A New World, Chapter 9: Dessert and Discipline

A New World, Ch. 9: Dessert and Discipline

After dinner, Janice served dessert on the veranda.

 The slaves brought out extra chairs and side tables for the people to enjoy blueberry pie in the fresh air of the pleasant summer evening.  It was a little cooler on the shaded veranda, and people would be better able to watch the discipline to come. Cutlery clinked amid casual conversation, and frequent compliments to Janice for her pie, which was a perfect blend of sweet and tart, still warm from the oven. Slave Lily flitted about, serving and clearing, keeping a pretty smile on her face.

The was a roster on a clipboard going about the staff, with a list of available slaves for people to reserve for the night. Trig noticed that Andy had already reserved the lovely Violet. Erika the stable mistress has put her name next to Lily, no surprise there, Erika always preferred young bitches whether they were inclined to women or not. And as usual, Janice had picked Dingo to be sent to her bungalow; there was definitely something going on between that slave and Janice. Trig laughed inwardly, thinking how lucky Dingo was, not only getting his chastity removed for a night, but likely being fed morsels from Janice’s kitchen if he pleased her well.

Trig didn’t pick a slave. Daisy wasn’t on the list; slaves that had been punished were not allowed the pleasure of serving a master or a mistress. Trig passed the roster along, not making a choice.

In the meantime, other slaves were filing into the yard below the veranda as they returned from their labors of the day and awaiting their evening feeding of mush. They knelt or sat on the ground in their assigned positions, each an armlength apart. As they did every evening, they faced the pillory, gallows, and black iron hotbox. Buster and Jasmine still sagged in the stocks. The braided wire cable of the gallows noose swung in the slight breeze.

The slaves were unusually silent; there was none of the quiet chatter that they were permitted at this time of day as they waited to be fed their mush, resting from their daily labors. All of them had heard about Buster and Jasmine, and Mathias detected a tenseness in the air among them.

Mathias had explained to Trig the goal of the punishment to take place. “When dealing with a slave coupling, the best solution is to destroy the male. Completely emasculate him in front of the bitch. Show them both that the weakest, smallest, ugliest master is more of a man than a dick slave will ever be. And then sell the male slave as soon as possible.”

Just as Trig was about to sit down to a slice of pie with a dollop of whipped cream, Mathias told Trig to retrieve Daisy from the closet. They exchanged a look, teacher and student. “Eat that up, and go fetch Daisy,” Mathias said.

After finishing his dessert, Trig went to free Daisy from the cleaning supply closet. When he opened the door, the slave turned her face into the dark corner of the closet, scrunching her eyes shut against the sudden light. Trig fished his keyring from his pocket, and undid her cuffs, then the short chain from her collar to the wall.

Daisy flopped onto her side, arms and legs cramped and crabbed from hours of confinement. She tried to greet Master Trig as she knew she should, with kisses on both his boots, but her attempt to reach them only resulted in pain and whimpers.

Trig looked down at the squirming slave at his feet. He knew she was doing her best to be respectful. He decided to give her some time, a few moments, to regain control of her limbs. As a further act of mercy, he moved his feet closer to her face so she could kiss them more easily. The slave pressed her lips to his shoes.

“Can you walk?” he asked her.

“Yes…. master…please…. I’m sorry master…” Daisy struggled to stand. Trig reached down and helped her up, his hand under her arm. She wobbled to her feet, still slightly hunched over. Trig guided her to the yard, not hurrying, where she took her place, kneeling, almost flopping, among the assembled slaves.

Once in the yard, Mathias motioned Trig closer. “Trig, I’m going to handle to demonstrative punishment, but I want you to make sure all the slaves are paying attention. Don’t let them look away or close their eyes. I’ll let you know when it’s time for the whippings.”

Mathias took his tool bag and strolled over to Buster and Jasmine in the stocks. After removing their gags, he placed the bag on Jasmine’s back, using her body as a table, and opened the bag, fishing around inside it. Buster looked, on, watching worriedly; Jasmine could not see what Mathias was doing.

Mathias drew a contraption from the bag, leather straps and buckles hanging from it. Jasmine felt Mathias affixing the straps around her thighs and waist, cinching them down around her groin. When Mathias stepped back, Buster saw a wooden phallus protruding from the woman’s crotch.

Buster had been fucked with dildos and strap-ons before, but he had never seen one like this. Almost a foot long, of polished wood, it was ringed with small knobs up and down its length. It was not designed to give pleasure; it was designed to cause pain to whatever orifice it entered.

Mathias unlocked the top piece of Jasmine’s pillory, and put his hand on her neck to hold her in place. “Hands behind your back” he said, cuffing them together. He pulled her upright by her collar. Jasmine looked down in horror at the phallus protruding obscenely from her crotch.

Holding her by the collar, Mathais turned her to face her fellow slaves. “Fours!” he commanded, and the slaves got to their hands and knees, looking up at Mathias; it was commonly used as a position of instruction, when a master wanted slaves to pay close attention. The slave wearing the pronged collar, Toby, didn’t obey until the slave beside him reached over and shook the exhausted, sleep-deprived slave’s shoulder. Trig walked up and down among them, tapping them under the chin with his coiled whip if he thought they were not watching Mathias and the two slaves.

“These two slaves took something that didn’t belong to them,” Mathias began. “This bitch’s cunt and this dick’s dick belong to their master. You will only fuck when you are told to, and with whom you are told to. You know we sometimes allow slaves to fuck, as a reward for good behavior, and under supervision. They could have asked for permission. But these two decided they didn’t need permission, shirking their work to sneak off together to fuck.

“So, we’re going to give them exactly what they want. They are going to fuck. Jasmine is going to fuck Buster.”

Jasmine gave a soft cry as Mathias guided her a position behind Buster’s ass, still bent in the stocks, aiming the wooden knobbed phallus at his exposed hole. “Buster,” said Mathias, “do you want some lube before Jasmine fucks you?”

“Yes master! Please!” cried Buster, desperate for anything to mitigate his imminent suffering.

“Okay then…beg to suck Jasmine’s big hard cock!” said Mathias.

“Please…Jasmine…let me suck your cock?” Buster begged. There was some laughter from the audience on the veranda.

Mathias guided Jasmine to the front of Buster’s pillory, her wooden penis aimed at Buster’s open mouth. Mathias pushed her forward, Buster gagging and choking on the knobbed phallus, trying to slobber all over it.

After a few moments, Mathias tugged Jasmine back to Buster’s exposed ass, aiming the tip of the phallus at his pink hole. “Fuck him, Jasmine. Now!” he ordered.

Jasmine timidly poked at Buster’s hole, trying her best not to hurt him. Mathias brought his whip down on Buster’s back, making him cry out, Jasmine flinching as the whip passed before her face.

“Jasmine, I’m going to whip Buster until you get your cock into his cunt!” said Mathias, bringing the whip down again, with another cry of pain from Buster. Jasmine, torn between her desire not to hurt Buster, and the threat of the whip on his bare back, shuffled forward, the tip penetrating Buster’s ass. Seeing Mathias raise the whip again, she pushed her hips forward as the first few knobs disappeared into Buster’s ass, eliciting a grimace and a gasp from him.

“Deeper! I want you to fuck him up to your balls…if you had any!” Jasmine averted her head, scrunching her eyes shut, as she pressed her hips deeper into Buster’s ass. She would have covered her ears to shut out his cries of pain, were her hands not cuffed behind her back. Buster squirmed in the stocks, helplessly pinned in place, his bare feet ploughing the dirt.

“Buster, she’s going to keep fucking you until she gives you an orgasm!” said Mathas. “When you cum like a woman, I’ll let her stop. Do you like Jasmine’s big hard cock in you? Tell us how much you love it!”

“AHHHHHH!” cried Buster. “Yes! Yes I love being fucked! Fuck me, Jasmine!”

“You don’t seem very excited by Jasmine’s cock. Let’s hear you cum like a bitch!”

Buster did his best to imitate a woman in the throes of sexual pleasure; he was a handsome slave and had often been chained in a mistress’s bed, so it was no mystery to him.

“Oh yes! Oh god, I love your big hard cock! Fuck me! Harder! Harder! I’m cumming……EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Buster pantomimed a woman in the throes of orgasm. There was more laughter from the people on the veranda.

Satisfied, Mathias pulled Jasmine backwards, allowing the wooden phallus to flop out of Buster’s ravaged ass. He yanked the bound woman by her upper arm to in front of Buster, to allow her to see her weeping lover.

 “Buster,” Jasmine said, “I’m so sorry! I love---”

Jasmine’s head was suddenly rocked to the side as Mathias’ palm slammed against her face, making her see stars and her head spin as she sprawled into the dirt, unable to catch herself with her hands cuffed behind her. She tasted blood on her lip, and dirt in her mouth. His slap had stunned her into silence.

“No one gave you permission to speak, bitch.” Mathais said as he reached down and lifted her by the hair, dragging her to the gallows noose.

When Jasmine recovered from the stunning blow and saw where she was being led, she burst into hysterics, surprising Mathias with her strength, writhing in his grasp despite the pain in her scalp. “Please master…no! Please…I’ll be a good slave, I promise! Mercy, please master!”

Jasmine’s hysteria and terror made it more difficult for Mathias to secure her in place, eventually looping the braided wire noose over her bound wrists behind her back. He left her momentarily, as she tried to run away from the cable; he stepped to the winch and cranked it up until her wrists were above her shoulders; Jasmine was now bent forwards in a severe strappado. Mathias locked the pawl in place so it would not tighten or loosen further. The slave seemed to settle down a little bit, as she seemed to realize she wasn’t being hanged. The phallus still poked ridiculously from Jasmine’s crotch. Buster watched her, his eyes wide with helpless empathy.

Once Jasmine was secured, Mathias went to Buster and squatted besides him, where he could whisper into the slave’s ear. “Buster,” he began, his voice soft and perhaps sympathetic. “You’re going to be whipped, and sold tomorrow. You and Jasmine will never see each other again. But you should leave her with a last good memory of how brave and strong you are, how you took a whipping in silence to show her your love, so she will always respect you and remember you. Can you do that for Jasmine?”

Buster, bent at an angle in the stocks, trying not to sob, his body aching, rectum burning from the rape, sniffled and nodded the affirmative. “Good, good,” said Mathias, patting Buster on his back, almost as though to offer comfort, avoiding touching the welts he had inflicted.

Mathias stood upright, walking a few steps away from Buster and to Jasmine. To Jasmine Mathias said: “I want you to watch every lash Buster gets. If you don’t, it’s going to be repeated.

Mathias motioned to Trig. When Trig approached, whip in hand, Mathias put his hand on Trig’s shoulder, and bent to his ear, just as he had done with Buster and Jasmine.

“I want you to make these two slaves scream and cry like pigs going to slaughter.  Get on with the whippings, first Buster, then Jasmin.”

Trig positioned himself slightly behind and to the left of Buster’s bent ass; the damage done by the knobbed dildo was obvious; Buster’s hole was swollen and an angry red. Jasmine watched, dancing on her toes as she tried to alleviate the strain on her shoulders and arms.

Trig was aware of everyone’s eyes on him: the free people finishing their dessert on the veranda, the slaves kneeling like dogs, and Mathias most of all.

Trig let his whip uncoil in his hand, and focused on Buster’s bare buttocks. Buster, pinioned facing away from him in the pillory, was the only person who could not see Trig. Jasmine’s eyes flashed back and forth between Trig and Buster. Trig was glad he could not see Buster’s face; Buster was just a piece of pale meat, bent over in the wooden stocks.

Trig took a good posture, remembering Mathias’ lesson, standing at a slight angle to Buster’s buttocks. He drew back the whip, letting it play out behind him, and let it fly.

The whip cracked across the naked globes of Buster’s ass. Buster let out no sound, but he writhed in the stocks. Trig heard only the clinking of cutlery, plates and cups from people still on the veranda; some of them had left, since the most entertaining punishment was done.

Trig lashed Buster again and again; by the tenth Buster finally uttered a shrill cry, which gave Trig confidence. After a few more, the slave was screaming in the stocks, and Trig took a moment to rest and collect his strength. He was pleased to see a pattern of horizontal red stripes across the slave’s ass.

Perhaps thinking his whipping was done, Buster was surprised and shocked by the next lash that Trig landed in his glowing ass, shrieking shrilly. Trig looked at Jasmine briefly, before continuing his whipping of Buster; she was alternating looking at Buster with empathy and Trig with eyes pleading for mercy. Trig averted his own eyes from the bitch, and focused on his target, laying several more strong lashes on Buster. Trig was surprised at the high pitch of Buster’s shrieks after each lash. Buster’s unbound bare feet instinctively tried to flee from the pain behind him, making him bang his neck and head into the wood of the stocks, his collar and tag clanking. There was some laughter from the veranda at his futile efforts as he shrieked after every lash.

Trig had drawn back his arm for an umpteenth lash when he felt Mathias’ hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough. Now Jasmine,” he said.

Trig walked towards the gallows, where Jasmine was bent in a severe strappado that made a perfect target of her ass. Her eyes met Trig’s; they were wide with terror, looking up at Trig as though he was a monstrous predator approaching a weak and wounded prey.

Looking at the terrified slave, Trig felt a moment of compassion for her. Jasmine had been chained in his bed time to time; she was no great beauty, but was a pretty and enjoyable slave, pleasant in her form, eager to please and appreciative of being in his bed. She was very noisy when she orgasmed underneath him, which made Trig secretly happy that he had pleased her; one was not supposed to care about pleasing slaves.

Trig raised the whip, and Jasmine turned and tried to run away, wincing as the strappado jerked her arms upwards. Her pathetic attempt to flee presented her pretty ass to him, and he brought the whip down on her. She screamed at the blow, which surprised Trig; it wasn’t a particularly accurate lash; the gallows cable allowed the slave more freedom than the stocks that held Buster, and she scrambled about under the frame.

It took only a few more lashes before Jasmine was in hysterics. Trig was new to handling human livestock, but it seemed to him that her shrieks and screams were from something other than the pain of his whip; beneath the welts on her body, it seemed she was suffering a much deeper wound.

After a little while longer, Jasmine was dangling by her wrists from the cable, no longer able to even attempt to dodge the whip, just a piece of limp meat as the lash came down on her. Trig let the whip uncoil into the dirt. He didn’t need Mathias to tell him it was enough.

Trig turned away from Jasmine, seeing Mathias holding Buster’s head by the hair and chin with both hands, forcing him to watch Jasmine’s whipping. Mathias undid Buster from the stocks, and led him by the collar to the small, black iron hotbox where he would spend the night. It was not part of the punishment, but a simple practical solution to handling a slave in emotional chaos. No one wanted Buster to do something that night which might require even more severe discipline.

There was piece of chalk in a slot and Mathias wrote “BUSTER” above the small door of the hotbox. Ever the professional, Mathias didn’t want a slave to be forgotten in the box; death would usually occur within a few days if that happened. A slave put to death was one thing; a slave killed by incompetence was different.

Next, Mathias undid Jasmine’s bonds and removed her wooden phallus; he was pleased to see that she was looking away from Buster, suggesting that he had achieved the necessary goal of demonstrating to her that Buster was not, and had never been a “man” in any sense; he was a slave, as craven and pathetic as any slave, and that she was ashamed of him, and of herself.

Once freed, Jasmine flopped into the dirt, and slowly crawled to her assigned place among the assembled slaves. Mathias released them from “fours” and had them line up for their evening feeding, a tub of mush borne by two dicks and a bitch carrying a stack of tin bowls and spoons.

The veranda was empty, except for Lily cleaning up and stacking dirty plates and cutlery. Mathias noticed her licking blueberry pie filling from a few plates, but decided to ignore it. There had been enough punishment for the day.