Buxom Babe

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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Buxom Babe

(****, M/F, Edgy, nc paddling, caning, defecation/urination)

An extremely severe judicial punishment session. (Approximately 2,448 words. Originally published 2006-07.)

She was a buxom babe, with in-your-face breasts and an ass the size of a beachball. A fullbum, I thought, my crotch stiffening with joy at the sight.

"Over forty inches with a waist half that or I'll take her place," I muttered.

Pietro glared at me. We weren't supposed to notice such things. Just do our jobs. Be impersonal. No doubt we'll be replaced by a machine as soon as the eggheads figure out the right contraption.

He clicked the "disrobe now" button and the polite recording, in English, Spanish, and French, began to play, asking the girl to strip. She looked furious and slightly bewildered, probably wondering why we didn't speak. But of course, speaking leads to conversation, and conversation leads to compassion, and we're not allowed compassion.

The recording continued, more insistent and slightly less polite, warning of extra punishment if not obeyed.

With an exasperated throw of her black mane, the woman gave a growl of anger and began to take off her clothes. Her tight, sleeveless top was practically a corset, pinching her waist narrow, and it took her two minutes of struggling to release the zipper at the back. She wore no bra, and her huge milky white breasts sprang into view as the garment fell to the floor.

The black jeans were even tighter, the round ball of her ass huge within the confines of the material. I half-expected to hear a whooshing sound when the front was unbuttoned and the pants released. I watched them fall, my face impassive, my cock not. Thank God for white lab coats.

The woman's ass was even more magnificent than I'd anticipated. It was huge, yes, but a wonderful huge. The curves were splendid, the cheeks full and round and deliciously meaty. Clinging between the massive orbs was a scrap of pink cloth, the frilly edges lacy. The panties looked liked they were being sucked down a sinkhole and losing the battle: only a slight vee of the material remained visible in the chasm.

Pietro finger jabbed at the next button. The recording's monotonous voice intoned, in three languages: "Remove ALL clothing -- that's everything. You must be completely nude to receive your punishment. Thank you."

The girl hesitated, glancing at me over her shoulder, her dark eyes stricken with fear. I did not blink or react, and after a second or two, she looked away. Then, with a deep breath of courage, she shucked down the panties and stood gloriously naked before us.

Damn that bum was hot! Eagerly, I glanced at the computer screen before me. The woman was not given a name, only a unique case number (4064-8348-05). Names developed relationships. This was punishment and had to be impersonal.

I checked the discipline column and my excitement level increased. This was a priority four case! How rare and wonderful! This girl must have done something really naughty to earn forty strokes. Oh, and it got even better: according to my instructions, I was to warm her first with the paddle. Twenty strokes with the stiff leather followed by twenty with the hardwood board. This was going to be some severe punishment!

But of course I wasn't worried about the girl enduring such a stiff sentence. She'd already been carefully accessed by the medical computer and her pain threshold evaluated. The punishment had been precisely calculated to match her tolerances and her crime. It was my job to ignore any personal feelings and simply carry out the sentence with maximum vigor.

Behind the computer screen, Pietro activated the recordings which ordered the woman to the trestle. As it instructed her to place her feet on the stand, she obeyed, and I knelt and strapped her in position. Soft cloth straps with Velcro went around her ankles and legs to hold her securely.

"Now bend over the trestle and extend your arms down and hold the bar across the base," intoned the recording in English. As it repeated the instructions in Spanish and French, I strapped the woman's wrists in place. A wide leather belt went across her middle and she was effectively motionless. She could wiggle and thrash about, but the trestle was solid, her bonds secure.

The final step was the mouthpiece, a thick piece of rubber that went into her mouth. It fulfilled the dual function of protecting her teeth and tongue and gagging her, so we wouldn't have to endure her squealing and pleading.

Now we were ready. I arranged the two paddles and the four-foot rattan cane on a little table in front of the woman, so she could see them. I picked up each, bending and demonstrating it in the air, watching her eyes go wide with fear. Finally I settled on the leather paddle and walked behind the woman.

The big bottom mooned me bravely. I wanted to caress it, give it a loving pat or two before the pain, but of course that was forbidden. I had to do my touching with the leather paddle. I lined up implement, drew it back, and slammed it home.

A muffled, high-pitched squeal emerged from the bound girl. Her head thrashed about wildly, her buttocks shaking. The white cheeks were suddenly stained with a bright pink blotch across the middle of both orbs.

"One," announced the recording.

I waited a full thirty seconds before landing the second stroke. It was just enough time for the sting of the first blow to have dissipated. I didn't wait as long for the third, however, wanting to keep 4064-8348-05 on her toes. I smacked her twice in a row, hard, then watched her writhe and whine for a bit. Then three in a row, really hard, making her body move in seemingly impossible contortions. Her squeals were loud even with the gag; I would have been deaf had her shrieks been full volume.

The twenty with the leather paddle made a good warm up. They took less than five minutes to apply, but I made sure that every second of that time the girl was in peak pain. Of course the leather paddle was just the light implement. It stung but didn't hurt. It left her ass a nice shade of hot pink.

The twenty with the hardwood, however, was the beginning of serious punishment. Here her ass was solidly pounded, the flesh blistering and cracking under the assault. The pink darkened rapidly to magenta, then a ruby carmine that looked as tender as raw beef.

The big ass handled the assault just fine, however. The cheeks danced and bounced, the girl writhing in horrid agony. Again I varied the timing of the blows, sometimes giving her time to recover between strokes, sometimes delivering several in a row to bring the heat and pain to an unendurable maximum.

When I'd finished, her butt was a glorious purplish-red. I'd done my job well and made sure I'd worked over every inch of that bum, really paddling it thoroughly. A couple spots were dark where the bruising was deep. She'd be feeling those sores for weeks.

But now it was time for the main attraction: the cane. I swished the long rattan through the air. The girl writhed and shook on the trestle, vainly attempting escape. She turned her head to look at me, intoning something. I couldn't understand a word, not that it would have mattered anyway. She seemed quite distraught about something. I ignored her and went back to her behind.

I planned the caning carefully. Some guys just start swinging, but with a limited number of strokes, that's just foolish. Even with forty, you've got to make every one count. In my mind's eye, I placed stroke after stroke. I did some rock climbing during college and it's akin to envisioning your route up the rocky cliff. If you go without a plan you'll no doubt leave a bare patch or overdo a spot.

In this instance, I went with what I call the accordion approach. That's where I place strokes at the outer edges of the buttocks, and slowly make my way toward the middle, leaving an inch between each line. Then I come back and fill in the lines. The beauty of this approach is that it keeps the entire bottom nice and hot, for the strokes are landing all over, and I think it's more effective with a big bottom than caning steadily in one place (which eventually gets numb to the pain).

To judge by 4064-8348-05's reactions, it seemed to work well for her. She growled and moaned, wiggled as much as she could, considering her bindings, and tears poured down her face. She was in a great deal of pain, which was the idea.

When I began filling in the gaps she went ballistic, throwing her head all around, her muffled screams extremely annoying. Then she suddenly farted and a flood of yellow pee burst from between her legs. Her face was flushed crimson and she seemed horrified by what she had done.

I nodded at Pietro, who found the correct recording on the computer and played it. "Urination during punishment is forbidden. Your punishment has been increased to remind you to follow the rules."

Now I had an extra five strokes to work with, which was awesome. I looked at the wealed bottom with the eye of an artist. This was going to be a masterpiece. I could feel it. When I finished with 4064-8348-05, she was going to have been thoroughly punished.

Slowly the canvas before me began to take shape. The purple weals thickened and pulsed with pain. The fresh strokes I applied arrived originally as a flash of white which quickly reddened, then went dark, almost black. As the blood flowed back into the marks they turned deep purple or a beautiful midnight blue. The girl, unfortunately, did not seem to appreciate my artistry, writhing and trembling and putting up quite a fuss.

Suddenly, she began dunging. Hot steamy brown sausages of goo emerged from between her cheeks and plopped noisily to the floor. The foul smell hit me like a slap.

"Shit!" I cried, leaping back and receiving a warning glance from the imperturbable Pietro. "Well it is," I grunted at him, pointing at the mess with my cane.

The girl slumped forward across the trestle, her face glowing nuclear red, she was so embarrassed. But she had no control. Her asshole quivered at me, winking, suddenly opening to make way for another piece of shit. Slowly it emerged, like a snake from its hole, and tumbled with a splat to the floor.

"Defecating during punishment is forbidden. Your punishment has been increased for this violation."

The woman obviously understood, for a tremendous shudder when through her body and she began to struggle violently against her bounds. Not that it made any difference, of course. She was helpless. Her asshole parted with a noisy, wet fart that stung my eyes with the smell.

Hastily, I grabbed the hose and pointed the sprayer at her ass. The icy stream of water made her shriek into her gag, but within a minute I had her clean. Now her buttocks dripped cold water and she shivered, her rump giving a fatty shudder like a horse trying to rid itself of a fly.

Meanwhile, Pietro had been asking the computer for instructions, and now the results had come back.

"Punishment will resume again from the beginning," said the recording. "Because of the defecation violation, all previously applied discipline does not count."

I couldn't believe my good fortune. My face must have been smiling, because Pietro looked annoyed. I ignored him and went back to the leather paddle. The score or so of purple weals on the woman's ass glistened wetly at me as I prepared to begin the punishment from the beginning.

Splat! Splat! Splat! The leather paddle must have really stung over wet flesh, not to mention the fat purple welts that decorated the bum. Of course the leather was a light implement and didn't bruise like the hardwood paddle, which I put to work with a vengeance.

I had a lot of things to say to that saucy fullbum in front of me, things about how naughty it was to be so delicious voluptuous, to be so round and full and curvy; I wanted to tell that bum how much I enjoyed spanking it, how every gleeful smash of the paddle and stinging swipe of the cane made my erection stiffen; but I kept my mouth shut.

Instead, I let my implements do the talking. I concentrated. I forgot all about Pietro, about the world around me. I focused entirely on that huge bare bum before me. I went into that world and was lost to the real world. I paddled those cheeks into purple submission. I caned, digging the hard rattan rod deep into the rumpy fat of the girl's swelling undercheeks. I laid on dozens and dozens and dozens of thick, heavy welts. I made her stout butt bleed and tremble before my might.

I took my time. I did it right. Twice I had to revive the girl with smelling salts. Punishment does no good if she's not conscious to receive it. But eventually, like all good things, the punishment ended. It was over.

I washed the girl off again. She hadn't had another incident after the first two, but I wanted her clean before I unbound her. The cold spray might have seemed like a cooling mercy, but really it was just another torment.

Released, it took the girl a long time to get up. Pietro had to play a warning recording and I had to poke her ass with the tip of my cane before she began to move. She was obviously exhausted from the stress of enduring such discipline.

Her ass was certainly well punished. Though large, the violet stripes decorated every inch, and under each thick weal the flesh was crimson and agitated from the paddlings. This girl would not be sitting down comfortably for a very long time.

"Good-bye sweet fullbum," I whispered as she groaningly gathered her clothing and departed, limping as though crippled by the whipping. For a second, I wondered what crime 4064-8348-05 had committed, my thoughts drifting to sympathy.

Then I forgot about her as a trembling new girl entered the punishment chamber. She was slender and petite, definitely not buxom, but cute with wide terrified eyes and a tiny rump that just begged to be heartily smacked.

"Welcome," played the recording. "Please follow all instructions immediately and do not speak or your punishment will be increased...."

The End