Accidentally On-Purpose Pt. 02

Sandy put a hand on Michelle's arm. "It's the same way in Cali, and in Colorado where my dad is from. Sometimes it's like the only women who get married and have kids are Prime supermodels with professional careers and a trust fund. My parents were different, they met in the Air Force and fell in love, but that was their generation. For us...well, I'm happy to at least have friends." She smiled at Michelle, and she smiled back.

Michelle sat up straight. "I'm sorry, we were having a good time up until I got nosy. We're both amazing hotties with bright futures, we'll have dates and husbands and families when the time is right. So let's stop this sad stuff and talk about something else." She thought for a moment. "Are you going to the public punishment on Saturday?"

"Nah, I try to stay away from work when I'm not on the clock. You?"

"I'm thinking about it, but I'm not sure" Michelle replied "On the one hand I've never seen one, but on the other hand I'm like you, I don't want to be at work when I'm not at work, y'know?"

"Yeah. There's a tough mudder race coming up in September, and I really need to get my training regimen under control so I may spend Saturday at the gym" Sandy said. "Let me know if you wind up going."

————————

"This place is enormous," Lena said. "How do you find your way around?"

"I really only work in the back, so I don't need to know my way around the concourse" Michelle said. "Besides, we have data pads to show us where we are at any given time."

A bright Saturday morning, and the two high school friends were dressed in complimenting sun dresses and sandals that would have made them look like sisters if not for their obvious physical differences: Lena was two inches taller than Michelle, with creamy white skin (the envy of every woman who ever saw her) and light red or "Strawberry blonde" hair, and though she was not particularly athletic (she didn't care for sports, unlike Michelle, but she was an accomplished ballet dancer) she was quite thin and well-built and moved with an easy grace that exuded poise and worldly confidence. It didn't hurt that she also had rather large boobs for her small frame (all natural, Michelle knew, despite the temptations of her family's money).

They wandered around the "public" side of HCI, waiting for the auctions to finish and the public punishments to begin. They had examined the stocks, the whipping posts, the strappado, and the other instruments of torture, all placed on pedestals or stages for the audience to see. Lena was especially intrigued by the branding racks, even after Michelle explained that branding wasn't used as punishment.

"Well, okay, but I want to see someone get her butt branded, and I don't care why!" Lena said. She wore an infant sling around her neck and shoulder, and snuck a bit of food to Oswald, who was concealed therein.

"You want to see a punishment AND a branding?" Michelle said, laughing. "I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty!"

"Don't judge me, you!" Lena replied in a high falsetto, a reference to one of their favorite anime shows, and they both cracked up.

The last of the day's auctions was winding down, a plump "Choice+" white girl with very large breasts; the auctioneer enjoyed cracking his whip near her ample bottom, making her jump so that her breasts swayed and bounced delightfully.

Michelle and Lena moved around the edge of the crowd back toward the whipping posts, and got a good spot in front.

The MC came out, and began introducing the schedule of events. As Michelle expected, the girl she had checked in was up but she was not first; another slave she didn't recognize was up, followed by the redhead, followed by another woman serving out an indenture stipulation.

The MC consulted his data pad and announced that before the punishment began there was a branding to perform, and the show would commence afterward.

"Looks like you're getting your wish!" she murmured to Lena.

"Of course," Lena replied, "I always get what I want." She side-eyed Michelle and they both snickered.

The large-breasted slave from the last auction was led out as a couple of assistants wheeled over a branding rack and anchored it to the stage; it looked to Michelle like a jumble of black pipes with some padding bolted on in places.

The plump girl was trembling severely, and tears were running down her cheeks. She took tiny, hesitating steps toward the rack until her handler (a short black girl named Kiara whom Michelle had met in the cafeteria) goosed her with a prod. The slave girl jumped and jiggled, but moved in front of the rack.

The assistants helped her kneel on two pads spaced wide apart, then lay her chest on a larger horizontal pad; she faced away from the audience, but her spread and vulnerable behind was now center stage.

They fastened manacles around her ankles, and long bars behind her knees, her thighs, and the small of her back, then locked them down, immobilizing her while simultaneously placing her most private and intimate (and well-shaven, Michelle noted) areas on open display; murmurs from the audience made it clear that everyone was examining her body and judging it.

Her handler clipped her collar to a half-ring welded onto the frame, and her handcuffs to a similar ring on the bar across her back. Finally, she put a wooden stick in the girl's mouth, and tied it with straps behind her head, tightening the gag so that it was forced far back into her mouth, pulling apart her lips and giving the girl a ridiculous grin.

"Isn't she already devoiced?" Lena asked. "Why gag her now?"

"That's not a gag, it's a bite stick," Michelle answered, "It's to keep her from biting off her own tongue." Lena's eyebrows arched and her lips pursed with this new knowledge.

Lastly the assistants placed a wide but shallow plastic pan underneath the girl. "Urine?" Lena asked, and Michelle nodded.

An older (grey-templed), muscular man dressed entirely in black walked out carrying a large ceramic pot. "Looks like the punisher is doing the branding today" Michelle whispered.

The punisher set the tall pot, shaped rather like a big thermos, directly in front of the slave's face. Michelle saw that it had a flame embossed on the front — it's strange the details you notice at times like this, she thought.

The punisher walked around behind his victim, squatted down next to her and examined her closely, running his hands over her curvaceous behind and down in-between her cheeks, then rubbed her vaginal lips for a moment before wiping an antiseptic pad over her left butt cheek. He stood and returned to the front of the rack just in time for the pot to emit a soft tone, and the flame icon started glowing. The punisher put a mesh glove on his right hand, opened the top and drew out a long stick; the end of the stick was glowing white-hot, and was so bright Michelle couldn't make out the shape of the brand.

The punisher leaned over and held the glowing brand in front of the soon-to-be victim; her eyes grew almost comically wide, tears trickled down her cheeks, and her stomach started quivering — Michelle realized that the girl was sobbing, but no noise was coming out. The punisher was deliberately frightening her, for no reason other than sheer sadism, and it worked: she was utterly terrified.

He stood and walked around to the back, and got himself into position next to the smooth, defenseless butt cheek of the locked-down slave. From this angle, the only thing Michelle could see moving was her toes wriggling and clenching. Lena leaned over and whispered "Look at her bottom." Sure enough, her sphincter was clenching and unclenching too; it was the only other part of her body that was amped up with fight-or-flight but not locked down.

The punisher held up three fingers, then two, then one, and with a smooth motion he applied the brand to the tender flesh of the girl's behind. There was an audible sizzle, and a low (barely audible) roar from the slave; Lena reached out and grabbed Michelle's forearm without looking down. He signaled to the audience, and they began counting down:

"Ten!"

The poor girl's bladder released, and she urinated all over the pan below, to a ripple of laughter from the audience.

"Nine!"

"Eight!"

The girl's body was clenched as tight and as rigid as it could be. Smoke curled off the discoloring skin around the brand, and from her front-row position Michelle could smell a distinct odor of meat grilling; she had thought that was a myth. Lena grabbed the upper half of Michelle's arm with her other hand.

"Seven!"

"Six!"

"Five!"

Michelle heard a familiar voice off to her left. She looked around, scanning the faces.

"Four!"

"Three!"

There he was: Cal. The "licensed catcher" was in the audience, probably waiting for the public punishment like they were, and counting down the branding like everyone else. He was wearing stylish casual clothing, rather than his work outfit; maybe he's off duty? Michelle thought.

"Two!"

"One!"

The punisher removed the brand from the slave's smooth milky-white posterior, now marred by a large discolored burn whose innermost edges were turning black. He smoothed something from a small bottle onto the wound, then covered it with a spray-on bandage from another bottle, but not before snapping a photo of the damage with his phone. He went around to the front of the rack and squatted in front of the semi-conscious slave, flicked off bits of charred skin from the brand with his gloved hand so that they landed on the floor in front of her, replaced the brand in the pot, gave her a cold smile and a pat on the head, picked up the pot and walked off the stage.

Michelle wasn't sure how she felt about what she had seen: making a spectacle, a performance, out of a branding seemed wrong, but on the other hand she had to admit that the punisher's deliberate sadism was turning her on, just a bit. Standing over a beautiful naked slave, completely locked down and vulnerable, and helpless against anything her owner desired, no matter how terrifying or painful? Michelle felt her nipples start to stiffen against the fabric of her dress.

She felt Lena release her grip on her arm. "You see that guy?" Michelle whispered to Lena. "The one over there with the white-on-white shirt?" Lena looked around an nodded.

"That is Cal, the guy I was telling you about. You know, the catcher from my first day."

Lena nodded again. "He is a lovely slice of cake, isn't he? So tall and strong, and good looking. What is he doing here?"

"I don't know," Michelle said, "but I'm trying to decide if I should go over and talk to him. What do you think?"

The stage assistants unlocked the wheels of the branding rack and rolled the girl, now exhausted and hanging limp in her restraints, off the stage, returning a moment later to collect the tray and mop up some overspray.

Lena ran an appraising eye over Cal. "You know I am always happy to be your wing-woman," she said, "but something tells me you should wait. He does not seem a tourist like we are, but more that he is waiting for someone or something. If I were you I would wait until after the show then 'run into him.'"

Michelle wasn't completely happy about her answer, but Lena had always been very good at reading people and Michelle usually followed her advice. So she nodded and turned her head back to the stage.

_

————————

A short time later the MC reappeared, and the stage assistants rolled out a large cabinet, stopping next to one of the whipping posts.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," the MC said into the microphone, "for today's featured entertainment: three public punishments, two whippings and one caning, each performed by torture master extraordinaire Maestro DiSantis. First up is a lovely young slave whose master wishes her to remain anonymous. She is set to receive a dozen blows with a single-tailed heavy whip, popularly known here in the Lone Star State as a 'bull whip.' Gentlemen, please bring out 006-94-1294."

The assistants led out a young, fit white woman wearing a nylon hood that hugged the contours of her head; the only opening was for her mouth. Otherwise she was completely naked and shaved of body hair, with no tattoos or piercings. Her hands were restrained in front of her by leather cuffs joined by a steel ring, and she was led by a leash attached to a standard metal collar.

One assistant led her to the whipping post and hooked the cuff ring to a cable that ran up to the top of the post, while the other fetched a pair of leg shackles from a nearby rack. Her ankles were shackled together with a chain that was about eighteen inches long, the chain fastened to a ring on the floor in front of the post. The slave stood facing the post, with her back to the audience, her head bowed and her hands clasped together in front of her.

The punisher (the "Maestro" guy; seriously, how cheesy was that name? Like a stage magician or something) walked out on the stage and the assistants withdrew as a hush fell over the crowd. He took a data pad out of a thigh pocket and tapped it; the whipping post's cable began retracting, slowly raising the slave's arms over her head. When her arms were fully extended he stopped the cable, then walked over and whispered something into the slave's ear. Michelle could make out her lips saying "Yes, sir"; the punisher took a step back, retracting the cable a bit more until she was standing on the tips of her toes, her calf and thigh muscles tensing under the strain, showing off her trim, athletic body.

Replacing the data pad in his thigh pocket, the punisher turned to the rolling cabinet; opening it with a flourish revealed a large collection of torture instruments: paddles, tongs, canes, rods, things Michelle couldn't identify, and a large variety of whips. He removed the longest and thickest (it was long and very thick, it reminded Michelle of an anaconda) from a hook and stepped out onto an open area of the stage in front of the audience. He took a few passes, swinging it around for show, before suddenly snapping it in the air so that it gave a loud crack as the tip broke the sound barrier.

Michelle looked over at the slave: she stood completely still, breathing steadily, head down, lips tight, composed, ready for whatever was coming.

The punisher took his place several feet behind the woman's naked, vulnerable body — several feet further away than Michelle expected. He took a practice swing to gauge his distance and, satisfied, he looked around at the audience. After a moment's silence he nodded, then swung the end of the whip behind him, twisting his chest and shoulders like a pitcher preparing to throw a baseball. Placing all the power of his body into the blow, he swung the whip with terrible force at the unprotected flesh of his target, and connected with a sharp slap against her left buttock.

The slave threw back her head and let out a gasp, but to her credit she didn't scream, nor did she struggle against her bonds; after a moment she regained her composure and was ready for another blow.

"Oh my god," Lena whispered, "she's bleeding after the first blow."

Michelle looked, and indeed there was an angry red gash and a trickle of red where the whip had landed. It took a few seconds for the damage to reveal itself, meaning there were two stages of pain: the initial blow, then just when that was subsiding another wave began once the body discovered that it was injured. It must be overwhelming, Michelle thought.

"One!" the MC counted.

The "Maestro" wound up and delivered another lash, this time to her right cheek. There was no reaction from his victim, even though this blow caused a new wound.

"Two!"

Michelle looked around and spotted Cal again. He was watching with rapt attention, but he didn't look like he was enjoying it — on the contrary he appeared to be uncomfortable, even nervous, and more than a little concerned about what was happening.

"Three!"

"Four!"

Michelle looked over at Lena, who appeared transfixed, one hand over her mouth. Michelle tuned back in to the show: two nasty strips in an "X" pattern on the slave's upper back.

"Five!"

"Six!"

Slashes on each upper thigh, right below the curve of her posterior. The punisher was taking his time, choosing his targets, hitting her where he thought he might get a reaction, but to no avail: the slave kept her breathing steady and was quite still, apart from some slight contracting of her muscles.

"Seven!"

"Eight!"

Two more slashes on her upper back, below the first two; she was certainly getting bloody. Was the "Maestro" getting frustrated at his inability to make his victim scream?

Lena leaned over to Michelle, whispering: "Do you see the gleam near the end of the whip?"

Michelle didn't see anything at first, but when the punisher shook out the whip before the next blow she did see something like a brief sparkle. "What is it?" she asked Lena.

"I have read about embedding tiny slivers of glass into the end part of their whips, just before the tip, so that it cuts through flesh more easily, but also grips and tears flesh on the release" she replied.

Michelle raised an eyebrow at her friend. "You really are bloodthirsty" she thought. "Is that even legal?" she asked. Lena shrugged.

"Nine!"

"Ten!"

The penultimate set of lashes were on the slave's shoulder blades, delivered in such a way that the tip of the whip curled over the top of her shoulders and delivered an additional blow to the front of her upper chest at her collarbones. The first of these caused her to flinch and on the second she let out a small groan, but that was it.

"Eleven!"

"Twelve!"

The last two blows were targeted at her lower back, and in such a way that a portion of the whip curled around her waist and slapped her belly. The first one caused her to shift slightly on her feet, and on the second one she dropped her chin to her chest but then raised her head back up again.

Amazing, Michelle thought, what a display of courage and self-control. The punisher managed to hide his disappointment as he curled the whip into a nearby bucket, then walked over and examined his victim. He whispered something to her again, she smiled briefly before nodding, and he patted her on the top of her head with apparently genuine affection. An assistant appeared with a plastic box with a Red Cross painted on the side, and the punisher swabbed up her blood, applied a creme of some kind and a spray (a disinfectant?) before lowering the cable and releasing the slave's cuffs. With the two assistants helping, the slave began to slowly hobble off the stage, but before she got too far the punisher stepped to one side and pointed both arms at her in a sort of "let's give her a big hand" gesture. To Michelle's surprise, the audience did, the applause quickly growing thunderous, Lena joining in and cheering "Bravo!" enthusiastically.

Michelle looked back towards Cal, but he was gone.

————————

"Hey, I gotta take care of something," Michelle told Lena, "I'll be right back."

Lena nodded, not really paying attention because she was focused on the red-haired slave who was being led out to receive her flogging.

Michelle pushed her way through the crowd in the direction she had last seen Cal. No sign of where he could have gone... nobody in the crowd was moving, but there was movement over by the "backstage entrance" (where winning bidders and other members of the audience could enter to pick up their purchases and so forth), a couple of HCI security guys closed the door as if they had just let someone inside.

Michelle went up to the door. One of the guards moved to intercept her, but a field on their control panel flickered on and he stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder at the other guard and said "She works here," then opened the door and held it for her as she went inside.