The Spectacle

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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The Spectacle

(****, M/F, Severe, semi-cons, slavery, sex)

A woman tells of her agonizing experiences as a sex slave during an elegant banquet where she is--or isn't--the star attraction. (Approximately 4,317 words. Originally published 1996-01.)

Blackness came over my eyes and I felt an electric shiver pass through me. My wrists were bound tightly above my head and I felt hands slide down my back and touch my legs. I wriggled, half-afraid of reprisals, but I had to test my bonds, to see if they were as strong as they felt. They were. My heart dropped. I was truly helpless. I knew that fully now, and it made my heart beat even faster, the blood pounding heavily through my veins.

There was no turning back now. I gave a slight moan as I thought of what was to come and a voice chided me gently. I felt a hand on my neck and then a strip of soft leather was forced across my mouth and bound tightly behind my head. I was now dumb as well as blind, and it terrified me.

The hands were touching my body now, unfastening my halter top and removing it, leaving my breasts naked and exposed. I could feel myself blush as the man, it _was_ a man, I could tell, expressed his generous appreciation. But he was removing my thong bikini, sliding it down my legs. I was now completely naked, and suddenly the sounds of all the people in the room horrified me. There was no way for me to know who was there, who could see me, who was watching. It felt like my heart had stopped beating for a moment, but then I was flooded with excitement. I felt a thrill like I hadn't felt since childhood, a raw, pure, sexual heat that made me gasp.

The hands were caressing me now, massaging warm oil into my skin. The fingers were strong, the smell of oil sweaty and natural. My unknown host prepared me well, rubbing the oil deep into the natural crevices of my buttocks and breasts, until I felt like my entire body gleamed. Everywhere he touched me his hands left my flesh tingling, and when he caressed the insides of my thighs I blushed furiously as I knew he could not help but see my naked sex dripping with arousal.

He touched my sex and I gasped in delight and horror, but he only brushed his fingers against me. I felt his hand smear moisture on my cheeks and when I breathed I could smell my own juices on my face, and it further aroused and humiliated me.

The hands left me then, and in the neglect that followed I could hear the sounds of others moaning, and the gentle voices of the grooms as they prepared their charges. It both comforted and irritated me that I was not alone. At least others felt as I did, would feel what I would feel, but within a group I would not be the center of attention, the one everyone admired.

The sound of a strap came loudly from a far corner, almost immediately echoed from my left, and I felt a surge between my legs and my buttocks shivered in anticipation. So we were to be whipped even before it began, I thought in despair. But I was eager for the whipping, though I knew in moments I would be regretting my rashness.

But my groom did not appear. I strained by ears to hear his footsteps, expecting at any moment to feel the sharp sting of his lash across my buttocks, but there was nothing. The sounds of whippings were numerous around me, the moans and gagged cries of the punished echoing around the room.

Suddenly the belt was there, a thick leather belt, very wide. The sound was deafening as it smacked me, the sting remarkable. I trembled in spite of myself and when it came again I couldn't help but whimper through my gag.

My groom was thorough, however, ignoring my muted pleas. It was over quickly, the whipping, but when he stopped my buttocks and thighs were throbbing fiercely, and I'm sure they were in good color. I was panting and crying softly when he left, and I felt a slight chill. I dangled by my wrists and wished I could touch my burning buttocks, just rub them briefly, feel their soreness beneath my fingers.

I suddenly realized that the room was quiet, too quiet. I could hear a young girl crying a little, but there were no voices. The grooms had all left. We were alone.

We dangled there for what seemed like hours, though it must have only been a few minutes, perhaps ten at the most. Then I heard the voices. They were loud and boisterous, and by the sound, a large crowd. Then the doors burst open and I was assaulted by a wave of sound, shouts and cries and peals of drunken laughter.

There were cheers as the men and women entered, and I assumed they had seen us and were excited. Almost immediately I heard the sound of a paddle going on my right, a poor girl grunting under the hard blows. Screams of delight came from the crowd who began to chant the number of blows.

As I was just beginning to make sense of these events I felt hands touching me, one set feeling my buttocks while another fondled my breasts. Before I could react I felt the sharp smack of a thin wooden paddle. It came again and again, making my buttocks sting like the dickens.

The blows were hard but uneven, the paddle stinging me all over my bottom. I danced without much control, writhing and arching my back and groaning miserably as the paddle spanked me, the sound amazingly loud and painful.

My unrestrained reactions seemed to delight my tormentor, who quickly discovered that by varying his blows he could keep me on edge, keep me dancing. He would wait until I arched my back or turned my buttocks slightly, and then he'd smack me. It was making me frantic. Tears of frustration poured down my face but the only response I received was laughter and still more fierce smacks.

Suddenly my feet were pulled from under me and I gasped. I was lifted by my ankles from behind until I was almost horizontal. I wiggled but the many hands that held me were strong. Fingers squeezed my breasts painfully, and I felt a wet tongue tickling my sex. I struggled weakly, unsure exactly what I wanted. It was humiliating to have my privates touched by the fingers of strangers, but it also aroused me.

My buttocks throbbed a little and I realized with sudden gratefulness that the paddling had stopped. But I had only just realized this when I felt another hard smack, this time from above. I moaned in despair. The spanking was quite urgent this time, the blows coming so quickly I could barely breathe.

"It must be a new person," I thought miserably. "This man doesn't want me to dance--he only wants to see me sore." The spanks were coming from above me, which bewildered me at first, seeing how I was raised up so high, but then I decided the paddler must be standing on a chair or table.

The blows were really coming down hard now, and I groaned and writhed miserably. My legs were stretched apart which made my buttocks feel especially vulnerable. My buttocks felt hot and swollen and I longed for the relief of a cool bath. All around me I could hear the paddles and belts at work, the groans and cries of those on display, and the cheers and whistles of those watching and punishing.

At some point during this confusion, I became aware that the crowd was chanting loudly, though it wasn't until later I realized their chants were in sync with the spanking I was receiving. As I writhed or groaned after a particularly brutal blow the crowd would cheer, and I slowly realized that a large portion of the audience was watching _me_.

My face flushed with terrible shame as I imagined all those faces staring at me, jeering and whistling and encouraging my punisher to discipline me harder.

"Paddle her!" came a shout from one voice. "Spank the bitch!" cried another. "Let's see her move!" said another. "Yeah, make her move that bottom!"

I had no idea if they were talking about me or someone else, but I wiggled even more, actually thrusting my buttocks into the air to receive the blows, my face dripping tears and my groans so loud they frightened me. Shouts echoed about me and the paddle was merciless.

Suddenly I felt like I was nothing but an insignificant twig floating on a giant ocean, alone and adrift, being tossed about by the rude waves. And it seemed to me that everything I could hear and feel was nothing but a dream, reality far distant. The strange emotions pouring through me were too foreign to be real, the paddle hurting too much for me to possibly bear. This _had_ to be a dream.

I found myself filled with a great calm, almost relaxing. And when the hands turned me over and the paddle lightly smacked at my buttocks and thighs from below I accepted it as normal; I scarcely noticed it in fact. The fingers squeezing my nipples and tickling my sex were normal. Strange lips kissing mine was not unusual. I relaxed and allowed them to do with me as they would, because there was nothing I could do to prevent it, and it did not matter anyway.

In a way this new release frightened me. It felt like I had given up, or my soul had been taken away. But I did not feel soulless or spiritless. My heart still beat wildly and my body still rocked with passion.

Instead I felt like I had reached a new level of understanding. A sense of clarity filled me. I was engulfed by myriad emotions, the frantic cries of those being punished around me, and the screams of delight from the audience.

As I hung there, my body twisted into various shapes and awkward positions by the whims of those controlling me, the stinging paddle always finding my naked buttocks or thighs, I slowly became aware of a silence descending upon the crowd. I realized that very few hands held me, and soon I dangled alone, my body mercifully free of greedy hands, the occasional crack of a leather strap across my legs the only reminder that I wasn't completely abandoned.

From a distant corner I could hear the sounds of a small crowd cheering and chanting, the loud blows of a punishing belt sounding deliciously terrible to me. I could hear the poor victim moaning loudly in agony, but I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman being so well used.

The crowd was amused, however, and cheered enthusiastically. The belt was really walloping now, and though it sounded so fierce it filled me with terror, I longed for the attention of the crowd. My buttocks burned just imagining the whipping, and the occasional smack from whomever was behind me only intensified my cravings. My sex was dripping with desire and I wept with shame and frustration. "It isn't fair to be so ignored," I thought miserably.

Soon it grew quiet and I heard the clinking of glasses and dinner plates and realized that dinner was being served. The low rumble of conversations erupted all around me and it infuriated me that I was forced to dangle here helplessly on display, while the audience barely noticed me.

I gyrated my hips slightly and twisted my body which brought me a few choice smacks from my punisher. At least I was not completely abandoned. The belt was heavy and the whipping good, and after just a few blows I began to regret my impulsiveness.

Time passed and I drifted for a while, perhaps sleeping, though the sporadic spanks from the belt kept me from completely drifting off. I soon realized that my sex had been ignored for so long it was becoming almost painful, and I wiggled again, eager for the punishment to distract me from my fierce desire.

This time, however, the belt struck me between my legs, the tongue of the belt lightly licking against my belly. I gasped in astonishment. The friction of the belt brushing my crotch had totally aroused me, and I frantically writhed to both escape and embrace it.

Again the belt licked at me, and then again. The blows were quick and light but tormented me unbelievably. I could hear the leather making wet sounds as the spanked against my sex and I spread my legs wider of my own volition, desperate for attention.

How long this continued I do not know, but suddenly I was spun around and the belt was licking at me from the front, the end of the strap striking at the crack of my ass. Somehow this was unbearable to me, and I wept and convulsed miserably, drawing laughter from tables nearest me. At least they were paying attention to me.

But soon I heard the scraping of chair against the floor and my heart skipped a beat as I realized what this meant. Suddenly solitude and the only occasional spank seemed sweet to me.

Once again I was surrounded, many hands feeling my body. My legs were pulled apart and suddenly a cock pierced me. Even as I began to rock I felt a paddle begin to spank me. It was a large leather paddle, I realized, and I knew that meant this could go on for a long time. My buttocks were already so sore a wooden paddle would have been too much--it soon would have broken the skin. A slim paddle made of leather, however, could slowly punish me for hours.

I groaned as the cock inside me exploded, the paddle never stopping. As quickly as the cock was removed another took its place, this one much thicker. I rocked on it as best I could, but my legs were stretched so wide and dangling from my wrists it was as though I had no weight.

I quickly took a whole series of cocks, each one slightly different yet all the same. I was left dangling and panting, my sex aching from all the activity, yet still not satisfied. I longed to mount a cock rather than be impaled by one, but I was helpless and could only dangle and allow myself to be raped repeatedly.

My buttocks were so sore now the paddle rarely spanked me. Just the caress of a man's hand on my bottom brought tears to my eyes. My rump burned with pain.

Suddenly I felt hands touching my head, loosening my blindfold. In an instant it was off and I trembled violently in the blinding light.

I was surrounded by dozens of eager faces and hands, both men and women. All were older couples, handsome and finely dressed, the leather straps and paddles and belts held in many hands looking incongruous with all their finery.

Around me were many round tables, each decorated with glowing candles and roses, and the remains of an elegant dinner. Interspersed between these tables were wooden stands approximately four by four square, a tall wooden post at one end. From this post was a crossbeam from which dangled a naked man or woman at the center of the stand, wrists tightly laced with leather bindings. I, of course, was trussed up the same way, but it stunned me to see others like that.

Near me to my right was a young girl I vaguely knew, not so much because we were friends but because I had noticed her amazing beauty, and perhaps had been a little jealous. I was not jealous of her any longer, for she had been well-used by the crowd.

In glimpses through the crowd I saw her poor buttocks were almost purple, and her thighs didn't look much better. Her face was stained with tears as she was twirled around by a large beefy man who paddled her bottom each time it rotated into the proper position.

On my left I briefly saw a naked man being suckled by a petite woman in a velvet evening gown. A tiny man in a tuxedo stood nearby and paddled the slave's buttocks fiercely, grinning wildly with delight.

All this I saw in just seconds, and then I was spun around and that leather paddle spanked my bottom. As I was spun around again and again, I caught glimpses of sexual discipline everywhere.

On one stand a man hung with his legs pulled up and locked behind his arms, his balls and crack thrust out in front of him in a miserable fashion. At another stand I saw a girl being raped from behind by a huge, muscular man as another man slapped her breasts again and again.

I saw several slaves were still blindfolded, but many were not. One girl, I saw with astonishment, was actually untied. She was being led by leash through the crowd, her buttocks spanked constantly. At one point she seemed to hesitate, her master forced to tug on the leash to get her attention. He immediately placed his foot onto a nearby chair and flipped her across his leg, and then proceeded to give her a good, old-fashioned paddling. The girl seemed astonished but took it well, considering her buttocks were already quite red and punished.

I had been spinning for quite some time now, my buttocks blazing with a fresh series of spanks, when I was suddenly untied and let down. I found myself being led though the crowd in a daze, my head still dizzy from the spinning.

Hands reached out at me from the crowd, fingers pinching my breasts and buttocks. As I was pulled about, a couple of times I was thrown over my master's knee and paddled, though I had no real idea what I had done.

My master was a young man in his early thirties, short but fit, very strong and quite handsome. His paddle was sharp and frequent, but he seemed impressed with me.

I was led toward the front of the room where I found myself standing behind the other untied girl I had noticed. I gasped as she was bent over before the crowd and paddled, the blows quick and furious, her naked buttocks not three feet from my eyes. Her buttocks were round and shapely, her hips flaring out from her slim waist. I watched as her bottom bounced under the paddle, the flesh reddening before my eyes. I could see her buttocks trembling even when she wasn't being spanked. It was astonishing to see her so calm and accepting. "Was this what I was like?" I thought with desperation. "Did I tremble and bounce like that?"

I was soon able to find out, because I was bent over and paddled just like her, the crowd cheering and leering and begging for me to be punished even more enthusiastically. I wept and struggled to hold my position, my buttocks growing hotter and hotter.

Suddenly they were spanking my naked thighs, hard uplifting spanks that just devastated me. But then they switched to the girl at my right. For a moment I was ignored and I glanced at her face. But it was a mask of pain and suffering, tears pouring down her cheeks as she groaned in pain.

Then it was back to me again, a few quick, sharp blows to my buttocks and thighs. I wanted to scream, the shouting of the crowd humiliating and taunting me.

Again and again they switched between us, giving her a dozen strokes or two and then me, and then back to her again. The few moments of rest only intensified the resumption of the spanking. They turned her so I could watch her being spanked, and vice versa when it was my turn. I found myself fascinated with watching the girl. I found I enjoyed her suffering, I liked watching her buttocks reddening and bouncing under the paddle, hearing her grunts of pain and watching her weep. But it also terrified me, knowing that in just moments it would be me quivering under blows from that paddle. I wondered if she was experiencing the same feelings as she watched me.

Finally this punishment ended. Both of us stood facing the crowd, panting with exhaustion, our faces red with shame as we looked out over the leering crowd. I glanced at the girl and was surprised to see that her face was filled with a quiet elation, almost an expression of triumph. I wondered what she was feeling but I had little time to imagine because we were immediately led to an elaborate contraption of wood and cords and leather cuffs.

We were positioned across from each other. Our wrists were strapped in above our heads and our legs bent at the knee and fastened, via a short cable, around our shoulders. Thus we dangled above the ground, our legs shortened and spread wide exposing our sexes in a vulgar and vulnerable manner.

Two loops of cord came down from the ceiling and grabbed a hold of my legs behind the knees and pulled them upward, bringing me to an almost horizontal position. Next a long metal pole that reminded me of one of those telescoping shower rods was inserted into my exposed sex. The tip was covered with rubber but the device was cold and uncomfortable. The opposite end, I saw, was being pushed into the girl across from me, our sexes joined. I soon saw the trick: if either of us moved or wiggled, the other one was tortured by the pole.

We hung there, swaying slightly, our contorted bodies glistening with sweat and tingling with feeling. We stared at each other without speaking, but our eyes said everything we needed to say. It was like I was looking into a mirror.

But our torturers were not finished. Someone approached with what appeared to be small feather-dusters: a dozen stalks of feathers and a short black handle. These were immediately shoved up our asses. The pain of the insertion was great but even worse was the indignity. We hung with our naked sex and buttocks on display, the feathers sticking out beneath us. It was impossibly embarrassing.

I felt a hand grasp my right breast and squeeze it roughly so that my nipple protruded stiff and erect. A small metal clamp pinched my nipple and I gave a low moan at the intense bite. It calmed after a moment, and soon just throbbed. I felt moisture between my legs at the stimulation. My left breast was treated the same way. A thin metal chain dangled between my breasts. I saw the girl across from me looked identical. Next a small black metal weight attached to a chain was connected to the chain between my breasts, the heavy weight allowed to drop between my spread legs and pulling and tugging on my tender breasts.

I had thought that the pain was bad, that I resented the slaps and rude paddlings. I thought that I was embarrassed to be bound and helpless before so many, my sex organs exposed and tortured for their amusement. But nothing topped what they did next.

They left us alone.

We dangled, the girl and I, our wide, alarmed eyes locked. We wiggled slightly--we couldn't help it--and our movements only intensified our torture. Our bodies throbbed with pain. I could feel my skin teaming and tickling with thousands of tiny barbs of pain. My sex ached. My breasts ached. My body ached.

But the worst was that we were alone. We could hear the crowd shouting elsewhere. We were alone, forgotten, ignored. Our suffering was for no one. If we moaned and arched our back no one scolded us or laughed at our useless struggles.

It was positively the most horrible torture I'd ever experienced. I was supposed to be the spectacle, the star. As the center of attention I knew how to behave. I knew how to weep, how to move my body, how to obey. I knew what the crowd would appreciate, what the master wanted.

But now I was alone, forgotten. No one watched me struggle. No one cared whether I cried or not, or whether my cries were genuine or fake. No one cared what I suffered or endured for their entertainment; I could gain no satisfaction from pleasing the master.

I looked at the girl across from me and saw she was crying, flailing and attempting to attract some interest. She looked so sad and desperate that I felt sorry for her. I knew what she suffered, what she was experiencing--hell, I could _feel_ it when she moved! Her eyes met mine and without words we understood one another. We were our own spectacle's now. We had each other.

So we played for each other, moving and groaning at the pain/pleasure and watching the other one react in conjunction. Our bodies became one as we shared our pain and pleasure. We shuddered and moaned and together we climaxed again and again and again. I do not know how long this lasted; minutes, hours, weeks. It seemed like forever. We were lost in each other's eyes, deep and watery, filled with mutual suffering and feeling. We were alone in each other's worlds. Everyone ignored us. We, who were supposed to be the focus of others, now only had each other. We drank each other in and wept for the other's wounds. We smiled at the other's pleasure and cried out during our own. It was terrible. It was wonderful.

But it was enough.

It was enough.

The End