An adult story: Twelve Days a Slave 8 of 13 by The_Technician
Slave missy is introduced to “The Whipmaster.” , This is the story of a young woman’s conviction as a terrorist and what happens to her when she is sentenced to penal slavery. Penal slavery is not impossible. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Constitution of the United States of America do NOT prohibit slavery. They only LIMIT slavery to punishment for crimes. In other words, the Constitution allows penal slavery.
After the woman is convicted, a “sentence negotiator” gets her sentence reduced to a public day of repentance followed by eleven days of public punishment. Following that, she is to serve one year of penal servitude.
This story deals with non-consensual punishment, pain, and involuntary slavery. If such topics offend you or upset you, I would advise skipping this particular book.
There are thirteen chapters to this story. The chapters can be read on their own, but the story is much better understood if the previous portions have been read. The complete story is full book length. I debated publishing it with some of my other books at Fiction4all, but decided that I would rather serialize it and post it here.
A description of the thirteen chapters follows the end of each chapter. On the sixth day of her punishment, missy is introduced to “The Whipmaster.” Before punishing her he provides a demonstration of his abilities. The chapter is focused on public nudity, public humiliation, and public flogging of one sort or another.
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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2015 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Chapter Eight – Slave missy meets The Whipmaster.
William and missy’s morning routine was quickly becoming exactly that… very routine. For missy, each morning was coffee, bacon, eggs, do dishes, grease herself up with the mixture of baby oil and baby gel, get in her cage, ride through downtown, then return to the fairgrounds and literally hang around until show time at two. The routine had been basically identical for five days and this day was starting out no different.
Shortly after William locked her into her cage, however, something changed. Rather than immediately driving the ATV with the cage trailer and the rolling billboard downtown, William stood around looking nervously at his watch.
“Is something wrong?” missy asked.
“No problem,” William replied. “He’s not late… yet. He promised he would be here exactly at 8:00 and we still have a few minutes.”
He then went back to pacing and looking at his watch every few seconds. Missy was about to ask who “he” was when she heard the approaching roar of a motorcycle. Turning in the direction of the sound, she could see a large bike coming across the fairgrounds parking lot.
There were two flags fluttering on poles attached to the bike. One was, of course, the American flag. The other at first appeared to be a pirate flag. It looked like a pirate flag. It was black and appeared to have the traditional skull and crossed bones on it. Something else appeared to be fluttering above the flags, but missy couldn’t quite make out what that was.
As the bike drew up to where William was impatiently waiting, missy could see that it was a Harley chopper. The front wheel had been extended significantly out in front of the bike and almost every surface of the bike– including everything on the motor– was bright, shiny, chrome.
As he got closer, missy realized that what she had first thought to be crossed bones on a pirate flag turned out to be crossed whips and a oval signet-like emblem which said, “The Whipmaster” in old gothic-style lettering. The unknown items fluttering above the flags turned out to be long strands of black leather. The poles holding the flags had been wrapped with leather so they would look like the handles on a whip, and the strands were braided so that the two flag staffs appeared to be huge bullwhips.
The man riding the Harley was as impressive as the bike itself. He was in his late twenties or early thirties with a very muscular build. He was wearing rather tight, black leather pants and a matching black leather vest. Since he was shirtless, his six-pack abs were on display, framed by the open front of the vest. The muscles of his arms rippled as he brought the bike to a halt alongside the cage. Missy could see that the black leather vest he was wearing had the same signet and crossed whips that decorated his flag.
He brushed his long, black hair off his face and asked, “Do you want me leading or following?”
“Leading, by all means,” answered William. “You do remember the route we discussed, don’t you?”
In answer, the man tapped the side of his head with his finger and said, “Got it.” He then smiled over at missy. His bright white teeth contrasted greatly with his immaculately trimmed, shiny black moustache and beard. For some reason, to missy, his whole appearance and demeanor made him look like someone trying to be a rock star from the 1960s.
“Let’s roll,” shouted William as he got on the seat of the ATV. “… and remember to make three laps around the town square.” He waited for the man to answer. When he did not, he added, “And only three!”
In response the man once again tapped the side of his head and then revved the engine on the Harley. Despite the custom pipes, the sound of the engine retained that distinctive, almost musical, Harley roar.
As they pulled out of the fairgrounds missy said aloud to herself, “I don’t think I like him, but I have a feeling I am going to know The Whipmaster a whole lot better before the day is over.” She kept her eye on him, but remained silent as their very short parade continued on its morning route.
The crowds had gotten slightly smaller each morning as people became used to seeing the naked slave being displayed in her rolling cage. This morning, however, the roar of the Harley chopper and the huge flags streaming above The Whipmaster’s head as he rode through town brought many people back to the sidewalks to watch them pass.
Missy wondered why William had specified three trips around the town square. Usually they circled the square only once. As they completed their second loop, however, his plan became clear. There were twice as many people standing on the sidewalks on the second time around the square as there had been on the first lap. And more people were streaming out of the shops and offices to get a closer look at The Whipmaster.
She wondered for a moment if they should take a fourth lap around the square, but then realized that the crowd seemed to have peaked. It was large, but very few additional people were coming out of the buildings. “Two wasn’t enough,” she thought to herself, “and four would have been too many.”
“P. T. Barnum could learn a trick or two from you, Mister Wilson,” she shouted toward the ATV. She wasn’t sure if William heard her or was just waving to the crowd, but his hand appeared to raise in response and give a slight wave as they turned back onto main street to return to the fairgrounds.
Once there, The Whipmaster roared once around the race track and disappeared out one of the front entrances. In the meantime, William drove up onto the stage so missy’s cage could be raised to its normal pre-show position.
After William left, missy settled into her pre-show routine of watching the stage crew set up the equipment and slowly stroking herself to a satisfying plateau of sexual excitement. She wasn’t seeking an orgasm, but she was making sure that she was turned on. Somehow, handling whatever pain was awaiting her in today’s punishment was easier if her body was already experiencing sexual sensations.
There didn’t seem to be much in the way of equipment today. There were what appeared to be a dozen or so candlesticks set up in a circle in the center of the stage. On stage left was what appeared to be a very high spanking bench. From the restraints which were attached to it, it appeared to missy that a person was expected to lay their upper body over the padded bar. Their ankles would then be restrained to a low bar on the front. Their arms would be stretched down to a similar bar on the back side of the stand. The result was a very well-presented ass and totally exposed legs. Missy wondered whether it was going to be her wrists and ankles which were strapped to those bars.
On stage right was an upright frame consisting of two poles attached to a wide base. Again, missy wondered if it would be her pulled taut between those uprights while The Whipmaster did his thing with a bullwhip. That thought caused her to shudder in fear.
“William’s right,” she thought to herself. “Knowing what is coming is worse than not knowing.” She decided it would be best to concentrate on what sensations her fingers could give her and not worry about what some egotistical wannabe rock star with a whip might do to her body. She closed her eyes and ignored the stage crew as they continued to set up equipment beneath her. She did not ignore her fingers.