Twelve Maxbridge Street – Part 2 of 2


PUNISHMENTAs they walked toward the next station Faranger reflected that it might be a good thing that punishment was saved for last. He was getting mentally exhausted by the unremitting psychological torment, the humiliation. He thought he might feel somehow cleaned out if he faced pure physical pain. He found himself perhaps actually craving it. He stood up straighter and picked up his pace.When they arrived at the last round table in the last pool of light, a refined-looking man in a suit stood up. “Ah, welcome, Mr. Faranger. Now, gentleman,” he said, addressing the handlers.  “Please disrobe him and I’ll explain what we’re about here.  You can also unbind his arms.”  They did as requested. This time, though, the blond caressed his genitals every so fleetingly when he reached the bottom and the men exchanged the faintest of smiles. They then gave his arms a swift one-stroke rub down and left Faranger standing before the moderator and the table of associates behind him.”We are the most scientific and practiced of the groups in The Association.  We’ve studied whipping strategies, and we know what works and doesn’t. The goal is to bring you to orgasm without resorting to any other method than pain.  We’re always successful.”He picked up a pointer, like a teacher might use to indicate markings on a blackboard. Instead, he indicated places on Faranger’s body. “The overall strategy is to avoid your genitals and buttocks until the very last.  This focuses your attention.  You’ll find you’re craving pain in those very regions. We’re highly skilled at wielding the whips and we’ll land very close, but never touching those areas. Indeed, when we aim here,”  he touched Faranger in his pubic hair, “we’ll have one of your helpers hold your erection out of the way.  By that time you’ll definitely have an erection, guaranteed.  And here,” he touched the joint where Faranger’s thigh met his torso, “they’ll hold your scrotum out of the way. So, this will be the sequence.  I expect you’re already feeling a warm tingling in those areas. Yes?””We’ll start with the least erogenous area: your calves.” He tapped Faranger’s calves with his pointer. “Next we’ll lash your back.  In each area there will only be four strikes, sometimes by one person, sometimes divided between two.The heaviest whip will be used on your back. Mr. Aiello is able to guide the whip down here, he stroked Faranger’s hip, but not touch your buttocks.” Faranger cringed inwardly as the stroke of the pointer down his back created vivid images of whip strokes, but he also experienced an erotic spasm in his lower abdomen, which he was sure was apparent to the onlookers.”Then we move to your abdomen.” He let the pointer drift down the center. “You might think that would be the penultimate erogenous zone, but really, it’s here.” He stroked Faranger’s inner thighs from torso to knee. “You’ll see.Next, we’ll torture your penis.  We won’t use an actual whip. Instead, we’ll use an instrument just for that purpose.” He pointed at Faranger’s penis but didn’t touch it. “By that time you will need this badly. You will be grateful for the pain. Finally, we’ll use this instrument to whip your buttocks so hard that you will ejaculate. Guaranteed.  Works every time.”  He picked up an object from the table.  It was a piece of thin board, about 8 inches wide and two feet long with a handle at one end. On one side of it another, even thinner, board was affixed with hinges. The moderator slammed the board onto the table making a terrific sound that was followed almost simultaneously by the sound of the second board slamming home. “We don’t like to call this a paddle, too juvenile. This is an instrument of torture, pure and simple, particularly in the hands of Mr. Mangu over there.” He pointed to Esenyurt escort a large man whose muscles were clearly defined under the jersey under his sport coat. “This will certainly leave you seriously bruised, but, as we promise in our marketing, no permanent injury.”By this time Faranger was not sure at all that the punishment station was a good idea. But there was nothing for it but to hang in there.”Now, just a word about the injuries our whips inflict.” He picked up a whip with dozens of leather thongs, each tipped with a very small stainless steel ball. “These little balls will bruise you. Sometimes they draw blood, but usually not, except for your back. That whip is a standard bullwhip. The clever thing about our weapons and our training is that we can leave you with lines of bruises straight up and down your body.  Quite amazing, really.So, for instance, you’ll have a line from here to here.” He drew his pointer from Faranger’s chest to his pubic hair, just to the left of his left nipple. “And one from here to here.” He traced a line from Faranger’s throat, just to the left of his breast bone down to a point just above and to the left of his penis.  “And two more lines on the other side.  We’re very proud of our technique.” He smiled in a self-satisfied way.”The design is very important too.  You see the thongs are spread out along a crossbar, sort of like a garden rake, but look. There’s just a very slight difference in the length.  The outer thongs are longer than the middle ones. This is so they make a straight line when they’re flung out.” He smiled again with satisfaction.”OK. Would you get the whips and things over there on that table, and distribute them to the associates?”Faranger was on the verge of feeling faint with fear but went to the table that was indicated.  All of the instruments except the wooden one were in a single pile. He picked it up and went back to the moderator’s side. “Just pick out something. The right person will ask for it.” Faranger grasped what looked like a whip for a horse. A brawny man to his right leaned over and took it.Next was a shorter whip with dozens of thongs. It was the one the moderator had used in his talk. A middle aged woman reached for it. She was part of the couple who had been ahead of him at the registration desk. “There’s another one in there. They come as a set.” Faranger found it and handed it to her partner.  He handed a similar pair to another couple, a metal contraption that looked like a large hair curler to a young woman” Then he picked up the infamous wooden instrument and handed it to Mangu. Each time he handed over an instrument he had looked the recipient in the eye, but this time, instead of feeling subjugation, he had the sense that he was a client handing out equipment for people to perform a service. And, as a matter of fact, that was exactly what the situation was.”Fine, fine.” Said the moderator. Now we need to tie you in place.  Please step over here.” He indicated a space lit up by a small spotlight.  There were ankle bracelets chained to the floor about 3 feet apart, and wrist bracelets hanging from a bar attached to an arm attached to a heavy pedestal. The arm was long enough so that there was no impediment to accessing Faranger from any angle.Faranger’s wrists were shackled and his arms spread out and raised. Like DaVinci’s man in a circle, he thought. This time his ankles were also chained. The moderator’s talk about genitals and buttocks was already making him begin to feel full in just those places, and nothing had yet happened. He was glad his hands were shackled, in case he simply collapsed from fright. The purity of pain! he thought scornfully. Bullshit! What could be more of a psychological game Etiler escort bayan than this business of focusing on something by not touching it?  But he was helpless. It worked. He longed for someone to just slap his dick and his ass. Hard!The first associates to approach him were a young couple. Their whips had dozens of thongs, of slightly different lengths, attached the handle in a conventional fashion. They took turns, each slamming his calves twice in turn. It hurt, certainly, but the moderator was right. Much of the sensation was arousal in his genitals and buttocks.Next came the man with the heavy whip. As Faranger watched him he felt an exquisite rush of fear mixed with arousal. The man went behind Faranger, just out of his field of vision. He waited for several moments. Faranger tensed in anticipation, digging his fingers into his palms. Finally, a blow came, diagonally from shoulder to hip. The tip of the whip snaked down his right side, next to his buttock. But, of course, not touching it. The same thing happened from the other direction much quicker than Faranger expected or could prepare for. His back was already aflame when the whip landed across his shoulder blades, and just below his waist. His whole back throbbed, as did the focal points, which had not yet been touched.Then two women approached and positioned themselves on either side of him. The blond handler came and gently held Faranger’s penis down as far as was possible. The touch gave him no relief. It only inflamed him. The women took it in turn to lay almost perfectly straight stripes down his torso. The second strike caught in some pubic hairs. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” one of the women said, apparently with sincerity, as she pulled them out to release the whip. Faranger had strength enough to smile to himself through the pain at the irony of it.The fourth people to take their turn were an older couple, almost elderly. Their whips were short and of the “rake” structure. The blond handler raised Faranger’s scrotum. Faranger gripped the chains holding his wrist manacles. The couple first whipped Faranger’s inner thighs in the front, swinging from above his thighs. But for the second blows, they came at him from behind and marked his inner thighs toward the back. The moderator was right. This was even more painful and erotic than the blows on his torso. It’s almost over. What will happen? Will I come through all this pain?Finally the avoidance strategy was over. The young woman with the metal cylinder approached him. It was hinged along one side and lined with small knobs. She closed it around his penis and began to draw the two sides together. She carefully watched Faranger’s face and his erection, extracting the most pain possible without causing it to collapse. He gritted his teeth and flung his head back, groaning, suppressing a loud cry. When she removed the device Faranger felt some relief, but still craved completion.The man with the wooden paddle approached. He paused long enough to engage Faranger’s gaze, his own face expressionless. Fear and anticipation and sexual tension overwhelmed him, cringing and craving at the same time.  And then it came, a powerful blow to his buttocks. Semen shot from his body. He cried out in pain and climax, a second time. A third time. There was no fourth blow. Faranger was clearly finished. The man returned to the table and sat down.Faranger panted for several moments and then gave a long sigh, grateful that the pain was finally sufficient to meet his needs. He could rest now.RESTAnd, indeed, rest came quickly. When the handlers arrived, Faranger was hanging by his wrists, so one held him up with an arm around his waist while the other unshackled him. The handlers didn’t put on Escort Eyüp the arm restraints or the cape, nor did they let him sit down. Instead they brought his arms across their shoulders and made their way directly to a cage in the crescent of the three stations. It was about four feet high and set on a four-foot-high stand.  A circle of lights was switched on around them. The cage was large enough to comfortably accommodate a man lying down on the padded surface, with a small leather pillow, and there was more space between the pillow and the end of the cage.  “The door will be locked until morning, so, of course, you’ll have to spend the night here,” said the darker handler. “But it also prevents the spectators from touching you with anything but their hands. The sedative we’ll give you is strong enough that you should be able to get a few hours of good sleep anyway.”There was a narrow urinal attached to one outside corner, appearing to be made of rose quartz. “Go ahead,” said the blond handler.  “The rule against touching yourself is over.”Faranger took advantage of the opportunity, reflecting on how the word “relieve” could be so especially appropriate in certain circumstances. He was aware that there were people in the surrounding darkness watching him.  But it no longer mattered. He and the handler watched the stream swirl down the quartz and then Faranger lifted himself onto the floor of the cage and sat with his legs hanging over the edge. The dark one fetched a glass from a shelf on the end of the cage. “This drink has no stimulant,” he said. “Instead it will relax you and allow you to sleep if you wish.”  Faranger drank it down. No bubbles, just a soothing herbal taste.“Would you like me to contact you after you leave here?” asked the blond. Faranger valued the memory of his violation, but… ”No, I think not. But thank you. Thank you for everything.” Both handlers nodded and said, “Goodbye, sir.” “Goodbye”, said Faranger.” He pulled his legs into the cage and lay down on his stomach, exhausted.The white-gowned attendant arrived and climbed in, after setting down her silver tray in the space above the pillow. “There’s some bleeding on your back. This will sting a little, but it will stop the bleeding.” It stung a lot – teeth grinding, but as the sting faded so did the burning pain. It felt wonderful. But even better was when she rubbed lotion into his buttocks with a firm, kind, circular motion. He knew he was badly bruised. She applied ointment from a tube to his anus and then proceeded to rub lotion onto the bruises along his thighs and calves. The ointment was cool and warm at the same time. Her hands were wonderfully gentle. The whipping was almost worth the pleasure of this treatment.“Could you turn over, please? I’ll do your front.”  Now I can see her, he thought. But she was sitting sideways with her head bent. Her hair prevented him from getting a good look and he was too tired to make an effort to catch a better glimpse.He spread his legs enough for her to reach the whole length of the marks on his thighs.  She applied the same treatment to his chest and legs, and as she worked her way down his body, he could only see her back. When she gently soothed his bruised penis he thought he would once again be dragged into arousal, but the drink had done its job. There was only a slight swelling. He was on the edge of sleep. He luxuriated in surrendering himself to her care. His body had been engulfed in stripes of pain since the whippings, but now he was only sore.When she left he turned on his side, rested his head in his left hand and pulled his top leg up.  It’s how he usually went to sleep.  The lights had dimmed considerably. He couldn’t see any spectators just before he closed his eyes, but presently he felt hands on him here and there. He felt no inclination to look to see who they were until someone softly brushed his hair back from his forehead. He opened his eyes a little bit and looked into the face of the woman with the black glasses. That’s OK, was his last thought before he fell asleep.

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