Punishment Day Festival Pt. 02

I don't have a good description of the next two hours. I can say that the little horror didn't tickle me the whole time, thankfully. No, it slithered and brushed and stroked and I wailed and thrashed--but over time--and between "breaks" it seemed to understand that having found my wet sex to its liking it horribly understood my anatomy enough to settle some soft part of its anatomy--some hairy segment--over my clitoris.

I huddled in my urine soaked diaper, feeling almost ill with disgust as it rubbed itself. The drink combined with the awful thing made me feel a terrible intimate appalling pleasure. I gasped and moaned.

The nectar I'd drank increased its grip and I was driven to bitter tears and moans as it worked my region. At first my terror and disgust served to stave off the swelling of an orgasm in me--but in all too short order, I felt it build until the need to spend hurt--and then, apparently sensing my desire to burst, the wretched thing would stop its slithering pleasure and crawl into my folds making me cry out into the gag and hideously frustrating me.

It did this over and over--as I moaned and squirmed in the restraints. It was when the bells tolled MIDDENS that it stroked me in such a way that I was tickled again and in my thrashing horror, it then darted back--between my cheeks and under its caress my anus spasmed, both admitting it entry and then--as the terrible insect burrowed inside me--into my foulest place--its legs kicked internally and I felt my control go into spasming cramps as I soiled myself.

I didn't feel it again--I drooped--defeated, degraded, exhausted, in my bonds. My wrists and ankles were chaffed and raw from my frantic struggles. The stench of my mess rose around me and I felt throbbing shame. It was the horrible milk of Sattvia that I'd drank that kept the throbbing sensation of need--of swollen urgency--of a yearning for touch--pounding in me--punishing in its intensity.

When they came to place us in the awful display swings to be brought to the field I was already defeated. I could not countenance more punishment--but what I could stand was no part of their equation. I was trundeled out with my fellow unfortunates utterly humiliated and fouled and spread by the swing's clever construction to display me at my most obscene.

ONES

I hung there, unable to pay much attention for the itching of the soiled cloth and the still present heat in my region from the awful drink. The bitch apprentice took the boy--his pink erection jutting out from between his thighs. His bare scrotum hanging swollen down--and his eyes filled with tears. I could hear the slaps and his cries from behind our curtain. I knew he was exposed before the crowd--humiliated by his nakedness, his tears, and most of all his erect unsatisfied penis.

His wails drifted back to us until, interminably, it was done.

The apprentice came back and took the girl--her diaper removed--and begging some privacy to allow her to pee. If course it wasn't given. I dangled there--caked in mess--itching--and sore across every muscle from my thrashing. I heard the girl's throaty moans--it sounded like she had cum--something that I could only imagine as a humiliation beyond endurance. There was a period of relative quiet where I could hear her weak sobs and then the little apprentice reappeared looking flushed with smug pleasure.

She had removed the only clothes we were allowed from the other two--and as desperate as I was to get the filthy thing off me, the abject humiliation of being seen in that state was appalling. I couldn't hide the petulant resentment I felt at the bitch when she skipped up to me, smiling.

"Let's get this dirty thing off you!" she chirped as though she was coming to my aid.

I sobbed softly as she opened each hip, the smell ballooning around us. She let the fouled thing drop into the bin where she'd put the others, leaving me fouled.

"Time to meet my mistress, girl," she said. "Eww, you offend!" She was thrilled to do this and I sobbed harder as she rolled me out to my fate.

I couldn't bare to look towards the crowd and through my tears and disheveled hair I could see very little anyway. I did see the tall severe woman--my torturess looming before me as the girl pushed me ever forward. I was then stopped before her, sniffling. Unable to control my emotions.

The tall, stern woman moved to her apprentice and I could hear sharp whispers. Through the fog of unendurable humiliation, I gathered that the mistress was not expecting my soiled state. I heard the little bitch explain my defiance--a lie that I was unable to refute for my incontinent tears. She had made use of the horrible terrorizing bug to discipline me for spilling the nectar.

Hanging there, utterly wretched, I realized the little bratling had made things--already beyond my endurance--worse. The Punishment Mistress would doubtless be further enraged by my alleged defiance and would sate her ire on my defenseless body and already surrendered spirit.

When she moved--standing before me, looking harshly down at me, I quivered in fear. I risked looking at her--and regretted it instantly, her eyes judging me--my filth, my former defiance, no doubt the knowledge of the insults I had hurled at her order and through that at her.

She snapped something to her apprentice and then I felt her take something and apply it to my buttocks. It was a cloth--slightly wet--and warmed from a block treated with the Art so that the wet cloths atop it hissed with steam.

I hung there in terror as the woman efficiently cleaned the mess off me--examining the skin which had no doubt developed a rash. The feeling of relief at this treatment was enough for me to start crying again, uncontrollably. When she wiped between my folds, cleaning deeper into my channel, I felt a moan escape as the nectar had lit the fire of sexual urgency in me, and the soft strokes of the cloth provided it.

I did not cum--that relief was thankfully denied me (although I would have welcomed it at the time) but she thoroughly and patiently cleaned me until my region gleamed. Then she took a bottle of some oil and spread it thinly over my most lower regions where the rash had set in. All the while she stood between my legs--so I could barely see the crowd past her. I sobbed, wetly and weakly, as she worked.

Finally, she was done, looking down on me, her hands at her hips.

I looked up. My face must have been quite the mask of misery for her countenance shifted slightly and she gave a soft laugh.

"Take this one to the recovery tents," she told her orderlies. "She must be watched so she cannot reach her sex for I think she's still got the strength to touch herself and certainly lacks the will to control it."

The statement was a further humiliation but I was unable to speak. My voice was gone from the yelling I'd done earlier. My throat felt raw. "Have the nurses tend her wrists and ankles--she has struggled herself raw there."

And with that, they were pushing me--naked, spread--but limp and utterly spent in all ways but one.

I heard behind me the Punishment Mistress's voice: "We will deal with you, shortly, apprentice." I was, alas, too worn out to appreciate it.

I remember being pushed through the fair, gaining notice from the masses--a naked girl displayed in utter helplessness and looking drenched and defeated. Then I passed under a tent into the shade where I heard soft sobs and whimpers.

The nurses got me down and into a cot. I lay on my stomach as though I'd been spanked raw and one of the nurses applied a cream to the rash areas. I DID feel the urge to touch myself--it surely did torment me--but before I could even consider it--before the nurse was finished with her application, I fell asleep.

NONS

I awoke in another chamber, disoriented. I sat up hearing the bells tolling NONS and seeing the dark sky out through what must be a high window. I had apparently slept for hours. Someone had dressed me in a long nightgown and I wore a panty that was overly thick for my liking but not nearly the bulk of the humiliating diaper I'd worn before. I noted that at the top of the panty was a kind of belt of fabric that seemed stuck to my waist in a fashion similar to the way the leather mute had stuck to my mouth. A finger's check showed each leg-hole was similarly stuck and sealed.

So--a charity device then. I was glad I didn't have to pee badly. I sat up--I still ached everywhere. My wrists had been encircled in a bandage holding some medicine against the skin where I'd rubbed myself in struggling. When I shifted so that my feet touched a rug over a stone floor, I heard bells jingle outside the chamber. It was small with a writing desk and a stool. The single high window with an ornate shutter left open and the cot with both a sizable pillow and a sheet and warm blanket on it. There was a chamber pot under the bed and I noticed hooks on the wall for hanging coats or robes and an arch--with no door.

On the wall a small lamp lit the room. Its mild enchantment enhancing its light and lengthening its burn.

Footsteps.

I looked up from the bed to see the green-eyed girl who had met me the night before. She wore a pale salmon-pink acolyte's robe and smiled at me.

"You survived!" she enthused--falsely, of course. I could only nod.

She drew the stool over and sat before me.

"I can take that off if you need to use the pot."

I shook my head. I didn't have it in me to be naked again, much less do THAT in front of any audience.

I felt tears prickle my eyes and wiped at them.

"Well, let me know if you need to. If you wet that there'll probably be some punishment."

I heard myself whimper at that.

"I... wasn't." I said, my voice still a bit ragged and soft.

"Wasn't what?"

"Punished." I said softly.

"Oh, trust me--when they brought you in here you were worn out and looked awful. You were punished," she assured me.

I felt an internal flicker of annoyance--almost capable of burning up to anger: The nurses had been warned off spanking me in the preparation room. I had not been smacked or spanked in the pens (from what I'd heard many others were). Even when I was wheeled out on the field to see the Punishment Mistress, all I could remember was her wiping me.

I also felt... ashamed. The other two unfortunates had yowled as they were disciplined. I'd gotten... cleaned.

I looked at the girl--a sudden fear: "Is she going to do more?" I asked--a croak.

"More? More punishment? No--" she laughed. "Not ... exactly."

I decided Not Exactly meant I would be out on the field tomorrow for some unbearable ordeal.

"She has marked your scroll clean... --ish." she said. "She had not intended her apprentice to unleash the Ziggurh on you for her own pleasure."

"That's," I coughed, "that's what it's called?"

I coughed again and she rose and fetched me water from outside my room.

I drank it, realizing I was extremely thirsty--maybe there was something to the nurse's pressing liquids on the unfortunates before their "performances."

"Yes--and just the sight of it is enough to get compliance--especially from one such as you."

"Such as me?"

"You are a spoiled little brat," she said, somehow making the words humorous rather than a dire condemnation, "but you didn't disobey the apprentice when she ordered you to drink."

She said it so certainly that it wasn't even a challenge. It was an explanation. I felt myself lower my head.

"No, miss." I agreed.

"Right. So the Punishment Mistress assigned you as punished for the hours of having that thing in your ..."

"Diaper," I said softly.

"Absorbant," she said, using the order's name for it, I guessed.

"It was awful." I told her, not looking up.

"Oh yes--they are. There are biting and stinging varieties that are worse. But even that was more than you could take."

"Because I was to be punished as a much younger girl," I said, hearing the petulance in my soft, husky voice.

"Yes--well, yes." she decided. "There are some Lianios order townships nearby. Small ones. I would be remiss if I didn't suggest this: it would be more of what you're used to."

I swallowed and gazed down at my lap. The urge to flee to one of these--to suffer their lengthy, more intellectual, more civilized punishments was strong. I knew there was no way I would remain obedient--I couldn't. I'd tried my best and the urge to push against the rules had always been in me. I had suffered many of those interminable punishments and while all of them were different shades of misery, none of them had the white hot flare of... something... that the Sattvian order produced.

Even the terrible, disgusting insect--which was clearly something bred--developed--for punishing--was fascinating in a way I couldn't deny. I knew then and there, sitting in the bed before my evaluator, that I couldn't just flee as much as I desperately wanted to.

I shook my head--and in the aura of silence that followed, I risked a glance up at her. She smiled, a bit--but it was a knowing smile and I quickly looked down, my face flushed with embarrassment: what had she seen in me?

"No?" she asked, mocking me gently, "Stunning that you would decide to stay," she remarked in a way that suggested she found it not at all surprising of me. I felt, shudderingly, that this woman, only a few years my senior, might understand me better than I understood myself.

I hugged myself and the air from the window, for the first time felt cool.

The woman raised herself from the chair and moved to settle next to me. I felt her place an arm around me and after a surge of tension and an innate push to throw her off to assert myself, I let my body relax against her, feeling the possibility of tears suddenly close.

"Well then," she said, into my hair. "If you decide to stay then the order has decided the state of your accommodation with us falls to me to decide."

It falls to her--I thought and the old bitterness reared its head like a forgotten dragon--my submission is, of course, required. I bit my lower lip, trying to constrain my obstenancy.

As though she could see my inner struggle, she laughed and stroked me. "I've been assigned to training you, Bree-girl," she said. "It's something of a punishment for me--after I advocated for your charity!" She laughed again. "A mild, pleasant one no doubt--but still!"

"I don't want to be a punishment," I whispered and it came out as a whine.

"Well, it is fortunate you have no say in the matter, then isn't it?" she needled me--expertly reaching past my self control and tweaking the dragon in me that demanded my defiance in the face of control.

"Great," I said hearing a bitterness I didn't quite feel creep into my voice. "That means, what? I'm to be your slave, then?"

"Oh--no--my assistant!" she said cheerfully. "A slave wouldn't have the same duties I'm going to assign you--but you'll get to experience all the indignities that a slave would!" she said. "No, I'm certainly not going to let you abandon your education, Bree!"

I gritted my teeth.

"I am going to insist that you start learning the discipline arts of the order--I understand you had a bit of a clandestine interest in those when you were on your own."

I felt a stab of humiliation.

"Your barbaric practices," I hissed, still leaning against her. "Your awful obscene methods! My interest was as a scholar looking at ... at insects!"

I gasped then as she drew me across her lap, shifting the night gown to display my panties. I pressed my face into the pillow, tears starting as she drew them down and it muffled my cries as she applied her hand to me.

TERM

When the bells tolled TERMS--the end of the day and the start of the next--the night had gone dark, silent, and cooler, approaching cold. I knelt naked in a corner, my hands on my head, my bare buttocks on prominent display.

My new mistress, Tishiah, had spanked me enthusiastically for over an hour--starting and stopping--rubbing, and scolding, and clearly enjoying herself at my expense. The worst of it though, were not the slaps, which were sometimes sharp but rarely beyond my endurance--no, it was her pausing periodically to wipe between my legs--using a small soft towel to mop up my excess lubrication throughout the ordeal.

I blamed the drink I'd had hours earlier for my nearness to an orgasm I was terrified would burst out of me--but I knew that excuse was as weak as I was. My mistress seemed to know it too, saying that my sex 'applauded' my being punished and humbled and 'she would not cease her infliction of misery on me until I was thoroughly submissive.'

This taunting combined with her periodic pleasurable attending of my sex and counterpointed with the sharp slaps to my bottom was enough to get me crying and then, to my horror, complaining that she was a beast.

That got me placed in the corner, kneeling on a pillow, my knees ordered far apart and my bottom up slightly so that my sex hung visible and without any touch or relief.

Mistress Tishiah informed me with great pleasure that I was to remain, unmoving, until released from my post and that if I moved more than a bit of a squirm--or removed a hand to scratch or comfort or touch anything she would know and I would be punished for it.

Now I itched all over. My bottom radiated soreness, I needed badly to pee, and I was naked--unacceptably--as my mistress chatted happily outside, apparently oblivious to my misery. She had certainly implied that her knowledge of my movements would be conveyed to her by means of the Arts--but I told myself over and over not to believe her and I was highly tempted to scratch an itch on my thigh that no amount of light shifting could address.

I knew though, that if I did--and I was caught--my smug mistress would delight in further punishing me and I simply could not bear it. So I remained in place at great difficulty, whimpering and growling and shifting as little as I could until, at long last, Tishiah strolled in and relieved me, making me use the chamber pot in front of her--and wiping me herself lest I "try to pleasure myself."

I was sniffly and weepy when she put me back to bed, the panty back snugly on me and drew the blanket over. Again, I slept deeply.

THE AERIE

Over the next several days I was put to work. Classes were attended downstairs with other young women and I noted some of my teachers from the Indexium came to the enclave to teach. Unlike the university where decorum was maintained by convention and the students were allowed some leeway in jesting with teachers, in the enclave there was no tolerance for anything save submission.

There were no allowances for bathroom breaks and I was told by one of the other girls that absorbants--the diapers I'd worn during my disciplining--were sometimes worn in class. Low level acolytes patrolled the rows of desks, tapping us with their crops to improve posture or concentration.

I immediately came close to asking questions calculated to annoy but the knowledge I would be thoroughly punished barely but fortunately, held me in check. Still, when the instructor's eyes--particularly the female ones--fell on me, I felt they poked at me in their lectures with various exaltations of the Natural Order and I knew it was a matter of time before an outburst.

More captivating were the philosophy classes my Mistress (how I hated that term) made me take. These were taught by members of the order--both men and women--and each class began with an acolyte who had misbehaved, stripped and strung in an X shape in a large metal loop by the speaker. During the class, points would be underscored with smacks to the subjects buttocks or other indignities of a more intricate nature.

In addition to my primal interest an erect, punished, boy or softened, sobbing girl added, I was shocked at how well the instructors wove the disciplines into their lectures. Discussing the intended discomfort of chastity, the lecturer's lesson provided us a look at a naked girl who had snuck out to quench her sexual fire with boys and was now subject to the order's discipline (slaps from a rubber slipper-like paddle against her exposed pudenda, her cries, softened by a drink that dulled the volume of the drinker's voice, filling the chamber) to make such dalliances unthinkable until the soreness from the smacks abated.