CHAPTER ONE

David Harrington, Raffle Winner

 

I had never won a prize in my life. And here I was standing before a group of naked girls hanging from a horizontal beam. They would be whipped until, one by one, they lost their grip in their anguish and fell off. (A soft landing mat had been thoughtfully placed under each team: after all, nobody wanted to damage the property of either team's owner!) The raffle prizes, three to supporters of each team, were the opportunity to be the ones doing the whipping; and, as winner of the first prize for A.C. Tigresses supporters, I would do the whipping of their lovely new girl, Nicky Nipples.

So, as one of the three winners, I stood, whip in hand, staring up at the three naked girls hanging precariously from their beam, each of whom was looking down at me and my two companions with much less enthusiasm. Close up, their beauty was intoxicating and the organisers were letting the tension build, as well as allowing the girls' arms to get really tired, before they started, so I had time to study the girls at my leisure. An audience of over 300 people, 95% of them men, were also drinking in the loveliness of both teams of girls, but I was right up close.

Slightly to my left was Slave Katie Cunt. She was just eighteen; ah, sweet eighteen and cute as a kitten. Her fine, light brown hair was brushed back from her forehead, just a few strands escaping to stick to her sweating brow and her hair was just about long enough to tie back. More sweat, caused by her exertions so far this afternoon and the hot spotlights illuminating the arena in which we stood, ran from her hairless armpits and down her flanks. With her arms up, her already slender figure looked even more boyish, only the slightest bumps of her breasts evident, the nipples decorated by the two gleaming silver rings which had already been used to cause her considerable anguish, the poor thing.

My eyes lowered a little. Her stomach was always flat, but in her hanging position looked even thinner, her tiny waist as thin as could be. Her crotch was totally devoid of hair, which made her look even younger and more vulnerable. She was bald because her team had been on a losing streak of late and one girl from each losing team always has her crotch publicly shaven after a defeat. It had been Katie's turn, I recalled from today's programme, two weeks ago and there were no real signs yet that her bush was beginning to grow back.

My eyes finished their sweep, admiring the trim yet nicely, ever so slightly muscled legs of the trained gymnast she had been before her enslavement. Her cute toes dangled some eighteen inches off the floor. She was a light girl, a mere 48 kilos according to the match stats page and her slim arms, again from her gymnastics and other former sporting hobbies, were quite strong, but they would already be aching from supporting her weight for some five minutes now. Well, she would soon be aching a good deal more, all over.

I switched my gaze to the girl on the right, Slave Gemma Jism. She was short, around the same height as Katie, but rather more stockily built. No way were her boobs going to disappear like Katie's with her arms stretched up! Her jet-black hair was a little longer than Katie's and a little more voluminous, but seemed to stay nicely in place, caressing her bare shoulders when she stood normally. With darker hair, you could see from this distance just the faintest dots of armpit hair and soft, almost downy hair on her upraised arms; and, beneath the firm young breasts and a stomach just slightly more curved than Katie's, her crotch was showing short, dark stubble as her pubic hair began to grow back from a similar public shaving to Katie's, a couple of weeks previously. That stubble must itch a bit and to have people able to see it grow week by week - but then, such a lack of privacy was par for the course for these poor victims of our system. Gemma's short but curvy legs, like Katie's, were more or less relaxed, whilst the third hanging girl, Nicky, was keeping her legs more tightly pressed together. Katie and Gemma weren't wasting their strength that way. Neither of them liked being exposed as they were, but it was slowly becoming a fact of life for them.

On the other hand, the girl in the middle, Slave Nicky Nipples, my actual target, was a first timer in lots of ways. Like just about every spectator in today's audience, I'd read the programme notes about her with avid anticipation. She was quite a find: just eighteen, not a virgin but still fairly innocent and a fit, sporting girl: a recent World Karate medallist, no less. What was even better and had whetted the appetite of everyone in the audience, was that she had never been whipped. They had managed to enslave her with threats and demonstrations of what happened to others who resisted. Even now, after six events in today's match, she had not felt the kiss of the lash. She'd felt the pain of weights hung from her brand new nipple and labia rings, but that was it. She should have felt the whip by now, but in her whipping match she had avoided getting hit even once by using her karate to disable her opponent in the first few seconds. Very smart, but now her luck had run out: she could not avoid the whip any longer and she knew it. She stared down at me, her wide blue eyes like those of a rabbit staring hypnotised into the lights of an oncoming truck. Fear vied with determination on her pretty face.

I smiled at her and let my gaze wander down her body. She had very good boobs, firm and shapely, the small nipples bedecked with the new silver rings she would already doubtless have come to hate. Her arms were superbly toned, just the right side of being muscular, but I suspected with plenty of power in them from her karate training. She gripped the overhead bar with conviction and, although the heaviest of the three Thornton girls at around 60 kilos, her arms were not yet suffering with taking the weight of her body - though they inevitably would in time. My eyes inched leisurely down to the trim stomach, its taut muscles impressive, and then I came to the triangle of dark red curly pubic hair. Earlier I had watched this lovely young girl miserably expose herself, stripping stark naked in front of a large crowd of onlookers for the first time in her previously fairly sheltered life. Now, in her mortification, her thighs were pressed closely together, so that the small silver rings, already barely visible beneath the lush pubic hair, were now pushing into the firm flesh of those thighs and her shapely legs with their silky skin were together at both knees and ankles. She would be better advised to relax, to save all her lactic acid and energy for her arms, but of course that was easy for me to say.

My eyes returned to her face. She knew that I'd been looking at her body and her cheeks blushed red. Of course, several hundred men had been admiring her bare charms for the last hour or two, but up close it was even more humiliating. However, her eyes flicked continually to the whip in my hand. I put it behind my back and her eyes returned to my face. I tried to read her expression: there was suffering and misery there and also a degree of bewilderment: for all that she had seen a match last week, I don't think she could quite believe the things she had been forced into so far today. But also her features showed a growing determination, a desperate but substantial courage. As she looked at me, she knew her body was on display and she pressed her thighs firmly together, for all that it didn't help much; but she could do nothing about her breasts. And then I brought the whip in sight again and her eyes went to that once more; but then they left the whip and settled on my face once more. It was a sort of acquiescence: I know you are going to whip me, said those blue eyes, and I am afraid; but I accept that it is going to happen and I will endure it as best I can and for as long as I can. As is so often the case with slave girls, there was no hatred or resentment there: intimidation and fear wash those emotions away. I readied the whip and saw her tense, her breath catching in her throat, her muscles locked, her heart no doubt pounding.

The buzzer went to signal us to begin.

I swung the whip almost leisurely. It made contact with her hip and the tip swung round and bit into her bottom. "Ow!" she cried and that supple young body jerked with the shock of it. I always target the bottom first: although there are many varied and delightful ways to torment a female slave, the most basic and fundamental is to beat her bottom. A slave girl must learn that the purpose of her bottom is to receive pain and that her bared ass is always a potential receptacle of that pain. I swung the whip again, the other side this time and again it wrapped around her hip and the end bit into her nether cheeks. It was a light, thin whip, but with a knot close to the tip and it would be the knot that caused most of the effect. I swung again and again, alternating sides, eliciting a gasp of anguish each time. From nearby came a cacophony of squeals from all six girls as their tormentors found their targets, but my focus was solely on this lovely creature before me. After six strokes around each hip, I shifted my aim a little higher, letting her bare back get its first taste of the whip. She shuddered and bit her lip, but if anything her gasps were growing quieter, although she was wincing very nicely. One girl on each team had fallen already. I noticed that Katie was still up, writhing but staring at Nicky, as if she was taking a lead from this virgin to the whip.

I gave Nicky's back a good roasting, then shortened my grip for extra control and flicked at her stomach. Four, five times the knot left angry red marks on the tensed, muscular belly. Time to go up a bit. The knot landed squarely on her ringed nipple (I was pleased with my shooting on that one!) and she yelped, but still her fingers clutched that bar. I was impressed. I went for the other nipple, but this wasn't the easiest of whips to control and I missed, the knot digging into her tender breast flesh instead (with plenty of effect), but my second try hit the mark. I then went back and hit her other breast as if that had always been my intention. She was yelping now with each shot and I could see tears of both shock and pain rolling down her cheeks, but still she held on. Another Tigress girl had gone, but the team I supported could still yet win the day. I gave Nicky another dig on each of her stretched boobies, then paused, lengthening my grip and measuring my next shot. In her anguish, her legs had relaxed, drifting apart as she found more pressing things than her lack of modesty to contend with and that gave me a chance. I sent the whip into her thigh and it wrapped round the back and came through the middle into the front, the tip burying itself into her inner thigh. Perfect! Nicky shrieked and danced in mid-air, but still somehow she hung on. As the whip fell away, a bright red line appeared on her leg. Her limbs were flailing about too much for me to get a good shot on the other leg, so I contented myself with another couple of fierce hits on her bum, then shortened my grip again and sent the tip whizzing into those soft cherry red pubic curls of hair that she was in danger of having shorn if her team lost this match. Nicky's eyes, previously half-closed and misty with tears, opened wide and she squealed again. I think I got her right on the clitoris. I tried another similar shot, but missed a little, although the impact on her groin still very clearly hurt. Still she hung on! Let's go for her arms then, I thought. Her sensitive, hairless left armpit took a stinger; she shuddered but still clung to the bar, her knuckles white with the effort. I lined up another one, but as I did the buzzer went. I looked around: the last Tigress girl had fallen. Nicky still hung, sobbing, and nearby Slave Katie was also still up, her elfin body wracked with her sobs.

I let my whip fall to the ground with a feeling of disappointment. I had not been able to help my team avoid defeat and in one sense I had not bested the naked young beauty before me; but in another sense I had, because she now knew for the first time in her young life how it felt to be a whipped slave. And I had enjoyed myself immensely.

Life - for those in Corvalle not burdened with the yoke of slavery - was wonderful. Nicky, right now, might not agree!