For now he is sated but I know that soon I can make him hard again and he will want to fuck me again. But before that his fingers will have to do. As he lies beside me his right hand works busily between my moist labial lips and he slips a finger gently into my anus.
“Tell me your fantasy,” he says.
2. Fantasy
I am back in the courtroom again. The stern and beautiful judge presides and is about to pass sentence.
“For the second time you have been found guilty and it is clear that caning was not enough to stop your lascivious ways. You are a whore and the punishment for this must reflect the physical nature of your crime. It falls to me to sentence you to the most severe punishment this court can impose. You will be taken from here to the place of correction, stripped naked, and sixty strokes of the judicial birch will be applied full force to your buttocks. The birch will be applied in three sets of twenty strokes six weeks apart.”
Once again I find myself naked in the place where I was caned before but this time I am not the only one to be punished. A young woman is already standing completely naked, and not 10 yards away, in front a large wooden barrel which stands in the centre of the of the high walled and cobbled courtyard. The judge who has entered the yard alongside me turns.
She smiles and her eyes sparkle as she softly speaks.
“She is to be disciplined first. This is her second set of twenty. She received her first set six weeks ago. You will be able to see and hear her suffering up-close and learn a little of what is going to happen to you. Three times over. But you’ll only really know when your plump arse has felt the first twenty.”
“Now watch and learn.”
“And don’t you dare look away.”
The barrel has been sanded smooth and firmly set in supports stands on a flat wooden base. In front of and behind the barrel two pairs of metal eyelets are firmly screwed into the wooden base. A red leather padded cushion lies over the top of the barrel. In front of the barrel between the eyelets sits a low wooden step.
The woman stands in front of it. She is a little shorter than I am with a narrow waist, broad hips, and a big pale white arse. Her buttocks bear the residual marks of a previous flogging, and it is clear she understands the pain she is about to suffer. Her back is to me, and I cannot see her face or tits, but her fair hair is cut in a short prison page boy cut. For the first time I notice the buckled leather wrist and ankle straps that she is wearing. Each strap has a metal ring set into it.
She is sobbing quietly.
She climbs the steps and lies over the barrel and the steps are removed. Her ankles are attached to the eyelets on the side of the barrel she mounted and finally her wrists are attached to the eyelets on the far side and the bindings drawn tight.
She is held totally immobilised with her arms and legs away from the ground and her bum stretched taught across the barrel.
A voice cries out across the yard. I cannot see where it came from, but it is obviously that of a woman.
“Bitch! You are going to suffer for what you did, and I shall savour all of it.”
“Please put your back and strong arm into it Mr Executioner.”
“Flay her fat adulterous arse well!”
As she waits the well-muscled executioner draws a birch rod from the metal canister where it has been steeped in brine. It is just one of four that have been prepared. Birch is a misnomer since the 4 foot instrument is not made of birch but consists of four supple hazel wands bound together at one end to form a handle and splayed out at the “business end.”
He stands too her left and holding the bundle in two hands he measures it across her waiting bum cheeks which are quivering in anticipation. Then he raises it above and behind his head and waits for the instruction to begin.
The crowd of twenty or thirty gentlewomen onlookers who habitually attend these punishments and who have been talking animatedly starts to quieten, first to a murmur, and then to silence. The only sound that can be heard is the quiet sobbing of the young woman. I can already see that some of them have their hands busy under their skirts. Their attention is otherwise directed at the muscular executioner and the pale white, and lewdly displayed buttocks of his victim.
The judge speaks.
“Twenty strokes.”
“Lay them on hard.”
“Begin.”
He takes a long stride forward whilst simultaneously bringing the birch down and across in a long whistling arc to impact in the centre of her nates and small pieces of broken twig fly. She whimpers as her flesh starts to pinken and small red dots appear.
“One,” says the Judge.
“Two.”
“Three…”
The rod rises and falls in a remorseless rhythm with around twenty seconds between strokes. After five strokes her buttocks have started to redden and swell and are continuously twitching. Her body is starting to glisten with sweat, and she is wailing constantly.
I am transfixed. I am so scared. I am so horny. As she takes her punishment no one is watching me, and my hand is busy between my thighs. When I climax, I take my long pleasure quietly.
3.Reality
But in reality it is not my hand that pleasures me but that of my lover. He has been listening to my fantasy and has continued to touch me. It is clear that he has become aroused since his member has started to harden again and I know it will soon need my attention. For now I selfishly lie on my back with my legs stretched wide apart, and his fingers move faster and faster between my lips. And then my back arches and as I grip the sheet with my hands by my sides I come. My orgasm is long and hard and my vagina rhythmically contracts and relaxes as he continues to move fast against my throbbing clitoris. My trembling thighs clamp around his hand and I involuntarily stretch my legs. And, as in my fantasy, I stifle my voice and experience my ecstasy in near silence with just a long soft groan.
And then I return to my fantasy world, but when I do, I have become many.
4.Fantasy
I am the victim.
I am lying over the barrel and screaming under each stroke of the birch. I struggle uselessly against my bonds. I suffer anguish in the long wait before strokes and I can smell my sweat and fear. Although I am wailing remorselessly this is my fantasy and I feel no pain.
***
I am the Judge. She has seen me playing with myself.
That slut has wantonly played with herself. She will pay extra for her sins. I cannot add extra strokes of the birch today, but later she will return to prison where I can have her taken to the punishment room, bound over the trestle, and I will personally apply a dozen hard strokes of the heavy judicial cane to her already tender arse. I can feel the moisture leaking between my legs as I anticipate this and her impending birching. My husband has been told to expect a good long hard fucking tonight.
***
I am the executioner.
My job is to deliver maximal pain and suffering without causing lasting damage, and I am very good at this with a strong arm and good eye. Because I am not a sadist I do not lose control when I carry out a court ordered punishment.