Part II, Court in Session
They were all very friendly in the mens’ changing room. I wandered out to find Joan, and we went into the courtroom together, feeling self-conscious in our new white gowns.
The room was magnificent. The eye was drawn to the opposite end, where a raised dais held a table behind which stood a rather grand chair. More like a throne. To one side, at a lower level was a second chair. Behind the dais was displayed on the wall a huge travesty of a coat-of-arms. On the shield were depicted two figures, one male and one female, bending to display naked bottoms. On either side, ‘supporters’ were a male and a female, each wielding a whip. Both were almost naked, and their bodies were contorted, as if making great efforts with their weapons. The whole effect was colourful and brilliant, with much added decoration including at the bottom a bed of whips, canes and straps all intertwined.
A wide semicircle of chairs left room in the centre for punishments to take place. Just in front of the dais was a leather-covered horse, over which I had already been flogged.
There were two rows of chairs on the right, and only one on the left. I puzzled about that for a while before realising there would be a better view, (assuming a right-handed operator), if I sat on the right. Most of these seats were already occupied.
I looked round the room. The walls were panelled with a light-coloured wood, and to the left of the dais I could see a rack for canes, each cane resting horizontally on a pair of hooks. There must have been about twenty of them. There were other objects on a table, but I couldn’t see what they were.
The room was filling up. People drifted in, chatting quietly. Some recognised us from our initiation and came up to have a friendly word. Most were in white novice gowns or the black ones of full members. Just a few looked splendid in blazing scarlet. The gowns had generous sleeves, and covered the body from neck to just below the knee. They were shaped and pleated in the manner of an academic gown. Some people held the gowns closed across their bodies, others let them hang shamelessly open. I was interested to see what people wore underneath.
Most men wore black trousers and shoes, like my own. Leather trousers seemed to be preferred, though I saw one man flaunting nakedness. Most of the men were naked above the waist under their gowns. The women varied more, but the majority wore black underwear, usually with smart black heels, stockings and suspender belts. Many of these women were proudly striding about heedless of the gown flying open, showing off their assets.
I spotted Amethyst, the huge woman who had spoken to me after I’d been displayed last time. Her gown flew more than the others as she strutted arrogantly. Her bra struggled to hold its burden, and the French knickers were voluminous. She took a seat near me.
A man wearing a clerk’s wig and black gown came in escorting a file of men and women. These wore white or black gowns. I saw they all had no shoes or trousers, but I glimpsed wrist and ankle straps made of black leather. Whenever a gown swung apart I saw they were naked underneath. The file was made to sit on a bench along one wall. The Clerk was busy getting them in the correct order.
I was startled when with a crash a door alongside the dais swung open.
“The Court will rise,” cried the Clerk, and there was an immediate hush as everyone stood up. Judge Emily, gloriously clad in scarlet, strode into the room and climbed onto the dais. She faced the assembly and gave a little bow, and sat down. A man, also in scarlet gown, followed her out and took his place on the lower throne alongside the judge. I guessed he was the Deputy Judge.
Everyone else settled down, and without a pause the Clerk of the Court was leading out the first defaulter, who was made to stand immediately in front of the Judge. It was a man. From the rear I could see that he wore no shoes or socks, and I suspected there was no clothing under his gown. He was a novice, and was dealt with swiftly.
“I understand you have been unable to concentrate on your work because you are distracted by lascivious thoughts,” said the Judge. “How do you plead?”
“Guilty, ma’am,” said the defendant.
“Very well, six strokes of the cane. We will have the number sixteen. Followed by twenty minutes display. An amber card. Next!”
In no time at all the hapless man was back in his place at the wall. He sat on the long bench and his wrists were clipped to chains hanging from the wall. A second man had taken his place in front of the Judge.
“You are accused of being rude and inconsiderate to your wife. She has reported you to the Court. How do you plead?”
“Guilty, ma’am.”
“Six strokes of the number twelve cane. And twenty minutes display. Green card.” There was an immediate murmuring from some female onlookers. I could sense some excitement. Evidently they welcomed the freedom to do what they liked with this man.
“Silence in Court!” cried the Judge. She was clearly in control of proceedings, and would have no truck with unruly elements.
A third man was already waiting. “Your offence is making a lewd remark to one of our female members. When the court last met, you were heard to tell her she was ‘eminently fuckable.’ We do not accept that language here. Do you plead guilty, or do I have to bring witnesses?”
“I plead guilty, ma’am.”
“I should think so, too. Very well, I shall pronounce sentence forthwith. Since this is by no means your first offence, I shall award fifteen strokes of the cane. I shall perform this punishment myself, and I shall use the number four cane. Display will be for twenty minutes. Green card. Take him away.”
Another murmur threatened to break out, but the Judge glanced round and at once quelled the noise.
I was thrilled to see a young woman had replaced him in front of the bench. She clasped hands in front of her body, no doubt holding her gown closed. Head bowed, she appeared contrite. I noticed that she was the first so far accused to wear the black gown of a full member.
“Caroline, you are accused,” began the Judge, “of inappropriate behaviour at the last sitting of this Court. During the display of a new male applicant, who as is customary wore an amber card, you were seen to pass your hand between his legs and grasp forbidden parts of his body; specifically . . . genitals. You have been before this Court before for that offence, and I warn you your punishment will be more severe each time you so offend. How do you plead?”
“Guilty, ma’am.”
The Judge leaned forward, smiling. “It’s the number six cane for you this time, my dear. Fifteen strokes, and twenty minutes display. Green card.”
This time it was the men who murmured their excitement. I was becoming excited myself, and I risked a glance at Joan alongside me. She was showing nothing on her face, but I could tell she was tense. She felt me looking at her and returned my glance. She said nothing, but slid a hand into a pocket cut in the side of my gown. I hadn’t explored this, but Joan had realised there was a slit which allowed access to inside the gown. She was immediately through to my leather trousers where she placed her hand on my crotch and pressed on my partial erection. Feeling it growing, she grinned briefly at me and turned her attention back to the proceedings. But she left her hand where it was.
Two more women were quickly sentenced to lesser punishments. I gathered the higher numbered canes were lighter or inflicted less damage, and I wondered what a number one would be like. One woman got six strokes with a number twenty one cane, and display with a green card, the other nine strokes with the same cane but only an amber card. A murmur of disappointment from the men in the audience was quickly quelled by the Judge.
My attention switched back to the Judge when she cried in a ringing voice, “Bring out the first prisoner for punishment. Six strokes with the number sixteen. Liza!”
At that point the lights suddenly dimmed and several spotlights lit the small area in front of the dais where the caning was to take place. I loved the drama of the scene.
Only then did I notice two figures who had been sitting at floor level just to the right of the Judge. A white man and a black woman both stood up. They made a handsome pair. The woman, I realized with a start was the Liza whom I’d already met. She was the black woman I had chosen to flog Joan and myself on the evening of our wedding, that famous second ceremony which had seared the great day into our flesh as well as our minds. I had thought her magnificent then, and I still thought so.
Both figures wore the splendid scarlet gowns. Liza let hers slide from her shoulders, and the man deftly caught it and laid it to one side. Wearing even less than on our wedding day, Liza was naked above the waist and sported only panties and high heels, with stockings held by a suspender belt. Last time I’d thought of her as ‘feline.’ I still thought so, for she moved with grace and power.
While others brought out the first guilty man, Liza’s companion was busy smearing an oil over her black body. The whole area from neck to waist. I saw her breasts shudder as he smeared oil over them. Immediately she shone in the spotlights, and when she moved the effect was brilliant.
It took only moments for the victim to be secured over the horse, and Liza took her place beside him. The Judge leaned forward, watching intently, and there was absolute silence in the courtroom. Liza wasted no time. With flashing body and a swish from the cane she delivered the first stroke. I must say it was not severe, and the six strokes were laid on to a slow rhythm. I watched the feline in action. Perfect brown breasts sparkled in the spotlights and quivered as the cane struck home. I watched the panther-like haunches rippling as she swung into each stroke.
The total effect was deeply erotic to me, and I loved it. I watched enraptured as the women released the first prisoner and brought up a second. Liza waited patiently. Her male colleague took the cane away and brought out another, rather longer and thicker, I thought.
When the prisoner was fast to the horse the Judge leaned forward and said to Liza, “Is that the number twelve?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liza replied.
“Very good,” said the Judge. “Six strokes.”
Liza laid on the required penalty. I was in my element. Everything conspired to overwhelm my erotic senses. The sound of the cane swishing through the air and almost simultaneously striking flesh, together with the sight of Liza’s splendid body had me erect within the privacy of my gown. Joan’s fingers closed over me at each fall of the cane, and I could tell she was excited. I wondered what I would find if I could somehow get my fingers between her legs; no doubt heat and wetness.
Now there was general movement. Prisoners were being exchanged. The scarlet-robed man took the cane from Liza and went to select another. Liza took her original seat but without donning her gown. Judge Emily descended from her throne, stopping just in front of Liza and her companion. The man took the scarlet gown off the Judge’s shoulders, revealing her in the black set of stockings and underwear that she had worn at our initiation. To my astonishment he immediately unclipped the Judge’s bra and slid it from her breasts. Evidently anyone wielding a cane had to be naked above the waist. I was beginning to like the rules of this place.
Shamelessly facing the audience, Judge Emily clearly had no scruples about showing off bodily charms. Her breasts were fuller than those of Liza, and bounced heavily when their support was removed. Her shoulders were braced back as, with head held proudly, she accepted the new cane.
Evidently this was the number four. It was certainly longer and thicker than the other two. A few drops of liquid fell to the floor, and I imagined a soaking had made the cane heavier. A more severe cane, and a vastly more energetic flogging than had been required of Liza. Judge Emily flung herself into the beating with all her strength. I could see she was an expert. The whole of her body was flung into action, with the cane sweeping through a long arc.
She was less graceful than Liza, but there was something animal about her. She was accurate, and the stripes built up remorselessly. Each was laid exactly parallel and after ten strokes they formed a raft with hardly a break for white untouched flesh. Only one stripe lay a couple of inches high, and one on the legs. He had taken all ten almost in silence except for a grunt as each stroke landed, though he wriggled restlessly near the end as though trying to find a comfortable position.
Emily paused to rest her arm, flexing the cane and looking at her handiwork. She stroked a hand over the sore rump as if savouring its feel.
Stepping back once more and settling her feet astride, she struck four more times. She wrung painful noises from him at last. There was no doubt he was near the limit of suffering and I half expected him to utter a codeword which would have brought the beating to an end.
Another pause for rest, or was it to torture the man? The last was intended to be the hardest yet, though I think she was tiring by now. At any rate, she flung everything into the stroke. It was low and the man cried out in agony.
Judge Emily swung on her heel and proudly stalked away to retrieve her clothes. She ignored the bra. The man slipped the scarlet gown over first one arm then the other, and she shrugged it onto her shoulders. As the Judge climbed back to her throne making little effort to hold the gown closed across her breasts, I thrilled to see the woman called Caroline led out. The Clerk, leading her by the arm, slipped off her gown. Caroline was naked. She stepped forward proudly and, without being urged, laid herself over the horse. Breasts flattened against the leather surface.
They seemed to understand there was no need to secure her. Evidently she knew exactly what she had let herself in for. She lay quietly along the horse, legs apart and straight, bottom thrust prominently.
The man sitting with Liza took a cane. He had shed the gown and wore only narrow leather trousers. I suspected he’d been selected for the job because the girls found him exciting. Or more likely because the Judge did. He was one of the younger men, broad shouldered with narrow waist. As he swung the cane his long blond hair tumbled so that he had to clear it from his eyes after every stroke. Rippling muscles told of long hours lifting weights.
Liza was quickly applying oil to his upper body so that highlights sparkled and flashed under the spotlights. Every female eye followed the procedure and watched as he took his place beside the horse.
My attention now was on the victim. I watched in awe as the cane smashed into the full womanly buttocks. I saw a white line appear under the cane, immediately turning pink. There was no holding back. The beating was as severe as the one we’d just witnessed. The cane fell to a slow regular rhythm. Six strokes before he paused. He reached out a hand to touch the target area. Already the early stripes were turning black and blue and scarlet.
There were few signs of distress from her; clearly she was used to this and took pride in showing how well she could take punishment.
The man stood, idly flexing the cane in his hands.
During the next six I sensed someone moving onto the vacant chair on my right. I dragged my eyes away from the flogging and saw it was Amethyst, the very large lady in the scarlet robe. She leaned across to me and whispered, “We call him Adonis. Don’t you think he’s rather splendid!”
I looked at her and grinned. I liked Amethyst. She was full of fun and friendliness. And not forgetting that fantastic body!
Twelve strokes, and Adonis paused for rest. Or at least to give Caroline a respite. More touching and flexing, and he took aim for the last three.
I did so admire Caroline. She had hardly made a sound up to this point, despite the severity of the punishment. Adonis took aim, and when Caroline felt the cane touch her bottom she turned her head to watch him. I could understand this. She would be thrilled by the sight of the rippling body, and it might convince her mind to ignore the pain. After two strokes, though, she dropped her head as if to admit the pain was getting to her. But still she buttoned her mouth, and when the last stroke fell the audience broke into applause. Applause instantly suppressed by Judge Emily.
As the Clerk took Caroline’s arm and encouraged her gently from the horse, the Judge rose to her feet and pointed in my direction. “You! You, Amethyst!” she cried. I was relieved it wasn’t me she was singling out. I just wanted to mingle into the background and watch quietly on my first visit.
The Judge went on. “I distinctly heard you whispering to your neighbour during the punishment just now. I simply will not have it. There must be absolute silence during these proceedings. I will not have them reduced to a casual sideshow while you chat to your pals. Come out here! Bare your buttocks and take one stroke of the cane! The same cane in use just now!”
Amethyst hesitated for a moment. She heaved her great bulk from the chair and walked slowly to the front. Her back was to me, but I watched her reach inside the gown and struggle her knickers down to her ankles. With difficulty she bent down and took them over her feet, laying the garment on the horse. She opened the gown and slipped it from her shoulders, laying that too on the horse. She stepped back and bent forward, feet apart, and grasped her knees. Evidently it was too difficult for her to bend further.
Amethyst’s buttocks were massive. I had never seen any so wide, and the folds of flesh would surely absorb a cane without her feeling a thing.
Adonis remained in place, still holding the formidable cane he had used on Caroline. He lost no time, and as soon as Amethyst was still he launched a single cut.
The poor woman let out a low screech and immediately jerked upright. With both hands she grasped her great buttocks and stood motionless, head on chest. After a few seconds she recovered herself, started breathing again, and looked up at the Judge. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said in a firm voice, before returning to the chair next to me.
I made a point of not speaking to her.
Adonis caned the other two women. Neither took it in silence, nor even with dignity. They were secured, one at a time, over the horse so that they could never escape. They tried to buck and wriggle, but a broad leather strap over the back kept them helpless. At every stroke they shouted, screamed or howled. The spectators loved it, and there was absolute silence except for the swish-crack of the cane and the noise from the victims. Judge Emily leaned forward from her lofty perch, watching intently. I revelled in the sight and sound of so much caning, loving the company of so many like-minded people.
As each stroke landed, the hand which Joan still kept inside my gown clutched at me. I rather wished she would stop, as my erection was getting embarrassing.
My mind was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of caning, by the close attention of the crowd, by the colour and formality of the scene. Some inner train of thought, though, told me something was missing. I wondered what could possibly make it better. The answer, I realised, was that I was only an onlooker. Perhaps next time I would be doubled over the horse, and would be watching Liza or some other woman working me over with a cane.
I noticed people moving towards the back of the room where the display was to take place. The Clerk was already herding the naked defaulters, vivid stripes on display. Two heavy beams, one on each side of the room, were somehow attached to the ceiling structure. From the beams dangled lengths of chain, to which wrist straps were being shackled. The men were lined up on one side, the other beam being reserved for women. Once the three men and three women were securely in place blindfolds were fitted.
Joan and I walked with Amethyst. ”I’m sorry about your caning,” I whispered.
“Oh, its not your fault,” Amethyst replied. “I knew she’d do that. I did it on purpose. Give you a thrill! But one stroke’s a piece of cake. When you’ve had a dozen to qualify for the black gown, then you know what a caning’s all about. Mind you, Adonis knows how to lay it on. I’ll have this stripe for three weeks, I know that.”
As we approached the displayed men on one side of the room, Amethyst said, “Come on Joan, lets have a play with old Maurice here. He loves a good flogging, but he likes the display more. Lets give him what he wants.”
As I looked at Maurice in his blindfold I remembered my own display last time. I started to think that I would like to be there again. What would it be like wearing a green card and feeling these women all over me?
I left them starting to run their hands over the man, and turned towards the three women who were already chained to the beam. Their wrists were not pulled high; the straps being about head level, and they did not look uncomfortable. Blindfolds had already been fitted, and I joined the men who clustered about the women. Evidently talking was allowed now, and I could hear an excited chatter from the women on the other side of the room.
On my side, the first woman had an amber card about her neck, and a couple of men were fondling her bottom. The Clerk hovered nearby, no doubt watching to see the rules were obeyed. Sure enough, no other part of her body was being touched, but she was murmuring her pleasure at the soothing touches on her buttocks.
The next women had a green card, and four men were running hands over the whole of her body. One man concentrated on her breasts, stroking gently, then leaning forward and sucking on nipples which had hardened. having turned a bright pink and swelled. I saw shaven pubes. A man had a hand on them, stroking and penetrating between her legs. I saw her edge her legs further apart; evidently she welcomed the incursion. She was gulping in air and I thought her close to orgasm. I was just about to turn away when she gave a shout. Her body twitched as spasms racked her. She shook her body like a dog ridding itself of rainwater. Her legs buckled and the weight came on her arms. The men lifted her and she brought her legs up to her chest. Small sounds of pain or pleasure – you couldn’t tell which – came from her mouth. I was staggered that she could orgasm in public like this.
The other woman, Caroline, who had taken a mighty beating from Adonis, was also surrounded by men who were treating her more vigorously.
“She likes to be manhandled,” someone whispered to me. “She’s really into pain, this one. She hasn’t had a good night out unless she’s thrashed red raw, and been covered in bruises.”
Sure enough, they were slapping and nipping all over her body. I could see that each displayed person got the treatment they craved. One man had his mouth clamped on a breast, and from the noises she was making I guessed he was using his teeth to evil effect. Another raked his fingernails over her buttocks, and I was aghast when I saw the mess the cane had made of them. The skin had not been broken – she must have had the hide of a rhinoceros – but I could see every colour in the rainbow and the skin was glazed and shiny.
One of the men made way for me, and I ran my hand over her backside. It was red hot and I could feel the ridges. I was sorry for her, and wanted to give her just a taste of pleasure, if that were possible. I parted her cheeks and inserted a hand. At once she moved her legs apart and my hand slipped between. She was even hotter in there, and damp. I reached through until I could feel engorged labia. She edged her legs even wider apart. Clearly she was encouraging me. I pushed up into the hot wet cavern, and at once she slammed her legs together, trapping my hand. Her orgasm was massive. For the first time she was shouting, deep guttural sounds. Her body was tense and she squeezed hard on my trapped hand.
When the orgasm was over she relaxed her grip on me. Now she was running wet, and as I worked my hand over her vulva I heard murmuring which betrayed her pleasure. I slipped my fingers inside and wormed gently as far as I could. Plainly she was enjoying this, and in only a couple of minutes she was working up to another orgasm. This one was less violent but lasted longer.
There were more orgasms before her twenty minutes were up. When they released her two men half-carried her to a chair. She was in a daze and took a few minutes to come round. They found her gown and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Before the gown closed across her chest I looked at the nipples. They were very sore, an angry red colour, showing the damage done by teeth and fingernails.
She looked round at the men surrounding her and smiled sleepily. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she said. “You were marvellous.”
I watched the second woman being released from the hanging chains. She could hardly bear her own weight, and she too was half-carried to a chair. The men were talking about her. “I reckon she came eight times,” said one.
“Aye, at least,” said another. “No wonder she can hardly stand.”
They were also talking about the first woman, the one who wore an amber card. Evidently she had orgasmed even before anyone fondled her. She was able to walk unaided, and went to fetch her own gown, slipping it on and modestly drawing it closed across her chest. Rather belatedly, I thought.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Joan appeared at my elbow, and told me what had been going on at her side of the room. The women had been aggressive and unashamed in their abuse of the displayed men. Amethyst had been to the fore. All of the men had orgasmed, one all over the floor. However, Amethyst had prevented further mess by just happening to be sucking the man at the time and swallowing everything. Highly convenient!
I tried to imagine what it must have felt like, helpless and blindfolded, with women all over me and Amethyst kneeling in front. The more I thought, the more I wanted it to happen.
Looking round, I saw a white-gowned man on all fours mopping the floor where the men had been displayed. “Yes, we’re all organised,” said a voice at my shoulder. “We do the jobs we prefer. He’s volunteered for the dirty jobs. He’s deeply submissive, and likes to be flogged, but wears a red card so he’s never brought off. Thinks he’s not worthy of pleasure. We’re all different, here.”
As the man stood up, Judge Emily walked by, holding a small thin cane. She inspected the floor. “I can see a smear there,” she said to the wretched man, who positively cowered in front of her. “Not good enough. Bare yourself and bend over!”
The man removed his gown and trousers and turned his back to the Judge. He bent to hold his ankles. I thought it would be a single cut, like the one Amethyst had to take. But no; this time it was six nasty stingers. The thin cane was whippy, almost like a rope. It whipped in her expert hands and delivered six vicious cuts which had the man yelping.
“You may stand up,” said the Judge. The man rose quickly and clutched his bottom. “And now get onto your knees and do a proper job.”
I turned back to Joan. “How do you fancy a green card, next time you’re here?” I asked her.
“Can’t wait,” she said. “What about you?”
“With Amethyst in the room?” I replied. “The days can’t pass quickly enough.”
