And then it kept repeating. “42. 43. 44. 45.” Five strokes in a row on her left nipple, and five screams from Amy. And then five on her right nipple, with the same results.
And then her pussy. Ivan stood in front of her this time, with the drone camera just at his side and a bit below her pussy. He swung the crop up between her legs and squarely into her pussy lips. Of course it hurt, but to Amy’s surprise and relief, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the crop on her nipples. Ivan couldn’t put as much force on the underhand swing, and her pussy lips were a more diffuse target than her nipples. Eight strokes on the pussy. Amy cried out with every one, but she wasn’t screaming. And then, one more on each nipple. And she screamed again.
They turned her around again, once again showing her back to the audience, and Ivan picked up the cane. He swished it through the air, making a surprising amount of noise, impressing the crowd and further intimidating Amy.
Some doms cane the back, but many do not. Ivan believed that canes should be used on fleshy body parts. He put five tightly spaced strokes across her bottom, creating five angry red stripes stretching across it in parallel. Then he pulled her legs together and put five more stripes across the backs of her thighs.
Amy was screaming with every stroke now, but she never begged. She didn’t demand that the beating stop, she didn’t cry out for mercy, and she didn’t whisper to Ivan to please go easy on her.
She had read about safe words in BDSM romance novels, and now she realized that she didn’t have one. She hoped that she would never have used it anyway. She also belatedly realized that she didn’t know whether she got paid if she failed to finish. No one had explained the conditions of payment.
Ivan turned her around and put five stripes across the front of her thighs. And then, as the turntable spread her legs again, he put a cane stroke across the top of her breasts. Some of the women in the crowd cried out in shock. Then a second stroke, just below the first. Then one squarely on her left nipple, then squarely on the right. And then one on her belly, just above her pussy. “78. 79. 80.” He did not cane her pussy, perhaps partly out of mercy, but mostly because he couldn’t get any leverage with an underhand cane stroke.
Even so, Amy was screaming with every stroke, and now she was also sobbing, tears continuously streaming down her face. The cameras closed in for the vivid marks on her breasts and for the pain and distress on her face.
Ivan turned her so that her back was to the audience again. Finally, it was time for the whip. Short of putting metal barbs or hooks on a whip or a flogger, which almost no one ever does in consensual relationships, the single-tail whip is as intense as it gets. It is long, so it provides lots of leverage. It is thin, so it concentrates the force of the blow. It can easily cut the skin, but when skillfully used, it can raise large red welts without breaking the skin.
Ivan snapped and cracked the whip in the air, again impressing the crowd and terrifying Amy. These last 20 would be true lashes; “strokes” was no longer the right word.
He returned to his pattern with the flogger and the cat, cracking number 81 across the top of Amy’s back. The sound of the impact was loud; the sound of Amy’s scream was louder than any that had come before. The red stripe appeared after a short delay, and soon rose into an angry welt.
Ivan put five of these welts at intervals down her back, and three across her bottom. He pulled her legs together and put two more across the back of her thighs. “89. 90.” On her thighs and bottom, the nasty red welts from the whip crisscrossed the earlier stripes from the cane.
He turned her around. Was he really going to use that whip on those sensitive places on her front?
No one had explicitly told the crowd that there would be 100 strokes. But that was a nice round number, they had been shown five instruments, there had been 20 strokes with each of the others, and using this whip on her front surely looked like a climactic development. Much of the crowd sensed that these were the last ten. Nearly all the men and many of the women joined in the count, loudly and enthusiastically.
Two welts across the front of her thighs. “91. 92.” Then up to her breasts, as the turntable spread her legs. “93. 94.” Number 95 struck squarely across her right nipple, narrowly missing the left; even for Ivan, it was almost impossible to hit them both at the same time with an instrument as narrow as the single tail.
Amy was screaming uncontrollably and nearly continuously. The whip was the most painful of all the instruments, and the pain of nearly 100 strokes was cumulative. It kept building, getting worse and worse. Pain was no longer fading away between lashes. Each lash was a peak of intense pain layered on top of a high plateau of continuing pain that was already there.
A lash just below her breasts. “96.” One across her lower abdomen, just above her pussy. “97.” One across the tops of her thighs, just at her pussy but striking it only incidentally. “98.” She knew what was coming next, and most of the crowd did too. Ivan took two steps back, because the single tail was a good bit longer than the floggers. He cracked the whip and caught the inside of her pussy with the very tip of it. “99.” The loudest scream of all. Then he stepped well behind her, cracked the whip through her legs, and caught the front of her pussy from bottom to top, creating a vertical welt just above her pussy. “100.” The crowd cheered wildly.
Amy sobbed and hung on her ropes, too weak to stand on her own. Her body was mostly bright red, with welts and stripes from the top of her breasts to just above her knees. She would no doubt bear the welts, and many of the stripes, for the rest of her stay, and those at the top and at the bottom would be clearly visible above and below the Resort’s bikini and skimpy sarong. Whether or not they had seen her whipped, everyone would recognize her as the woman of the whipping.
Nearly all the women in the crowd were thinking that they could not have withstood what Amy had, that they wouldn’t last very long at all if they tried, and that they never wanted to try. A very few were wondering if maybe they should try it. Some of the men were wondering whether and how they could talk their partners into it.
Nearly all the women who had arrived at the town square blindfolded had had those blindfolds removed. They wanted to see the show, and their partners did not want to deprive them of the opportunity. But a few had remained blindfolded throughout the performance. They had experienced Suzanne’s passion and Amy’s suffering only through their ears and through the breathing, the moans, the cries, the screams, and the crack of the whips. Their imaginations had done the rest. That had also made for a great show, but very different from what the others had seen with their eyes.
Ivan withdrew, and the emcee approached. “Amy, you were magnificent. Absolutely amazing. You were so incredibly strong.” He held a Hitachi vibrator in front of her face, but she didn’t see it. Her eyes were closed.