Incipiunt Vitae Novae Pt. 08: Khalidah’s Comeuppance

Poor Khalidah. I felt so bad writing this story—she's one of my favorite dominant women. But she had it coming! Ginny forgave her in the previous episode, but that didn't mean she considered the score even.

Don't despair. Khalidah will emerge stronger: more compassionate; more attuned to her lovers; an all around better human being for the experience. She and Ginny might even become friends!

The usual trigger warning - this story contains heavy bondage and discipline.

This is the first time I've used actual geographical locations in a story. The settings do have vibrant BDSM communities but the representation of any official entities is strictly fictional.

I'm certainly not advocating judicial corporal punishment, which is inherently non-consensual (unless you're a volunteer!). I doubt that any political entity on earth today is capable of administering such a system fairly and humanely. In real life consent is paramount.

But given all that, if you wish to continue, let's get on with it. I hope you enjoy this story, and I hope you stay safe, in and out of the scene, in these trying SARS-CoV-2 times.

*****

"Ugg..."

The room was familiar. So were the leather straps securing her back to the pole—she'd helped bind Bev, unbearably tightly unless you were Bev, to this very pole just over a year earlier. Khalidah knew exactly where she was.

She stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall as her awareness grudgingly returned. The dull bronze strangulation collar with its delicate silver filigree enclosing her neck... that too was familiar—she'd worn it just a few days ago, when it initiated her journey to the penitentiary.

But this room wasn't in the penitentiary. This was Studio E at JenLiz Studios, and she'd been in it many times, sometimes in battle dress but more often covered, in leather, latex, spandex, whatever suited the role, almost always wielding a crop, a flogger, or her favorite, a whip.

Never locked in a forced-orgasm belt.

And no whip today. With her wrists bound securely behind her she wouldn't have been able to do much with it, even with her superlative skill. Strong as she was, she wasn't Wonder Woman—she wasn't going to burst these bonds.

Worth a try nevertheless, she thought, struggling mightily, but to little avail.

++++

Khalidah's powerful muscles quivered in stunningly high resolution on the huge monitor. With extraordinary effort Ginny unglued her eyes to glance over at Jen, who clearly liked what she saw just as much.

"This'll be such great footage," Jen exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "We so seldom tie Khalidah up—we should do it a lot more!"

Ginny turned her attention back to the screen. She was getting anxious.

"I think I'd better get on with it. I'm not sure those straps will hold much longer."

++++

When she woke up that morning Khalidah didn't even remotely anticipate being bound to a pole in Studio E before lunchtime. She fully expected to spend another dull twenty-four hours in her dreary prison cell, passing the time until the following day when she was scheduled to endure Class One non-impact corporal punishment, aka 'intense electrical psycho-sexual correction', that session to be conducted by Virginia Wentworth. It would be Ginny's first as a fully-qualified tormentor.

But after Khalidah passed her empty breakfast bowl back through the hatch the guard informed her she had a visitor, Beverly Greene. This wasn't in itself unusual; Bev, her lover, had come to console her every day so far. She passed her wrists through to be handcuffed. The cell door opened.

But instead of one guard escorting her out, two guards burst in. Uncuffed she could easily have held her own but as things were she couldn't escape the chloroform rag; when she woke up for the second time that day she found herself mounted on the pole.

Khalidah shook her head up and down, back and forth, trying to exorcise the cobwebs. At least she could still move her head. Not much else, she established.

And after what felt like forever, though it was really only fifteen minutes, the studio door opened, catapulting Khalidah's consciousness back a year.

Oh Ginny, how you've changed! Not that you weren't glorious when I, Khalidah the great, chief marshal, enforcer of morals, led you into the brand new purpose-built execution chamber commissioned by your aunt Barbara, to be bound naked on the carousel next to your sister, next to Bev—you all looked so much alike on the outside, with your thighs spread obscenely wide, your buttocks pressed out to welcome my flogger's caress. But I could see inside: Bev so submissive; Angie so naïve, so curious; you so brave, and so, so proud. All so beautiful, inside and out.

I flogged you. I readied you for strangulation. How strong-willed you were! How you hated it when I forced you to come—how delicious it was, watching you, along with Angie and Bev, thrashing as one in your terminal paroxysms, watching you and your sister gasp as the collars' cushions inflated so smoothly, squeezing your necks in their firm embrace, gently sealing off your vital passages. The anguished resignation, the fathomless empathy for your sister shining in your eyes, both of you thinking you'd never wake up. Watching Bev loving every minute of it, working so hard not to give the game away—no wonder I fell in love with her. I take you at your word: you've forgiven me, but that isn't the end of it, is it? You'll be torturing me tomorrow. Isn't that enough?

I suppose not.

Ginny strode to the center with a sinister smile on her face, her whip coiled in one hand, in the other a leather leash long enough to ensure that what or whoever was on the other end remained outside.

Khalidah, Ginny was all but certain, had been spending her long boring days in the penitentiary as productively as she possibly could, mentally preparing herself to be suspended in the strict punishment hogtie, imagining herself enclosed in electrical torment cuffs, waiting patiently to be confronted by a Ginny professionally decked out in official tormentor's kit.

Bugger that!

Instead Khalidah faced a Ginny encased from the neck down in salacious science-fiction-cover warrior-princess armor—the outfit JenLiz dressed her up in to seduce Bev into volunteering for a punishment session, the outfit which launched Ginny on her extraordinarily rapid and productive journey to the dominant side.

Shiny black-anodized spun-aluminum domes struggled to enclose Ginny's magnificent bust, while below, her 'execution' belt displayed her name, Virginia, in elegant raised silver lettering which perfectly matched the decoration on the collar she wasn't wearing. And unlike the first time that belt adorned her waist, when Khalidah flogged her in it, Ginny wore it adjusted to a comfortable tightness; now it served to support an ominous stainless steel codpiece which tapered to disappearance between her leather-clad legs, making a display as threatening, as enticing as it had been for Bev when she was bound on the same pole Khalidah graced today.

"Good morning, Khalidah. Like what you see?" Ginny inquired through her sinister smile.

This had to be supremely disorienting, she reckoned. A frisson of delight whistled from the crown of Ginny's head to the tips of her toes as she watched Khalidah's bewildered expression evolve in three different directions at once. Part of Khalidah would surely be trying to envision her in the ultra-professional-looking leather tormentor's uniform Liz and Jen helped her design, especially since Khalidah had seen it already; Ginny wore it for the first time publicly when she packed Khalidah off to the pen.

The outfit she had on now was ludicrous in comparison, totally over the top, Ginny admitted, but she liked it, she also admitted—just perfect for this occasion. And just as she had when Bev faced her on the pole that evening a year ago, Ginny wielded a whip. Since then she'd become highly skilled at using it.

Ginny tugged on the leash and Bev bounded through the door, followed in coffle by a blast from Khalidah's past. Both women were stark naked, except for the rope binding their wrists crossed above their buttocks, and their leash-secured collars. Ginny uncollared them and ordered them to stand against the mirrored wall behind her, facing out.

"So, Khalidah, I expect you're wondering why I invited you here."

Given the invitation was one she couldn't easily refuse, Khalidah hesitated. She struggled to come up with something politely nonchalant...

SNAP...SNAP.

Ginny's whip cracked a centimeter away from each of Khalidah's nipples, delivering a painful sting even though it made no contact.

"I brought you here so I could apologize."

SNAP...SNAP...SNAP...SNAP.

Four more nipples in the room received supersonic shocks.

"I won't be punishing you tomorrow."

Now Khalidah really didn't know what to say. The obvious response would be "why not" but that answer didn't feel like it had anywhere near the gravity the situation seemed to call for. Ginny didn't bother waiting for her to come up with anything better.

"No, I'm not going to kill you in front of your lovers. Let me explain."

Ginny grinned at Khalidah.

"The reciprocity deal fell through. Georgia wants to punish you themselves. They've built a brand-new corporal punishment facility in Atlanta—it's been up and running for about a month."

Khalidah shivered in her restraints. It was one thing to be incarcerated in a liberal northeastern state with plenty of powerful friends nearby, quite another to be shipped south, to the great unknown.

"And I expect you're also wondering why Chrissy's here."

She was, but mainly she was thinking about Atlanta. It wasn't unknown, she reminded herself. It's where she ran her dungeon, Khalidah's Lair, for half a decade before she sold it to a friend. And it was no coincidence she'd be punished there; the crime she'd be punished for involved dubious financial choices in the sale, an effort to minimize municipal taxes.

Brand-new, she mused, and in Atlanta too. Not some rural hoosegow. How bad could it be?

"They've chosen to use impact for all offences. They want to know how it affects tattoos."

Oh, thought Khalidah. That's why Chrissy's here.

Tattoos completely covered Khalidah, every square inch of her; that is, every square inch which would ordinarily be shielded from view by the modest Middle Eastern clothing Khalidah preferred to wear in public, and they were fascinating indeed. Thorns and roses intertwined with grotesque beasts and talismanic symbols, woven artistically together with meandering vines to guide the eye to every portion of her body, each design perfectly at one with its location. Phoenix wings circled her breasts, tongues of fire sprang from her loins, twisting thorns tied them all perfectly together.

Chrissy designed them.

Khalidah's back was no less stunning: a pair of dragons riding on the wings of a cockatrice adorned her shoulder blades. They gazed at her bulging biceps, their mouth-fire morphing into thorn-encrusted tendrils reaching for her wrists. Below the cockatrice blazed a Balrog, its fiery whip circling her buttocks before subdividing into multiple viciously barbed strands in the small of her back.

Only problem was, the tattoos weren't all that easy to see. Between the multiple bands securing Khalidah to the pole, and the forced-orgasm belt's thong wedged between her thighs, the effect was seriously compromised.

The effect would have been seriously compromised the following day too, Khalidah mused, had everything gone as she was expecting. Impaling saddles, wide electrode cuffs and breast-engulfing punishment cups wind up concealing all but a fraction of the inmates' skin. Khalidah wasn't that much of an exhibitionist, but she was intensely proud of her tattoos and deeply respected Chrissy's design skills. While most of the time she kept the tattoos completely out of sight, when they were visible she wanted them properly displayed. Would Georgia's impact punishment accommodate that?

"Chrissy's going along for the ride. After your flagellation she'll join with a local tattoo expert to inspect them, take a look at how you've held up. They'll deliver a full report to the correctional authority, and to us. JenLiz has agreed to pick up the tab for any necessary repairs."

Khalidah was starting to find it supremely irritating, listening to her body being discussed with such cavalier matter-of-factness. They didn't own her—or did they? She squirmed against the straps, acknowledging that well, she really was more or less their property now.

And truth be told, she'd been rather looking forward to being punished by Ginny. She couldn't believe that much of what was upsetting her was...disappointment. How could she, so grounded in her dominance, feel that way?

She shouldn't be so hard on herself; Ginny was amply qualified to engender submissive urgency in any sentient being, regardless of their everyday proclivities. Over her campy warrior-princess costume Ginny projected a potent aura of feminine majesty, no less than in her tormentor's uniform. Her precise, angular jaw, deep set eyes and long dark hair drawn back in a thick braid contrasted sharply with Khalidah's utter helplessness, painting a picture of utter invincibility.

Rather like Ginny's aunt Barbara.

Khalidah had worked in Barbara's midtown dungeon to help pay for college, answering the telephone, keeping the books (scrupulously; Barbara permitted no hint of impropriety) and as she developed sufficient skill, assisting during sessions, an apprenticeship for which she was not paid in any conventional coin of the realm.

That's where she met Chrissy.

Chrissy forked over a week's wages to visit Barbara. Then she was hooked.

Barbara knew that a fledgling graphic designer was not going to be able to afford to visit as often as she'd need to. She was fond of Chrissy, an intelligent, attractive woman, petite, and deceptively innocent-looking, but for Barbara time was of the essence, and money mattered too. Khalidah might be able to help with this dilemma.

Khalidah's stature more or less matched Chrissy's, but Khalidah could hardly be described as petite, nor innocent-looking. She'd heard herself described as a compact Iranian body-builder, strong as an ox but way better smelling and far more beautiful. The olive-colored skin enclosing her rippling musculature made a perfect canvas for Chrissy's art, though neither of them knew it at the start. Barbara didn't either, but she did have a hunch that Khalidah and Chrissy would hit it off, and as was so often the case with Barbara's hunches, she was spot-on. The relationship lasted several years, during which Khalidah whipped Chrissy frequently, learning to create exquisite gratification together with pain, and Chrissy, seizing the opportunity, went to town decorating Khalidah's body. They separated amicably: Chrissy wanted to explore relationships with other Dommes; Khalidah wanted to open her own dungeon. Barbara had connections in Atlanta who could help.

SNAP.

The supersonic shock wave impinging on Khalidah's crotch-strap returned Khalidah's attention to the matter at hand. Ginny locked eyes with her. Yes, Khalidah thought—she's developed that terrifying icy stare.

"Thought I'd do a little single tail practice before we get this show on the road; get everyone warmed up."

She pointed off to Khalidah's left.

"Stand over there, Chrissy, about four feet out from the corner." She motioned Bev to the other corner, to Khalidah's right. Once they finished complying, Chrissy, Bev and Khalidah were all about eight feet away from Ginny, a little more than the length of her whip.

SNAP...SNAP.

Khalidah winced, her nipples blazed, but as before no marks were to be seen. Ginny turned to Chrissy.

"Chrissy, can I trust you to hold still?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Mistress, I do."

Ginny turned to smile at Bev, Bev smiled at Chrissy, then back at Ginny. Any more verbal exchange would be superfluous.

CRACK... CRACK.

Chrissy winced as the whip cracked an inch away from her navel, but she was true to her word. The next crack, an inch from Bev's navel, couldn't have been more than half a second later. Khalidah was truly impressed; though she'd observed Ginny in action just a week before, she continued to be astonished at the level of skill she'd achieved in just over a year.

SNAP...CRACK...CRACK...SNAP...SNAP... Ginny danced around the room, whip flying, cracking inches away, sometimes even less, from her participatory audience. Bev and Chrissy held their ground bravely; had the whip struck them it would certainly have removed a chunk of flesh, but it didn't. No bravery was required from Khalidah, but she too was confident she'd emerge unscathed, if that's what Ginny chose, and she had a feeling she would.

Ginny paused for a moment, then resumed, sending the single tail swinging back and forth, back and forth, just a centimeter away from Chrissy's firm, round breasts.

"When I raise my finger, lean forward, just for a moment. How much is up to you, but no more than an inch. Try not to scream."

Swish, swish, whoosh went the whip. Ginny lifted her finger.

The sound hardly changed, but in seconds a thin red mark appeared like magic on each of Chrissy's breasts, just above her nipples. Chrissy winced, but she did not cry out.

Whoosh, whoosh, swish... The whip whistled from side to side, moving upward, then downward over Chrissy's chest. Every now and then Ginny's finger rose, and in just a few minutes Chrissy sported a fine raster of angry red marks. Tears ran down her cheeks but she remained silent. Without missing a stroke Ginny shifted over to Bev.

Bev was considerably taller than Chrissy, but the first marks to appear were just above her nipples also, precisely matching Chrissy's. It didn't take long to fill out her chest, with red lines spaced just a little further apart than Chrissy's.

Ginny brought the whip in to land, coiled it and put it aside. She looked straight at Khalidah, smiling.

"You trained Chrissy well."

Bev, as she and Khalidah both knew, had been trained by Barbara. Ginny and Khalidah could agree without words; Chrissy and Bev, still standing exactly where they'd first positioned themselves four feet from each corner, did their teachers proud.

The door opened. Two sturdy women, both JenLiz employees, maneuvered in a large rollable box, a two-slave transportation container, jumbo coffin-sized, though from the outside it looked more like an industrial equipment carry-case than a casket. It functioned at JenLiz primarily as a prop, but it was fully serviceable, capable of sustaining two passengers in 'relative' comfort for twenty four hours, even in chilly baggage compartments. The JenLiz employees left, one returning briefly to deliver a rolling cart holding a small medical bag next to a miniature refuse container.

"Walk over to me and turn around, Chrissy," Ginny ordered. Chrissy did as she was told, with smooth, ballet-like steps; Khalidah recalled how much she enjoyed watching Chrissy move. Ginny unbound her wrists. Chrissy did not immediately move her hands.

"Turn around and hold out your arm, palm up."

Chrissy rotated gracefully, and only then did she move her arms, holding out her left arm obediently—she was left-handed—as she placed her right hand on her head. Khalidah noted that she was still smooth and hairless everywhere, including her armpits, except for the silky blond tresses cascading over her back.

Ginny opened the bag and rummaged around for a moment, then extracted a vial, a hypodermic syringe sealed in plastic, and a packet of antiseptic wipes. She cleaned her hands, wiped off the vial and syringe, and cleaned her hands again. She swabbed the inside of Chrissy's elbow, picked up the vial and inspected it.