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“Our second performer tonight is Amy, and her performance will be an extreme submission that probably few of you have tried for yourselves.”
A member of the stage crew had climbed a ladder while the clamps were being changed. He pulled down two ropes that had been attached, several feet apart, to the metal structure that supported one of the TV screens. Another crew member had brought out a turntable, three feet across, with something like shoes at each end of a diameter.
Amy spread her legs to step into the shoes, and raised her arms above her head. The crew member on the ladder hooked her wrist cuffs to the ropes hanging from above; the guy with the turntable tightened the laces on the shoes. Amy was spread eagled vertically, her arms extended overhead and her hands and feet wide apart. Except for her feet, every inch of her body was exposed to the whip.
Her magnificent body was more magnificent than ever in this position. Stretching her arms above and to the sides pulled her large breasts further up and apart. They jutted forward even more than usual. Her spread legs pulled her pussy lips well apart, revealing the soft pink folds within. The cameras could shoot closeups of her open pussy as often as the director liked. Her butt cheeks were pulled taut and separated, not quite revealing her asshole, but making unmistakably clear exactly where it was.
The turntable slowly turned. It couldn’t go all the way around without entwining the ropes that held her arms and eventually putting serious stress on the ropes, on Amy, or on both. But it could go slightly more than 180 degrees in one direction, and then reverse, come back to the original position, and continue a bit more than 180 degrees in the other direction.
Everyone could see her clearly, both front and back. A welt across her back from the practice lash was clearly visible and by now, quite nasty looking. The crowd reacted to that as she was turned around.
When Amy was fully secured and displayed, there was a drumroll. “And now I am proud to introduce our talented whip master, Ivan the Terrible.” Ivan entered from the rear of the stage, now dressed all in black leathers, except for an enormous red codpiece that covered his cock and balls and surely some dead airspace that no one’s cock and balls could ever be big enough to fill.
Two crew members carried a cart to the top of the rear stairs, and one used it to roll in the whips. Ivan removed the first flogger from the cart, stretched it out as far as he could reach, held it high above his head, and displayed it to the crowd. Then he swung a couple of demonstration strokes, snapping the flogger in empty air. He did the same with the cat, the crop, the cane, and the single-tail whip. The audience oohed and aahed and murmured, many of them excited and some of them seriously worried about poor Amy.
The turntable turned Amy’s back to the audience, and Ivan took his position with the heavy flogger. He landed the first blow across the top of Amy’s back. Amy grunted. The emcee cried out, “One.” The second blow landed a few inches below the first. “Two.” And the third just below that. “Three.” Some of the crowd began to count with the emcee, and others picked it up. Soon most of them were loudly counting. “Six. Seven. Eight.”
Ivan ranged swings 1 to 5 down Amy’s back. He had decided against wrapping the strokes around to her breasts; they would get their own turns. He skipped over the area where her kidneys would be, and placed number 6 at the top of her lovely ass. Amy cried out loudly for the first time. Numbers 7 and 8 landed in the middle and near the bottom of her ass.
Now the turntable revealed another trick. There was a groove between the two shoes, and the shoes slid inward through the groove to meet in the center, closing Amy’s pussy and butt cheeks and pressing her thighs together. Strokes 9 and 10 broke across the back of her thighs, hitting both thighs with each stroke. And then the turntable turned her around. There were feminine gasps among the crowd. And there were tears in Amy’s eyes.
11 and 12 hit the front of her thighs. And then the shoes moved back to the perimeter, spreading her legs again. And spreading her pussy again. Ivan moved up high, striking the tops of her breasts, the bottoms of her breasts, and then squarely across the nipples. “13, 14, 15,” came the chant from the crowd. Then across her abdomen, just below the breasts (“16”), and just above her pussy (“17”). Then across the top of her thighs and the bottom of her abdomen, just at the level of her pussy, but not actually hitting it, because her pussy was neatly recessed within the other body parts. “18.”
Then Ivan took a step backwards and swung from that greater distance. The tips of the flogger’s tails snapped squarely on her open pussy, and Amy screamed for the first time. The drone camera got a close up of the flogger’s tails landing on her pussy, and of two of its tails landing squarely inside, just beyond the first open pussy lip and short of the second. Ivan really was talented with the whip, just as the emcee had claimed.
Finally, Ivan stepped behind her and swung underhanded. Number 20 came up between her legs and landed on her pussy, wrapping around and leaving light red marks just above it. Amy was obviously suffering now, and this was only the first round, with the least dangerous instrument.
The table again turned Amy’s back to the audience, and Ivan picked up the cat. He repeated the same pattern as before, working his way down her back, then down her bottom, and then pulling her legs together for two strokes on the thighs. The cat left uneven abrasions, but no clear stripes. Amy was crying out with every stroke a loud, sudden “Ah” each time, not at all like the prolonged “aah” of a massage. She was still working to keep it under control, and having partial success. The emcee and the crowd continued to count. “28. 29. 30.”
Then she was turned around again, and the pattern repeated on the front. Two strokes on her thighs before her legs were spread again. On and around her breasts and squarely across her nipples. Across her belly, just above her pussy, and across the tops of her thighs at the level of her pussy. Then Ivan stepped back and again landed one squarely on her pussy, with some tails of the cat snapping inside. A scream this time from Amy. And finally, the underhand swing at her pussy from behind. “38. 39. 40.”
Spreading the strokes around this way meant that no part of her body was spared, not even her most sensitive places. But it also meant that no stroke was repeated in the same place in a single round. She didn’t entirely appreciate the fact, but she had been spared the ordeal of having the same place whipped over and over.
Until the crop. The first stroke of the crop came smashing down on her left nipple, and Amy screamed. The nipple was swollen and sore; it had been clamped for hours through the day; the clamps had last come off barely ten minutes before. It could have been far worse, if the crop had immediately followed the removal of the clamps. But the reality was awful enough.