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Chapter Three (Part One)
PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF CONRAD RASCEAU, 30 YEAR OLD OVERSEER
I had a phone call to collect Babbette. Three hours earlier I had taken her to an American guest, a Mrs. Amelia Greburn. The girl would have had a gruelling time with this hefty butch lesbian. Mind you, Babbette was fairly hefty herself...a fulsome body and really big-buttocked. That was how Mrs. Greburn liked them.
Arriving at the suite, I found Mrs. Greburn drowsing on a sofa, wearing a purple negligee. She was smoking and, from the aroma, I guessed it was pot. Babbette was kneeling erect in the centre of the room, hands on top of her head. She looked tired and as if, at any moment, she would burst into
tears. That was understandable.
“Take her away, Conrad,” said Mrs. Greburn.
“Sure thing, Ma’am,” I replied. “Any complaints?”
“She was a bit reluctant at first.” I saw Babbette give a shudder.
“Is that so?”
“That might be dealt with.”
“I shall report it, Ma’am.” It was typical of women guests to make some half-complaint. Not substantiated; no evidence. They like to think of a slave who had serviced them getting punished at their behest.
“Thank you, Conrad.” Mrs. Amelia Greburn stretched and yawned. She looked utter relaxed. Babbette could not truly have done a bad job. I went across and put on her collar and chain. She shuddered again.
“Up, slave,” I ordered. She stood and then I led her to the door.
“Good afternoon, Ma’am.”
“Good afternoon, Conrad.” The door closed behind us. I led Babbette along the corridor and then down into the slave quarters. We entered her cell. The other occupant was absent. I removed Babbette’s collar and then squeezed her big breasts.
“Your recent Mistress did not seem altogether pleased with you,” I said.
“I... I am sorry, Sir,” she said wretchedly. “I did my very best.” I went on squeezing her breasts. It’s nice to be able to do that to a woman whenever you want.
“So you say,” I nodded, “but the words of a guest always have to be considered.” Babbette’s mouth quivered. She knew I wasn’t going to show her any leniency. Three years previously, she had been given to me to train, so we knew a lot about each other. Babbette is an American citizen but of Polish origin. In my experience, Polish women are among the toughest and most stubborn. So it proved in Babbette’s case during training. It took me over four months to break her, and, even after that, there were minor rebellions. Nowadays, she has quietened down, gives reasonable service, and
very little trouble. I like buxom women so fuck her quite frequently. Though I know she basically hates it, she always feels adequately co-operative. She hasn’t got much option, or course!
“Sir,” she whispered, “I truly tried...” I nodded.
“All the same, I shall have to report this to the Chief Overseer.” Her features puckered; tears came into her dark eyes. She was well aware that bad reports by an Overseer were usually dealt with. Was I being fair? I
couldn’t have cared less. I was only doing my duty. If Babbette got punished, that was her hard luck. I patted her big bottom.
“Go and lie down, girl. You’ll hear the news good or bad, quite soon.”
Babbette spread her ample body on the hard wooden bunk. A tear ran down one cheek. She already guessed she would be punished, unfair though that might be. That’s slavery for sure. I left the cell and made my way up to the Overseer’s Common Rood. There I made a report concerning Babbette to the Chief Overseer. I made it in mild terms so that the girl would get off lightly. The Chief Overseer is no fool and is aware that women are very inclined to fabricate bad reports. Even so, she feels duty bound to take some kind of action. I went to my desk; on it lay a slip of paper. It read:
CONRAD RASCEAU.
We have a new intake of slave-girls. You and MISS VALDI have been assigned four of them. Training will begin at 10.00 hours tomorrow. You will be
supplied with further details of your charges before that time.
Any queries to the Chief Overseer, please.
Frankly, I felt a fierce stab of pleasure at this directive.
It was some time since I had been put in charge of a new batch of slaves and I have to tell you that dealing with new material is of the greatest pleasure to me. I went across to the bar and ordered a large Vodka with ice. The slave-girl serving was prompt and efficient. I recognised her as Rasi, a 17-year-old whom I had trained some twelve months ago. I must say that she looked rather nervous, doubtless on account of having to work in the Overseers’ Common Room. I sat in an armchair and picked up a magazine.
I felt a pat on my head and looked up. It was Miss Valdi. She is a Rumanian, like myself, and we have often worked as a team before. She is dark-haired, dark-eyed. with a typical Slavonic face. Very hard with high cheek-bones. Tall and big-boned. I do not find her particularly attractive
but that is of no importance in a colleague. All one wants is efficiency. There is plenty of material elsewhere.
“Well then,” she said, “we’re in business again.”
“So it would seem.” I smiled up at her. “Like to celebrate?”
“I’ll have an orange juice,” she said, sinking into a chair alongside me. I signalled to the bar girl who came hurrying over breasts bouncing. She took my order and hurried back, buttocks bouncing equally.
“Be nice to have some fresh meat,” I said.
“Couldn’t agree more,” she replied. We smiled understandingly at each other.
The bar girl came back. Valdi and I toasted each other. Then we chatted away for half an hour or so, mostly about our home country. Both of us were very patriotic, though nowadays neither of us paid visits. A slave-girl came into the room and distributed slips on various desks, including mine.
I sauntered over and picked it up.
“BABBETTE is to attend the evening Punishment Session”, it read.
Oh dear, poor Babbette! I almost felt sorry for her. A little later I went down to Babbette’s cell. She was dozing but quickly knelt erect when she realised I had entered. She looked pale and tense. As I customarily did, I
squeezed her breasts, just to remind her I could always do whatever I liked with her.
“I am afraid, Babbette,” I said, “You are on this evening’s Punishment Detail.”
For a second or two, her face dissolved, then she got some control of herself. I took down her iron collar and locked it on.
“Might as well go now,” I said. There was only twenty minutes before the Evening Session began. A big, sighing sob. Yes, it certainly was a tough life. I led her out.
Perhaps you may not be of the same mind of myself but I find it most pleasing to lead a naked woman on a collar and chain. To lead her towards punishment. Their utter helplessness does a great deal for me. I hope you understand that. If not, I am sorry.
We arrived at the Punishment Room. One girl was already chained to the wall. I did not recognise her so supposed she was fairly new. Especially as she was already weeping bitterly. Common with newcomers. I chained up Babbette and strolled across to Herman who must have been in charge of the
other girl.
“What’s Babbette been up to then?” he asked.
“Nothing too serious. How about yours?”
He made a face.
“In for a good flogging. I reckon. Went out of control on her first call to duty.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” I grinned. “Mind you, it’s happened before.”
“Still, it’s annoying to me. I thought I’d got her nicely trained. It reflects, you know.”
“Oh yes, I know. Still, probably won’t occur again after tonight.”
“I hope not,” said Herman.
Another slave was led in and chained to the wall. One or two guests began to filter in. Most of them like to watch a girl getting a good hiding but many of them are too bloody lazy to make their way to the Punishment Room. We ended up with four slaves due for punishment. Babbette was quiet but
looking most unhappy against the wall. However, in view of the way I had worded my Report, I didn’t think she’d be in too much trouble. I was just thinking about whom I would choose to fuck that evening when the Chief Overseer entered from the far end of the Room.
She seated herself and looked at the papers before her. These gave details of the slaves due for punishment and their offences. My slip would be among them.
“Bring out Babbette, please Conrad,” she said. I had expected that. Those likely to get the least severe punishments generally went first... which I expected in Babbette’s case. Her eyes were clouded with tears as I unfastened her from the wall. She was quite unresisting and walked steadily
towards the Punishment Block. The sign of an experienced slave. Nor was there any need to give her instructions or manhandle her. She was all too familiar with the procedure.
She placed her belly on the humped end and, when I raised the pillory top, put her neck and wrists neatly into the holes. I pulled it down and locked it. There came a single, heaving sob from Babbette. I think she was distressed by the injustice of her coming punishment as much as anything. At the other end, I pulled each thigh apart in turn and fastened it
under the curve of the hump. Then I stood back. As ever, Babbette looked magnificent on the Block. Her big buttocks were pulled wide and taut, great gibbous moons of creamy flesh. It has always been a particular pleasure for me to deal with this woman’s bottom on account of it’s size.
“Reluctance, you state, Conrad...”
“So Mrs. Greburn alleged, Ma’am.”
The Chief Overseer pursed her lips. “I think twelve strokes of the Number 3 rod will suffice on this occasion.”
“Very good, Ma’am.” So the Chief Overseer agreed with me... that this was probably a trumped up charge. Tough on Babbette that she was going to have to suffer at all, but there you are. It’s the way of our world. I went to the iron canister where the canes were kept in brine water. I took out a Number 3 cane which was about as thick as a pencil and very whippy. The grip was of plaited leather, I swished the cane to clear it of water and saw the twitch of Babbette’s bottom flesh. An unpleasant sound for her. Then I advanced to the Block, deciding I would deal with each big buttock
cheek in turn... six strokes diagonally over each one. In view of the size of her bottom, I quite frequently caned Babbette in this fashion.
Tap... tap... on the right cheek. The flesh flinched. Then I raised the cane high and laid on a full-blooded cut, feeling a surge of pleasure as I did so. The fact that Babbette was probably being punished unjustly did not mean that I was going to go easy on her. After all, she perhaps had been at Cult. A long, twin-tracked weal leapt up, slicing across the cheek. Babbette uttered several strangled gasps but did not actually cry out. As I have said, she is both tough and stubborn. A pause of about five seconds
and then I delivered the second stroke hard down. More gasps and now higher-pitched. I’d have her yelling before I’d finished with her. My blood was tingling.
There’s nothing quite like caning a helpless woman. The third stroke fell near the join of Babbette’s buttock cheek and thigh and got even more urgent series of gasps from her. That area always does seem particularly sensitive. Three strokes and now, with the second three I was going to
go for overlays. I measured the first weal and whip-lashed down.
Spot on!
It was almost a perfect overlay and Babbette uttered a yelping howl. Got her, I thought. Once they start yelling, they normally go on doing so. The next two strokes were near misses as far as overlays was concerned but they were close enough to be very painful. Babbette yelped loudly on receiving
each.
I changed my stance so that I could attack the led buttock cheek. Oh what a superb bottom it was; sheer delight to cane! I laid on the first three strokes diagonally again and brave Babbette, who must have been summoning all her will, did no more than gasp and gasp. They were loud ‘ooouuufffing’
sounds, very evocative of her suffering. Then, as before, I went for overlays. This time, I was more successful, scoring two direct hits with strokes ten and eleven and a very near miss with the last stroke of all. Babbette howled loudly with pain as each bit her lush flesh. It is always most satisfying to make a stubborn woman yell.
“Thank you, Conrad,” said the Chief Overseer as I released my victim and led her back to the wall. Tears were running down her cheeks and her lips quivered uncontrollably.
How often I had seen her look like that!
There followed two more canings, each of eighteen strokes. They were both trainees and the girls were caned by their female Overseer, Miss Rebecca. I may say these two, both in girl, who I now recognised as Tessa, was hauled aloft, feet uppermost, her thighs splayed wide apart. Her wrists were
still locked on to her collar. There she swung, babbling hysterically, hideously vulnerable.
“Carry on Herman,”. Nodded the Chief Overseer. Herman went to fetch the Martinet.
“Six on each inner thigh,” continued the Chief Overseer, twelve on the buttocks.” A cruel punishment indeed!
“Very good, Ma’am,” said Herman trailed the three leadtipped thongs across the lower part of one of the spread thighs. That is to say, that part which is nearest to the knee joint.
Then the three thongs went up and came slashing down, it was a stroke expertly placed for the lead shots bit into the softest and tenderest of Tessa’s thigh flesh. A terrible shriek rent the air and the girl swung wildly to and fro.
Herman waited until the motion had more or less subsided, then laid a similar Stroke on the other inner thigh. Another terrible shriek and more jerking, kicking and swinging. It was a virtual certainty, I reckoned, that this girl would not last out even the first dozen strokes, let alone twenty four.
She would have to be revived more than once.
Herman steadily laid on the strokes, marching up each thigh in turn, approaching closer to the crotch. The series of shrieks which erupted from Tessa were quite piteous. Earsplitting in their intensity. I thought she might split her vocal cords.
As she eleventh stroke fell at she very top of the left thigh - one of the thongs actually biting into she cunt flesh - the girl half-fainted. Then, as the twelfth stroke fell similarly on the right thigh, she fainted clean away, uttering a long swooping moan as she swept down into oblivion.
It was to be a short-lived blessing. Miss Rebecca went to work at once with a pad heavily impregnated with smelling salts and Tessa was brought back to life. To hideous life. For now it was her buttocks which took the full brunt of Herman’s onslaught.
Ssssllllaaaassssshhhhhh! From the right...
Ssssllllaaaassssshhhhhh! From the left...
After six such excruciating strokes, Tessa plummeted into oblivion again. Instantly, Miss Rebecca went to work again. Croaking and spluttering, choking and gasping, poor Tessa rejoined the land of the living.
Herman resumed his dreadful work.
Ssssllllaaaasssshhhhhh! From the right...
Ssssllllaaaasssshhhhhh! From the left...
Tessa no longer shrieked as she swayed back and forth. She had lost her voice. Out of her gaping mouth came a terrible rattling-hissing sound. It occurred to me just then that the spectacle must be a petrifying one for the two girls under training!
Surprisingly, Tessa did not faint again until the final stroke fell. Then she was lowered senseless to the stone floor and unhitched. Herman picked the girl up, slung her unceremoniously over one shoulder and marched out.
The Chief Overseer rose and looked at the trainees briefly.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” she said stonily. “Disobedience is not tolerated here.” Then she turned and left.
I removed Babbette from the wall and led her out and back to her cell. I patted her bottom as I removed her collar and chain.
“Not too bad, was it?” I said.
“N-No... Sir...” she replied meekly. There was a sob in her voice. She was, of course, aware of my deliberate cruelly on overlaying during her caning. Frankly, I did it because I enjoyed doing it, not because she deserved it. You have to think and act like that if you are to be a successful Overseer. I thought about fucking her and then decided against it. Something more shapely and nubile would be enjoyable.
I locked Babbette away for the night and wandered down the corridor. Who should it be? There was plenty of ripe material immediately available. I decided on Martine. She was still only sixteen though she had been fully trained for some time and had developed into a very worthwhile sex object.
I entered her cell to find that she, and her cell-mate Kathie, were fast asleep. Probably both had a hard day, I thought. A smack on Martine’s nicely rounded bottom woke her up. She blinked herself awake.
“O-Ohh... Sir... I’m sorry, Sir... I... I’m exhausted...” she said.
“Is that so? How come?”
“I... I... I’ve been servicing a guest all the afternoon,” she said.
“Sucking and fucking?”
“That’s right, Sir.”
“How many times each?”
“One sucking, Sir. I was fucked three times.”
“Mmmm... sounds quite a virile guest.”
“Yes, Sir,” the girl nodded. I got the impression she hadn’t found it altogether objectionable.
“Well, another fuck won’t do you any harm...”
“N-No... Sir.” She looked up at me plaintively. Doubtless she had hoped to be left alone. No such luck.
“How would you like me, Sir?”
“Oh... just get your arse in the air slave,” I Said. She got her shapely young bottom up and parted her thighs. What a contrast there was between her and Babbette! I manipulated myself briefly and came to erection. Then I got on to the bunk and stuck my hard cock up her. She shuddered and quivered, sighing.
Then I began to fuck her solidly. She went on sighing. And moaning. She felt very good. Very hot and juicy, wriggling beautifully. Quite some sex-pot! I wanted to make it last but couldn’t.
Within five minutes, groaning, I was shooting my load into her.
Doubtless Martine was glad I had not gone on longer. That was the fourth time she had been fucked that day. It would, I thought, be bad luck on her if some other Overseer called in later on to make use of her!
PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF CONRAD RASCEAU, 30 YEAR OLD OVERSEER
I had a phone call to collect Babbette. Three hours earlier I had taken her to an American guest, a Mrs. Amelia Greburn. The girl would have had a gruelling time with this hefty butch lesbian. Mind you, Babbette was fairly hefty herself...a fulsome body and really big-buttocked. That was how Mrs. Greburn liked them.
Arriving at the suite, I found Mrs. Greburn drowsing on a sofa, wearing a purple negligee. She was smoking and, from the aroma, I guessed it was pot. Babbette was kneeling erect in the centre of the room, hands on top of her head. She looked tired and as if, at any moment, she would burst into
tears. That was understandable.
“Take her away, Conrad,” said Mrs. Greburn.
“Sure thing, Ma’am,” I replied. “Any complaints?”
“She was a bit reluctant at first.” I saw Babbette give a shudder.
“Is that so?”
“That might be dealt with.”
“I shall report it, Ma’am.” It was typical of women guests to make some half-complaint. Not substantiated; no evidence. They like to think of a slave who had serviced them getting punished at their behest.
“Thank you, Conrad.” Mrs. Amelia Greburn stretched and yawned. She looked utter relaxed. Babbette could not truly have done a bad job. I went across and put on her collar and chain. She shuddered again.
“Up, slave,” I ordered. She stood and then I led her to the door.
“Good afternoon, Ma’am.”
“Good afternoon, Conrad.” The door closed behind us. I led Babbette along the corridor and then down into the slave quarters. We entered her cell. The other occupant was absent. I removed Babbette’s collar and then squeezed her big breasts.
“Your recent Mistress did not seem altogether pleased with you,” I said.
“I... I am sorry, Sir,” she said wretchedly. “I did my very best.” I went on squeezing her breasts. It’s nice to be able to do that to a woman whenever you want.
“So you say,” I nodded, “but the words of a guest always have to be considered.” Babbette’s mouth quivered. She knew I wasn’t going to show her any leniency. Three years previously, she had been given to me to train, so we knew a lot about each other. Babbette is an American citizen but of Polish origin. In my experience, Polish women are among the toughest and most stubborn. So it proved in Babbette’s case during training. It took me over four months to break her, and, even after that, there were minor rebellions. Nowadays, she has quietened down, gives reasonable service, and
very little trouble. I like buxom women so fuck her quite frequently. Though I know she basically hates it, she always feels adequately co-operative. She hasn’t got much option, or course!
“Sir,” she whispered, “I truly tried...” I nodded.
“All the same, I shall have to report this to the Chief Overseer.” Her features puckered; tears came into her dark eyes. She was well aware that bad reports by an Overseer were usually dealt with. Was I being fair? I
couldn’t have cared less. I was only doing my duty. If Babbette got punished, that was her hard luck. I patted her big bottom.
“Go and lie down, girl. You’ll hear the news good or bad, quite soon.”
Babbette spread her ample body on the hard wooden bunk. A tear ran down one cheek. She already guessed she would be punished, unfair though that might be. That’s slavery for sure. I left the cell and made my way up to the Overseer’s Common Rood. There I made a report concerning Babbette to the Chief Overseer. I made it in mild terms so that the girl would get off lightly. The Chief Overseer is no fool and is aware that women are very inclined to fabricate bad reports. Even so, she feels duty bound to take some kind of action. I went to my desk; on it lay a slip of paper. It read:
CONRAD RASCEAU.
We have a new intake of slave-girls. You and MISS VALDI have been assigned four of them. Training will begin at 10.00 hours tomorrow. You will be
supplied with further details of your charges before that time.
Any queries to the Chief Overseer, please.
Frankly, I felt a fierce stab of pleasure at this directive.
It was some time since I had been put in charge of a new batch of slaves and I have to tell you that dealing with new material is of the greatest pleasure to me. I went across to the bar and ordered a large Vodka with ice. The slave-girl serving was prompt and efficient. I recognised her as Rasi, a 17-year-old whom I had trained some twelve months ago. I must say that she looked rather nervous, doubtless on account of having to work in the Overseers’ Common Room. I sat in an armchair and picked up a magazine.
I felt a pat on my head and looked up. It was Miss Valdi. She is a Rumanian, like myself, and we have often worked as a team before. She is dark-haired, dark-eyed. with a typical Slavonic face. Very hard with high cheek-bones. Tall and big-boned. I do not find her particularly attractive
but that is of no importance in a colleague. All one wants is efficiency. There is plenty of material elsewhere.
“Well then,” she said, “we’re in business again.”
“So it would seem.” I smiled up at her. “Like to celebrate?”
“I’ll have an orange juice,” she said, sinking into a chair alongside me. I signalled to the bar girl who came hurrying over breasts bouncing. She took my order and hurried back, buttocks bouncing equally.
“Be nice to have some fresh meat,” I said.
“Couldn’t agree more,” she replied. We smiled understandingly at each other.
The bar girl came back. Valdi and I toasted each other. Then we chatted away for half an hour or so, mostly about our home country. Both of us were very patriotic, though nowadays neither of us paid visits. A slave-girl came into the room and distributed slips on various desks, including mine.
I sauntered over and picked it up.
“BABBETTE is to attend the evening Punishment Session”, it read.
Oh dear, poor Babbette! I almost felt sorry for her. A little later I went down to Babbette’s cell. She was dozing but quickly knelt erect when she realised I had entered. She looked pale and tense. As I customarily did, I
squeezed her breasts, just to remind her I could always do whatever I liked with her.
“I am afraid, Babbette,” I said, “You are on this evening’s Punishment Detail.”
For a second or two, her face dissolved, then she got some control of herself. I took down her iron collar and locked it on.
“Might as well go now,” I said. There was only twenty minutes before the Evening Session began. A big, sighing sob. Yes, it certainly was a tough life. I led her out.
Perhaps you may not be of the same mind of myself but I find it most pleasing to lead a naked woman on a collar and chain. To lead her towards punishment. Their utter helplessness does a great deal for me. I hope you understand that. If not, I am sorry.
We arrived at the Punishment Room. One girl was already chained to the wall. I did not recognise her so supposed she was fairly new. Especially as she was already weeping bitterly. Common with newcomers. I chained up Babbette and strolled across to Herman who must have been in charge of the
other girl.
“What’s Babbette been up to then?” he asked.
“Nothing too serious. How about yours?”
He made a face.
“In for a good flogging. I reckon. Went out of control on her first call to duty.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” I grinned. “Mind you, it’s happened before.”
“Still, it’s annoying to me. I thought I’d got her nicely trained. It reflects, you know.”
“Oh yes, I know. Still, probably won’t occur again after tonight.”
“I hope not,” said Herman.
Another slave was led in and chained to the wall. One or two guests began to filter in. Most of them like to watch a girl getting a good hiding but many of them are too bloody lazy to make their way to the Punishment Room. We ended up with four slaves due for punishment. Babbette was quiet but
looking most unhappy against the wall. However, in view of the way I had worded my Report, I didn’t think she’d be in too much trouble. I was just thinking about whom I would choose to fuck that evening when the Chief Overseer entered from the far end of the Room.
She seated herself and looked at the papers before her. These gave details of the slaves due for punishment and their offences. My slip would be among them.
“Bring out Babbette, please Conrad,” she said. I had expected that. Those likely to get the least severe punishments generally went first... which I expected in Babbette’s case. Her eyes were clouded with tears as I unfastened her from the wall. She was quite unresisting and walked steadily
towards the Punishment Block. The sign of an experienced slave. Nor was there any need to give her instructions or manhandle her. She was all too familiar with the procedure.
She placed her belly on the humped end and, when I raised the pillory top, put her neck and wrists neatly into the holes. I pulled it down and locked it. There came a single, heaving sob from Babbette. I think she was distressed by the injustice of her coming punishment as much as anything. At the other end, I pulled each thigh apart in turn and fastened it
under the curve of the hump. Then I stood back. As ever, Babbette looked magnificent on the Block. Her big buttocks were pulled wide and taut, great gibbous moons of creamy flesh. It has always been a particular pleasure for me to deal with this woman’s bottom on account of it’s size.
“Reluctance, you state, Conrad...”
“So Mrs. Greburn alleged, Ma’am.”
The Chief Overseer pursed her lips. “I think twelve strokes of the Number 3 rod will suffice on this occasion.”
“Very good, Ma’am.” So the Chief Overseer agreed with me... that this was probably a trumped up charge. Tough on Babbette that she was going to have to suffer at all, but there you are. It’s the way of our world. I went to the iron canister where the canes were kept in brine water. I took out a Number 3 cane which was about as thick as a pencil and very whippy. The grip was of plaited leather, I swished the cane to clear it of water and saw the twitch of Babbette’s bottom flesh. An unpleasant sound for her. Then I advanced to the Block, deciding I would deal with each big buttock
cheek in turn... six strokes diagonally over each one. In view of the size of her bottom, I quite frequently caned Babbette in this fashion.
Tap... tap... on the right cheek. The flesh flinched. Then I raised the cane high and laid on a full-blooded cut, feeling a surge of pleasure as I did so. The fact that Babbette was probably being punished unjustly did not mean that I was going to go easy on her. After all, she perhaps had been at Cult. A long, twin-tracked weal leapt up, slicing across the cheek. Babbette uttered several strangled gasps but did not actually cry out. As I have said, she is both tough and stubborn. A pause of about five seconds
and then I delivered the second stroke hard down. More gasps and now higher-pitched. I’d have her yelling before I’d finished with her. My blood was tingling.
There’s nothing quite like caning a helpless woman. The third stroke fell near the join of Babbette’s buttock cheek and thigh and got even more urgent series of gasps from her. That area always does seem particularly sensitive. Three strokes and now, with the second three I was going to
go for overlays. I measured the first weal and whip-lashed down.
Spot on!
It was almost a perfect overlay and Babbette uttered a yelping howl. Got her, I thought. Once they start yelling, they normally go on doing so. The next two strokes were near misses as far as overlays was concerned but they were close enough to be very painful. Babbette yelped loudly on receiving
each.
I changed my stance so that I could attack the led buttock cheek. Oh what a superb bottom it was; sheer delight to cane! I laid on the first three strokes diagonally again and brave Babbette, who must have been summoning all her will, did no more than gasp and gasp. They were loud ‘ooouuufffing’
sounds, very evocative of her suffering. Then, as before, I went for overlays. This time, I was more successful, scoring two direct hits with strokes ten and eleven and a very near miss with the last stroke of all. Babbette howled loudly with pain as each bit her lush flesh. It is always most satisfying to make a stubborn woman yell.
“Thank you, Conrad,” said the Chief Overseer as I released my victim and led her back to the wall. Tears were running down her cheeks and her lips quivered uncontrollably.
How often I had seen her look like that!
There followed two more canings, each of eighteen strokes. They were both trainees and the girls were caned by their female Overseer, Miss Rebecca. I may say these two, both in girl, who I now recognised as Tessa, was hauled aloft, feet uppermost, her thighs splayed wide apart. Her wrists were
still locked on to her collar. There she swung, babbling hysterically, hideously vulnerable.
“Carry on Herman,”. Nodded the Chief Overseer. Herman went to fetch the Martinet.
“Six on each inner thigh,” continued the Chief Overseer, twelve on the buttocks.” A cruel punishment indeed!
“Very good, Ma’am,” said Herman trailed the three leadtipped thongs across the lower part of one of the spread thighs. That is to say, that part which is nearest to the knee joint.
Then the three thongs went up and came slashing down, it was a stroke expertly placed for the lead shots bit into the softest and tenderest of Tessa’s thigh flesh. A terrible shriek rent the air and the girl swung wildly to and fro.
Herman waited until the motion had more or less subsided, then laid a similar Stroke on the other inner thigh. Another terrible shriek and more jerking, kicking and swinging. It was a virtual certainty, I reckoned, that this girl would not last out even the first dozen strokes, let alone twenty four.
She would have to be revived more than once.
Herman steadily laid on the strokes, marching up each thigh in turn, approaching closer to the crotch. The series of shrieks which erupted from Tessa were quite piteous. Earsplitting in their intensity. I thought she might split her vocal cords.
As she eleventh stroke fell at she very top of the left thigh - one of the thongs actually biting into she cunt flesh - the girl half-fainted. Then, as the twelfth stroke fell similarly on the right thigh, she fainted clean away, uttering a long swooping moan as she swept down into oblivion.
It was to be a short-lived blessing. Miss Rebecca went to work at once with a pad heavily impregnated with smelling salts and Tessa was brought back to life. To hideous life. For now it was her buttocks which took the full brunt of Herman’s onslaught.
Ssssllllaaaassssshhhhhh! From the right...
Ssssllllaaaassssshhhhhh! From the left...
After six such excruciating strokes, Tessa plummeted into oblivion again. Instantly, Miss Rebecca went to work again. Croaking and spluttering, choking and gasping, poor Tessa rejoined the land of the living.
Herman resumed his dreadful work.
Ssssllllaaaasssshhhhhh! From the right...
Ssssllllaaaasssshhhhhh! From the left...
Tessa no longer shrieked as she swayed back and forth. She had lost her voice. Out of her gaping mouth came a terrible rattling-hissing sound. It occurred to me just then that the spectacle must be a petrifying one for the two girls under training!
Surprisingly, Tessa did not faint again until the final stroke fell. Then she was lowered senseless to the stone floor and unhitched. Herman picked the girl up, slung her unceremoniously over one shoulder and marched out.
The Chief Overseer rose and looked at the trainees briefly.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” she said stonily. “Disobedience is not tolerated here.” Then she turned and left.
I removed Babbette from the wall and led her out and back to her cell. I patted her bottom as I removed her collar and chain.
“Not too bad, was it?” I said.
“N-No... Sir...” she replied meekly. There was a sob in her voice. She was, of course, aware of my deliberate cruelly on overlaying during her caning. Frankly, I did it because I enjoyed doing it, not because she deserved it. You have to think and act like that if you are to be a successful Overseer. I thought about fucking her and then decided against it. Something more shapely and nubile would be enjoyable.
I locked Babbette away for the night and wandered down the corridor. Who should it be? There was plenty of ripe material immediately available. I decided on Martine. She was still only sixteen though she had been fully trained for some time and had developed into a very worthwhile sex object.
I entered her cell to find that she, and her cell-mate Kathie, were fast asleep. Probably both had a hard day, I thought. A smack on Martine’s nicely rounded bottom woke her up. She blinked herself awake.
“O-Ohh... Sir... I’m sorry, Sir... I... I’m exhausted...” she said.
“Is that so? How come?”
“I... I... I’ve been servicing a guest all the afternoon,” she said.
“Sucking and fucking?”
“That’s right, Sir.”
“How many times each?”
“One sucking, Sir. I was fucked three times.”
“Mmmm... sounds quite a virile guest.”
“Yes, Sir,” the girl nodded. I got the impression she hadn’t found it altogether objectionable.
“Well, another fuck won’t do you any harm...”
“N-No... Sir.” She looked up at me plaintively. Doubtless she had hoped to be left alone. No such luck.
“How would you like me, Sir?”
“Oh... just get your arse in the air slave,” I Said. She got her shapely young bottom up and parted her thighs. What a contrast there was between her and Babbette! I manipulated myself briefly and came to erection. Then I got on to the bunk and stuck my hard cock up her. She shuddered and quivered, sighing.
Then I began to fuck her solidly. She went on sighing. And moaning. She felt very good. Very hot and juicy, wriggling beautifully. Quite some sex-pot! I wanted to make it last but couldn’t.
Within five minutes, groaning, I was shooting my load into her.
Doubtless Martine was glad I had not gone on longer. That was the fourth time she had been fucked that day. It would, I thought, be bad luck on her if some other Overseer called in later on to make use of her!
Maris
- 24.04.2021
- 13
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