Continued from: Ethically Sourced
Unbeknownst to Cassandra and I, Mistress had an ace up her sleeve when she entertained our pleas of not guilty, concealing a sinister smirk on her face. As it turned out, one of her gentleman clients, who sees her to be spanked, is an actual lawyer. Fuck!
He even looked like a lawyer, with his cheap suit, 900-dollar shoes and a smug look on his face.
Cassandra, my accomplice in crime, stood beside me, her lovely features pale and pinched, her grip on my hand tightening as Mistress Andrea (the Judge) began the proceedings. The charges - anilingus and lewdness - seemed to hang in the air like an unspoken promise, each syllable imbuing me with a sense of illicit thrill.
Cassandra attempted a futile defence of herself, pleading with the court and making me blush in the process, when I heard her describe my own little bum hole.
"The room was dark. I thought it was her pussy because she's so beautiful and pink back there."
"And the first time you made her cum, Miss Goth, is it safe to assume you knew it was her vagina then?" The lawyer attacked.
"I was just cleaning it and it went off." Cassandra plead in her own defence.
After that line dropped, I glanced to Mistress Andrea who was doing her best to fight-off a giggle-fit behind the bench.
"You were cleaning Miss Chapman's vagina and it just went off?" The lawyer repeated back to Cassie, his own voice cracking with the humour of it all.
And with that, he bluntly turned to the bench and issued his final statement to the court.
"The prosecution rests its case, your Worship."
With every fiber of my being screaming 'guilty,' I awaited the verdict, suspended in a state of exquisite butterflies.
Mistress Andrea read our sentences to the court. I think mine was more lenient as I was only charged as a party to the offence. Nevertheless, I was still assigned 18 strokes of the judicial wooden paddle on my bare bum, and two months probation.
Poor Cassandra, who still gripped my hand tightly during sentencing, would be receiving 36 strokes of the cane on the bare, and four months probation.
Both sentences, to be carried out immediately before the court.
The spanking bench, with its buckling leather restraints was produced, along with the caning stockade and finally the dreaded implements. A wicked thrill coursed through my veins like liquid fire, mingling with dread as I beheld the polished surface of the wooden paddle. My imagination ran wild with visions of not sitting comfortably for a week, and - dare I confess it? - a certain shameful exhilaration.
The guards assisted us in removing our remaining dignity, the protective layers of clothing. Pants, then panties - each item surrendered like shed petals - until we were both naked from the waist down. A low whimper escaped my lips as reality crashed home; I would soon present my quivering flesh to the merciless gaze of the court.
The guard's grip tightened on my upper arm, as I was lead to the spanking bench and restrained.
The Judge's nod set the wheels of fate in motion, and with a deliberate slowness, the executioner approached, armed with the wooden paddle.
Stroke after stroke followed until we reached the full 18, each one meticulously spaced to ensure maximum suffering. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill forth in a deluge of surrender. Yet even amidst this maelstrom of pain and humiliation, something perverse within me was thrilled with each brutal caress of the paddle.
My heart went out to my fellow transgressor, as the pretty guard flexed the cane in her hands, so sleek and unforgiving. 36 sizzling strokes followed, leaving her bare bum a network of fine lines, raised across her skin like stripes of shame.
Amidst the fiery storm of pain and discipline, her very core responded with instinctual surrender, releasing a silken rivulet of arousal that glistened across her exposed pussy. My mouth watered at the spectacle before me, itching to explore the tender folds of her most intimate area. If only the constraints of the courtroom could be shed, I'd ravage her right on the spot.
Alas, we soon found our wrists and ankles encircled in cold metal shackles, as we were led bare bottomed from the courtroom. Ball gags came next, an intrusive presence that muffled our whimpers of desire for each other. Locked securely into our cells, shackled and gagged. The court seemed to anticipate how we'd feel toward each other, after this ordeal, and decided to add this additional layer of torture. Jailed for one hour, to reflect on our punishments in silence.
From my vantage point however, all I could reflect on was the area of the cellblock that I could see from my cell, and the sign that hung above it, illuminated with the words:
"FEMALE PROBATION AREA"
The area looked like a stage, complete with directed lighting and a microphone boom, elevated and facing several rows of spectator seating.
My stomach sank with a familiar sickness of butterflies as drool bubbled from my gag. I laid eyes on the apparatus that made up the centerpiece of this stage...
Female probation...
Written by: Carley Chapman
No comments:
Post a Comment