

"Yes, either is possible, although you may feel differently by the time you leave here".

"Thank you Sir. May I please prevail upon you for one more piece of information"?

"Yes".

"I have lost all track of time. I know it was six o'clock when I came in but I cannot imagine what the time is now and, if I were to stay, when we might finish. You appreciate that I share a flat with two other girls. We come and go as we like at all hours but I would like to be sure of getting home at a reasonable hour – not too much after midnight – to avoid untoward questions, however innocent".

The lady, grinned, and pointed to the source of the ticking I had heard earlier – a wall clock over the door. It was just on eight o'clock. "If you stayed for just the canning – even allowing for some 'recovery time' you would expect to be away by nine at the latest. If we went through the whole programme you would easily be away well before midnight".

I again hesitated – slightly - somewhat concerned by the words 'recovery time'. Up until now I had experienced considerable humiliation and some pain, but as I stood there thinking about her last words I also had the feeling that the pain they had inflicted on me was not as severe as it might have been. It was almost s if they had been holding back and not being to forceful with the punishments that they had given me.

Curiosity overcame any further fears and I stood up straight, looked them both straight in the eyes and said, "I would like to try and complete the whole programme, please". I lowered my eyes to the floor and stood still and rigid.

The whole atmosphere again changed and I felt a chill run down my spine – in spite of the warmth of the room.

The lady again took control. "Bring me the flogger with the wide thongs", she instructed, as she moved towards some apparatus that her husband was setting up.

On the table were quite a number of different things - most of which I had very little idea of what they might be used for – but I immediately recognised what she had told me to bring. It was probably a dozen or more rubber strips, about an inch or more wide and two feet ling, attached to a short wooden handle. Not forgetting my earlier training, I carried it to her in my outstretched hands and she took it without comment.

He husband led me to the equipment he had ready. First my wrists were placed in soft, fur-lined, cuffs and clipped to ropes that, when tightened, had my arms forming a 'Y' above me. Next he fitted a two-foot long spreader between my feet, also attached by means of fur-lined cuffs to my ankles. The slack was taken up on the arm ropes until I was forced to stand just off the flat of my feet but not quite on tiptoe.

Finally a pole was placed between my legs. Ropes at each end were then pulled up over pulleys at ceiling level and the pole drawn up into my crutch so that if I left my feet as they had been placed it dug quite cruelly into my sex and if I stood further up on tiptoe I had some relief between my legs but my legs and toes became very tired with the strain.

The lady then started to apply the twelve lashes with the flogger. My back and shoulders, my stomach and breasts, my legs, as close to my pubic area as the pole would allow. All without warning; irregularly spaced and in the different areas at random. I bounced around trying to absorb the pain of the flogging and the torment from the device between my legs.

At the end of the twelve lashes I was left to hang in the for the remainder of the twelve minutes allocated for that punishment before being unfastened and told to have another drink as my body fought to expel as much of the pain as it could before they started the next phase.

As I stood at the table, where there were still a number of devices that may or may not have been intended for use on me. There were more than six different things o I could only guess that they were not all for me and had to theorise just what I was going to be asked to carry back to the waiting lady or man.

"Bring those four chopsticks over here, please". It was the lady speaking. I turned to the table, picked up two pairs of wooded chopsticks that were lying there and carried them to the lady, wondering what on earth they could be going to do with them.

"Stand here, please". The man this time. I was positioned in a 'Y' again, but this time my arms were not stretched so much and there was no spreader between by legs. Instead my ankles were attached to two rings that were set into the floor about two feet apart. I was able to stand easily but watched anxiously as man took one pair of the chopsticks and fastened a rubber ring around one end of them. He then repeated the process with the other pair before handing them back to the lady.

I stood there wondering. The man took a small device from his pocket and, holding it against one of my nipples, flicked a switch on its side. A charge of electricity immediately hit my nipple and it seemed to grow long and full as the sting raced through it. He immediately too one pair of the chopsticks from the lady and locked them around my turgid nipple – right at the base where it joined the rest of my breast – fastening the other end with another rubber ring. This effective and painful clamp locked the burning nipple, which sent ripples of pain through me as he tweaked the ends of the chopsticks.

The process was repeated on the other nipple and I was almost wetting myself from the mixture of pain and enormous sexual arousal that was being generated. My pussy was wet with this arousal and as if anticipating this, he walked behind me and touched between my legs with that horrid electric shock device. I thrust forward and turned to one side in an attempt to avoid the pain. He anticipated my move and touched the device against my out-thrust pussy where the dampness caused a perfect conductor as he again flicked the switch.

I was dancing on the end of the ropes trying to shake the pain (and admittedly, the pleasure) from my body when the first strokes of a many-tailed whip started the first its twelve strokes.

This whip differed from the other 'flogger in that the thongs were only about one eighth to one quarter of and inch wide and seemed to capable of flicking into every crease and crevice of my body as they were laid on. The blows landed all over my back, around my waist, across my breasts, across the top of my thighs and up between my legs. As they were flicked against me it felt as if they were cutting through the flesh and I was sure that they had opened up slices all over my body because I could feel what I assumed to be blood running over my skin.

What was that safe word? My mind tried to shut out the pain and concentrate. "Umb....." another blow hit me and I screamed instead of completing the word. When a blow landed on my back I involuntarily threw my shoulders back to try and cover that area. This thrust my chest forward and the next blow landed on my front, curling across my stomach and around my tortured breasts – causing those confounded chopsticks to flick around and further torment my stinging nipples.

Suddenly it stopped. Were they waiting for me to say umbrella again? No, as I opened my eyes I realised that they were putting that vicious instrument of torture back on the table. I must have received all of the promised twelve strokes.

My whole body was on fire – especially the ultra-sensitive parts such as breasts and between my legs. It felt as if those thongs had cut right up into my vagina. I carefully locked to see how much it had been cut and how badly I as bleeding. All I could see was a number of fine red lines and a considerable amount of sweat running down my stomach.

The thongs of that flogger were rubber – not leather - and although they had a devastating feel about them they did not cut or permanently mark the body. I started to feel quite proud of myself for being able to resist the temptation to use the safe word. No, I thought, you tried – un-necessarily – to say it but the pain stopped you.

I was left to stand, with only an occasional flick of the chopsticks to ensure that I did not switch off the thoughts of the pain, until my twelve minutes was up.

They were untying me and removing the chopsticks. The sudden flow of blood into by tortured nipples caused them to throb. I was stinging all over. I stood – trying to stay still until I was told to move. I was tired but did not want to sit down for fear of hurting more. I wanted this to stop – but didn't. I wished I had not come here – but at the same time something was attracting me to stay!

"Walk around for a bit and have another drink". The lady's voice penetrated my confused mind. "Thank you, Madam". I walked stiffly towards the table and drank the glass of fruit juice they had placed there for me. Gradually the immediate, all pervading feeling from the latest abuse started to fade and although my whole body was alive to the fact that it had been soundly thrashed, everything started to become bearable and 'real' again.

"You are doing well, not far to go now". The man was speaking to me. "Thank you Sir. I think I can complete my punishment, Sir".

I was directed to go and stand facing a section of wall that had a rail attached to it – very much like the type used in ballet schools. I had to grip the rail and then shuffle my feet backwards until my arms were outstretched; my torso was almost parallel with the floor; my legs were straight up from the floor (almost at right angles to my torso) and my feet about a foot apart.

"What would your prefer this time?" The man was talking to the lady. "The short paddle with the holes or the board of correction?" It was clear that they were discussing what instrument my next punishment was going to be inflicted with.

"The board, I think". I heard the lady pick up something and walk towards me. "Hold very tight; stand still and count. If you try and stand up or cover yourself the stroke will not count. You will receive twelve strokes as agreed". She said. I braced myself.

Smack. "One, Madam".

Two and three followed and I could tell that she was not applying these strokes as hard as she could have. Never-the –less, the effect was still very much there and the pain was significant. I gripped the rail harder – thankful that I had something to hang on to and to direct some of my thoughts to and away from my bruised backside.

Four, five, six. Half way. I was yelping and starting to wriggle as the pain intensified. Tears were starting to flow.

Seven, eight, nine. I was crying freely now and having great difficulty keeping my position.

As pause. I knew as soon as I heard 'ten' coming that it was going to be harder. I involuntarily stiffened my legs and tightened my bottom – the wrong thing to do as it meant that the stiff board struck a firm surface instead of the blow being absorbed by the softer muscle. I shuddered – gasped – just resisted the temptation to stand and rub the abused stop and yelped out the number.

Eleven struck almost immediately – I was not ready and with shock as much as pain half stood and rubbed my battered backside. "Don't bother counting that one". She said.

I resumed the position. Eleven stuck – again - and I gripped the bar harder and, tears flowing, Bellowed out the number. The amount of fruit juice that I had consumed started to catch up with me and I was having great difficulty in holding it back. My knees were bending and every inch of my backside was quivering. Please hurry up and get this over with I prayed to myself.

I struggled and braced myself for the final blow. Twelve. I gasped out the number amidst a loud yell and the sound of my feet stamping on the ground trying to expel the pain. All the nerves around my seat were aquiver and I longed to stand up, rub the sore area and, above all, use the toilet – no matter who was looking!

A short pause – which seemed like an age. "Please stand – STILL". I stood stiffly, all the muscles around my pelvis straining to contain the contents of my loaded bladder – legs pressed tightly together.

It must have been clear (quite probably carefully planned) that I needed to use the toilet. The lady smiled and said, "You may now relieve yourself and have a nice warm shower. When you have had your shower you can get dressed. We will leave you now and return in twenty minutes. Everything you need is there for you to use". "Thank you Sir. Thank you, Madam". They left the room, locking the door as they went out.

I quickly moved to the toilet and then stepped under the shower that was warm and luxuriating. Gently soaping myself all over with the soft fragrant shower gel, I allowed myself ten minutes to wash away most of the pain and stiffness from my body. There were soft, fluffy towels hanging ready and I patted myself dry as I looked at myself in the mirrors that ran along two of the walls. There was some redness still from the thin flogger and a little bruising showing on my backside but otherwise little visible sign of my ordeal. My nipples were very delicate and from their clamping and quite engorged still. I was aware of a level of arousal between my legs that had been heightened by the warm water from the strong jets of the shower.

Carefully, to avoid touching any part of my body too hard, I dressed and did my hair. Still having about four or five minutes left before they returned to the room I went across to the table where the implements were still laid out. I examined some that had not been used and was thankful that they had not chosen to pick them up. It also gave me an opportunity to look more closely at some of the things that had been applied to my previously untouched skin.

One of the things on the table was a long, thick, but quite whippy cane. Traditionally shaped – very slightly curved with a crook handle – and menacing. Idly I looked at it and thought that it was the one thing that I had come here expecting to receive and the very thing that I had not. I felt both glad and strangely disappointed. I heard the door being unlocked and moved away from the table.

"We noticed that you were interested in the equipment we have and seemed drawn to it on the table". The man spoke and looked at me intently. Had they been watching me? "Yes, they are two way mirrors". He answered my unspoken question and I blushed as I thought of the display I must have given them as I examined my body after the shower and the fact that I had been so intently looking at the things on the table.