Punishment 120

 

 

                        PUNISHMENT 120 – Part 16, a fitting finale

 

Della Domina didn’t exactly have a riot on her hands, but the natives, as the old 19th century cliche used to go, were “restless”.

 

The day’s shooting had gone well, if not spectacularly. The filming of Jason’s frontal thigh flogging, by two quite attractive, although not stunning, guards at Punishment Park had been punitive, if not sensational.

 

The lad had screamed well, his tear-streaked face looked lovely as he wept, and the paddles had flashed as the two floggers worked on his strongly corded limbs. He had also blubbered delightfully in between floggings and “refreshments” from Della.

 

But in her sign-off package, Della had forewarned her millions of fans across New America to expect “something really, REALLY special” for the finale to Jason’s six-episode ordeal.

 

And then, Della had called an immediate meeting of her production assistant, sound woman and camera crew in one of the well-appointed Punishment Park conference rooms.

 

The women sat, some open-mouthed, as Della described her plans for the next day’s climactic shoot in her extremely highly-rated Punishment 120 program.

 

Della looked around the table as the news of her plans sank in. Then Penny, her most experienced camerawoman, looking splendid in a black leather bra and leather hot pants spoke up.

 

“Right Della,” said the pretty picture-taker with her sapphic-signalled close-cropped black hair, “now don’t get your tits in a proverbial tangle over this, but let me act as the devil’s advocate – ‘kay?”

 

Della nodded, and lit up a cigarette. She felt she might need it.

 

“We know what you’ve planned and it sounds a fuckin’ great idea,” said Penny.

“I can see the pre-program publicity we’ll get, sensational. But you know how Condy Conty feels about things like this.

 

“And you yourself, Della, are always lecturing us about the problems associated with using amateurs in a dominatrix role.

 

“We’ll have hardly got the flogger introduced than Condy will be on your earpiece screaming blue murder. It’ll never work.”

 

Penny finished her comments, then dragged Della’s pack of cigarettes and lit one, exhaling a long plume of blue-grey smoke and looking around the room.

 

Nods from Karla, Claudia, Melody and Jenna told her they all agreed with Della’s most experienced camerawoman.

 

Della smiled, sucked on her cigarette, and smiled at the pert-breasted veteran. “Penny, normally I’d agree, and I’d agree 100 per cent,” she said. “But this IS going to work.

 

“Look, this flogger is NOT a novice. She’s the proud owner of two cockslut slaves, she works out regularly with the lash on their backs – and fronts!

 

“And, to head Condy off at the pass, I’m gonna call her, spell out the plan and we’ll take it from there. Trust me, if anyone can sweet talk her, I can.”

 

Penny dragged on her cigarette and smiled grimly. “If you can, and I don’t think it’s possible, I’ll drink your first piss flow of the day tomorrow – er, hold on, not tomorrow, you’ll need that for the P-120 slave.

 

“All right, the first piss flow of the day after tomorrow. But – and it’s a BIG but, Della – if you don’t, then you drink my first piss of the day on the same morning.”

 

Della grinned and pretended to consider the “bet”.

 

“It’s a deal,” she said finally. But what Penny didn’t know was that Della had already spoken to Condy Conty – AND got the go ahead!

 

It had been, Della thought, looking back on her conversation with the stunning black producer, surprisingly easy.

 

Condy had started full of bluster. “Bad idea, Della, bad, bad, and just for good measure, bad. Nope, I’ll never agree to it, the board will never agree to it. Scratch one really kinky flogging idea!”

 

Della smiled at her nominal “boss” back at Sex Sinema HQ.

 

“Look, Condy,” she said, speaking to her director on a vid phone link during a break in Jason’s front thigh torture, “I’ve done a lot of work on this.

 

“This woman’s the proud owner of two cockslut slaves, she’s used to working ‘em over on the cock and balls. And let’s face it, we don’t use leather on the C&BT section of the show as you well know.

 

“This rubber flogger causes intense irritation and burning and after an hour or so, intense agony, but they don’t break the cunt’s flesh – well, not too much. And I’ve had the lady checked out by the research department.

 

“When it comes down to it, she’s an expert C&BT exponent. But, and this is my last comment, Condy, there’s a VERY big plus to all this.”

 

The big-breasted black woman sucked on a cigarette and sighed. “I might have known it, Della. All right, I’ll buy it – what is it?”

 

Della grinned at the director back in New Los Angles City.

 

Then, breaking the word into three segments, Della said: “Pub. Liss. Itty.”

 

And with a cheeky grin she added: “Loads and loads of it!”

 

Condy looked intently at her lovely blonde superstar and relented, a broad grin forming on her features. “Fuck, Della, you win – again!”

 

And that was something, Della knew only too well, Penny didn’t know when she made her bet!

 

The following morning after breakfast, Della chose her femdom outfit with care. The final episode of chapter 7 demanded a highly erotic display for her millions of fans.

 

Going against her usual habit, Della got the lovely 18-year-old Karla to brush her fine blonde hair until it gleamed. She applied her make-up carefully, her lips red with the glistening sheen of female hauteur.

 

On her long legs, she pulled her favorite black leather boots, which came half-way up her shapely thighs, the heels giving her added height. The expensive leather shone dully and menacingly on her calves.

 

For the rest of her outfit, she went for a quarter-cup bra in brilliant, blood red. From the central undercup of the garment and slim leather strand went down to just past her navel, where it split into two straps which went between her thighs and up between her ass cheeks to the waist belt. Naturally, it left her closely cropped pubic bush bare, her very lickable labia plainly in view.

 

The last item of apparel was a pair of red rubber gloves, which came to just below her elbows and shone brilliantly in the light. With a toss of her lovely head, Della looked in the mirror.

 

“How do I look, Karla?” she asked.

 

“As you should for the final episode in a Punishment 120 chapter – fuckin’ sensational,” said her young assistant, totally truthfully.

 

Out in the lovely warm sunshine, Della orchestrated the arrival of the cockslut to his position for his final P-120 filming. The lad was no longer anally intruded and his balls hung free, unencumbered by the prickly punishment pouch.

 

He was strapped by his ankles and across the backs of his knees, to a frame which raised his genital region to about three feet off the ground. His arms were pulled back so his wrists could be strapped to his ankles, at the back of the kneeling frame.

 

On the slave’s midriff was a pair of shiny black rubber, open-fronted pants. His cock and balls dangled through the aperture, and around the aperture a leather cord had been inserted and tied tightly to bunch his cock and balls.

 

The teenager’s thighs, though, were covered by the rubber since only his cock and balls would be targets for flagellation in this, his final flogging.

 

When the lad was in place, Della walked in front of him and started filming her pre-flogging interview.

 

“Usually,” she told the slave, “I interview your floggers first, and then you, cunt. But for the final episode of this Punishment 120 we’re gonna introduce her later.

 

“Now, the lady will be wearing a long rubber cape and a mask on her face. Mysterious, eh? And that’s what you will call her, cunt – Mistress Mysterious. Got it?”

 

The slut nodded his head. “Yes, Mistress Della, I’ve got it,” he said, in a strong, clear voice.

 

“Right,” said his interviewer. “Well, we’ll let you see her later. I’ll be back in an hour and 55 minutes, and we’ll start the count down to your last little flogging.”

 

And Della walked into the canteen, where the flogger was waiting for her, dressed in a bright red, rubber cape, which was clasped at her throat by a bright gold brooch, in the shape of a whip.

 

The cape fell in shimmering drapes to her booted ankles. In her hand she held a mask.

 

The woman, who had her light, blonde hair dragged back from her head in a severe ponytail, was sipping on a cup of coffee.

 

“Everything OK?” asked the famous TV presenter.

 

“Yes, I think so,” said the woman. “I’m a bit nervous right now, but I’m sure that once I get stuck into it, I’ll thoroughly enjoy myself.”

 

When time was almost up for the slut’s waiting period, Della finished her third coffee, stubbed out her cigarette and nodded to the team.

 

They marched outside, the “mystery flogger” pulling on a black leather mask which covered her forehead and the top half of her face, down past her mouth.

 

In one of her rubber-gloved hands she was holding a penis whip. The flogging implement consisted of a brown leather handle, which led to a dozen rubber thongs, each tied with a knot at the tip. The application of this torture item would, over a period of a couple of hours, cause a stinging, intense pain, and usually – in about the last 30 minutes of torture – cuts.

 

Stepping in front of the naked cockslut and making him chug down a glass of chilled urine, Della smiled at the 18-year-old.

 

“Right, cunt,” she said, “allow me to introduce you to your final flogger. Lovely rubber, eh?”

 

The lad gulped and then nodded, before replying, obediently: “Yes, Mistress Della, very nice.”

 

“Right,” said Della, “now we’re almost there. It’s so close to the time limit, I’m gonna re-set the clock now and you will count down from 10 to zero, and then ask Mistress Mysterious to flog you. Go!”

 

And Della stepped back as the lad counted backwards from 10 to 1, then zero and pleaded: “Mistress Mysterious, please flog me!”

 

The woman obliged almost as soon as the word “me” had fallen from the lad’s lips.

 

The 12-tails of the rubber cat flashed in a downwards stroke onto the boy’s shaft. Then came a pause, and next an upwards stroke whipped onto his scrotum. Each blow forced a wince from the teenager.

 

For 10 minutes, Mistress Mysterious dealt to the youngster, wielding the cock and ball whip with dexterity against his naked genitals.

 

Then, in a pre-arranged conversation, Della walked to the woman and smiled into her masked face.

 

“My dear,” she said, “you must be getting rather hot in that rubber cape. Would you like me to remove it for you?”

 

The woman nodded, and Della unclipped the “whip brooch” at the whip artist’s throat, revealing a busty, mature, woman wearing red rubber gloves which came to her elbows, and red leather boots, which came to her knees.

 

Both red gloves and boots contrasted admirably with the disguising black leather mask.

 

The woman then resumed the lad’s flogging, but Della – who had instructed Penny to concentrate her camera on the kid’s face – noticed a look of horror come across the boy’s features.

 

Mistress Mysterious, who was big-busted, with large, brown nipples, and a fair-haired minge, quite thick with lightish pubic hair, which was matted from both sweat and sexual arousal, was still slowly flogging the boy’s genitals.

 

Suddenly, the floodgates opened.

 

A silent scream erupted in his throat and his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. No sound came, until he blubbered, his cheeks now wet with teenage tears: “Oh fuck, no, no, NO!

 

“MOMMMMMY!”

 

With a dramatic sweep of her non-whip-wielding arm, the woman dragged the leather mask from her face to reveal a pretty, blue-eyed woman, with a cruel, grinning face.

 

“Yes, cunt,” she snapped, “it’s mommy and I’m gonna whip your sad fuckin’ cock and balls!”

 

Della, with a laugh and a wave of her hand, called out: “Stop the clock, then I’ll interview our mystery guest, and then she can get back to work on her rapist fuckin’ son!”

 

When the cameras had been set up, and with the lad still sobbing where he knelt in the cock-and-ball-flogging frame, Della stood alongside the big, busty mother.

 

“OK, the secret’s out now, folks,” she said the cameras, “and as you all knew from the first program, this cunt Jason here raped his momma, the incestuous motherfucker.

“So may I introduce to our millions of viewers, the lovely Jenny Pearson, mother of this disgusting slave. Tell us a bit about yourself, Jenny!”

 

The blonde smiled at her hostess. “Thank-you Della, and thank-you so VERY much for allowing me to conduct this cunt’s last flogging on your show.

 

“Well, as you said, I’m Jason’s mom, I’m 38, damn near 39, but as you can see, I keep fit. After I blew the whistle on this pervert here, I sold him to Punishment Park and with the proceeds I purchased two lovely cocksluts.

 

“I live in New Los Angeles and have a lot of fun putting ‘em through their paces. And now I’m looking forward to putting my rapist son, the cunt, through his!”

 

Della called out “Good luck, Jenny – bad luck, Jason!” and then announced: “Clock back on, resume the flogging!”

 

But the mother-flagellatrix was in no hurry to resume the whipping. First, she had some taunting in mind.

 

Strolling to her sweat-covered, sobbing son, 38-year-old Jenny Pearson placed a rubber-gloved hand on his cock and smiled a cruel, vicious smile.

 

“Remember what you used to do with this, cunt?” she said, softly, but Claudia’s excellent sound system picked up every syllable.

 

The lad moaned, but made no reply. The woman squeezed his nuts, and he screamed.

 

“Look at these cunt,” she snapped, pressing her big, light-skinned breasts together. “Remember tit-fucking these?”

 

The lad sobbed, but nodded.

 

“And remember what you made me do when you were close to cumming, cunt?” And as she asked the question, the mother of the slave slashed her whip down on his cock, then up across his balls.

 

“Yes, mommy,” the lad sobbed.

 

Another slash with the cock flogger. “MISTRESS MOMMY!” screamed the woman.

 

“Yes, Mistress Mommy,” cried the strapped down slaveslut.

 

“What? Tell the viewers, cunt!” shouted the lad’s mom.

 

“I put my cock in your mouth, mommy, er, Mistress Mommy,” said the lad.

 

“And?” asked the woman, slashing the lad’s genitals once, twice, three times as she queried the boy.

 

“I made you swallow my cum,” the slave sobbed.

 

“And you fucked me in the ass, cunt, didn’t you?” asked the mother, slashing again at her son’s now nicely-lacerated cock and balls.

 

“Yes, Mistress Mommy,” answered the kid.

 

“And then what did you force me to do with your smeared prick, you perverted fuck?” snapped Jenny Pearson.

 

“I made you suck it, Mistress Mommy,” he sighed.

 

Slash, slash.

 

“And now you’re gonna fuckin’ pay, aren’t you, cunt?” she demanded. Slash, slash.

 

“Yes, Mistress Mommy, yes, yes, yes,” the lad shrieked.

 

Slash, slash. Pause. Slash, slash.

 

“Made me kneel in front of your hard-on, didn’t you, cunt?” screamed the flogger. Slash, slash.

 

“Yes, Mistress Mommy,” the slut was sobbing copiously now.

 

“Every day for a week I was your fuck toy, wasn’t I, cunt?”

 

“Yes, mistress,” said the boy.

 

Slash, slash. “Mistress,” shouted the flogger. Slash, slash. “Mommy,” she was shouting louder now. Slash, slash. “Cunt!” came out almost as a scream. Slash, slash.

 

The big-bodied blonde, her breasts glistening with perspiration, the globes heaving, glared down at her son.

 

“Well, cunt?” Slash, slash.

 

“Yes, Mistress Mommy,” came his beaten reply.

 

And then Jenny Pearson started in on her son.

 

Slash, slash. “Mother rapist!”

 

Slash, slash. “Mommy fucker!”

 

Slash, slash. “Sodomiser!”

 

Slash, slash. “Tit fucker!”

 

Slash, slash. “You turned me into a fellation machine!”

 

Slash, slash. “You kept cumming in my mouth!”

 

Slash, slash. “And now you’re a fuckin’ slave!”

 

Slash, slash. “Pervert!”

 

After about half an hour of cock and ball flogging, the lad’s agonies were intensifed by Jenny Pearson pulling the foreskin of her victim back to the ring, thus revealing a bright pink head of knob flesh.

 

The initial strokes produced no remarked reaction, but soon as the knotted tips of the flogger started to bite into the cockhead, the boy started to blubber and wail as his pain progressed to another level.

 

All the flagellatory tirade was faithfully captured by the cameras, and when the 38-year-old mother was finally finished, a group of guards who had assembled to watch the final flogging of Jason’s torment as a P-120 slave, broke into enthusiastic applause.

 

Jason, for his part, knelt on the frame, his head slumped over to one side, his mangled cock and balls glistening with the red strips of blood where his mother had mashed his flesh.

 

“Well done, Jenny,” said Della, placing a friendly arm over the bare-busted, bare-minged mom. “Now, let’s get out of this hot sun, and in a few cool drinks. Every now and then, I’ll let you ‘refresh’ him with some nice cool urine, how’s that?”

 

Jenny Pearson grinned. “It’s more than he fuckin’ deserves, Della, but if you insist ....” And they laughed as they walked arm-in-arm into the coolness of the canteen.

 

For the next two hours, the rapist son knelt in the searing heat, visited three times by his mom who allowed him to keep up his liquid intake by feeding him three large tumblers of cold urine, and then they came to the finale of the boy’s six days’ torture.

 

“Now, Jason,” smiled Della, looking at his anguish-ridden face, “it’s time to bath that poor prick and balls in the horse’s piss. That’ll ease some of your pain, won’t it?”

 

The question was, of course, rhetorical, and Jason’s mom then appeared with a bucket of the salty solution. Hanging from each edge of the bucket were two straps of leather.

 

Jenny placed the bucket beneath the boy’s balls, then, as Della held the bucket in place, the mother put the straps around behind her son’s back and tied the ends together.

 

A shriek of appalling shrillness rang out as this tying process pulled the bucket up until Jason’s genitals were immersed in the liquid. As the urine started to attack the cuts on his cock the screams rang out, sobbingly, keeningly into the air.

 

Several times during his final two hours, Jenny Pearson untied the bucket, and placed its rim to her son’s mouth, making him gulp down mouthfuls of the awful piss. And then his screams rang out again as she once more immersed his privates in the fetid water.

 

Then it was over, the mom made the boy gulp down more piss, and Della was ending the sixth episode of Jason’s ordeal with her sign-off.

 

“Well viewers, that’s the end of Jason’s Punishment 120. A special thanks to his lovely mom.”

 

Jenny Pearson made a small bow to the cameras.

 

“And, of course, thanks to our cockslut.”

 

Jason Pearson was sobbing.

 

“Now remember, folks,” Della continued, “tune in next week when we bring you another new series of our little show with a new little slave.”

 

Then she laughed. “Ooops, I forgot – there’s nothing LITTLE about him! Byeee!”

 

And that, as they say, was a wrap.

 

Della walked away towards her quarters, her hand tightly gripping Jenny Pearson’s elbow as she steered the 38-year-old firmly in the direction of her suite.

 

“Jenny,” said Della, as they entered the coolness of the suite, “I need to talk to you. And so does my director.

 

“We’ve got an offer which we hope you can’t refuse!”

 

To be continued.