Disconnections

Disconnections
a series of stories by Eve Adorer

The Homecoming
Synopsis: - England, at some future time when.....

The Homecoming
by Eve Adorer

It is a truth, universally observed, that in any bouquet of pretty girls, in the absence of a negress, the outstandingly attractive posy will be the redhead.

Ellicia Jones was “just the girl next door”. She was the very attractive wife other girls’ husbands were keen to have at dinner parties. And yet she was also the lovely young woman the wives of those same husbands had no qualms about inviting.

The wives, of course, knew men found Ellicia – “Elly” – a honey-pot. At parties, she was always surrounded by so many of that particular sub-species that the wonder was she didn’t drown in men. But they also knew her attraction was nothing more than natural. She was a very pretty very shapely girl, with love and laughter in her eyes, and a gorgeous giggle. She did not set out to seduce. All Ellicia needed to do, was be, and that was seductive enough for any mere male.

There had been rumours of Ellicia having had affairs with one or more of the neighbours’ wives. But, those same wives had compared notes, found none who blushed at the question whether they had taken the stunning Ellicia to bed, and concluded that the gossip must be a fantasy concocted by one or more of their husbands.

Their husbands probably couldn’t believe that Ellicia could resist being unfaithful with one or more among themselves. To admit such a prospect struck too hard a blow to their masculinity. So they had let fantasy become the daughter of wishful thinking, and concluded that Ellicia, if she didn’t yield to masculine charms other than those of her own husband, and she didn’t, must: “like a bit of pussy on the side”.

Then one day, at a coffee-morning get-together, while Ellicia was out of the room, one of the wives had confessed she had indulged her husband’s fantasy, and admitted that, if she had ever fancied taking a girl to bed, it would have been Ellicia. And among giggling cries of: “Oh, and why not me then?!” a likely source of the rumours that at least one husband must have seeded among his fellows had been teased out.
..........................

On any day of the week, David and Ellicia Jones, “the folks next door”, seemed the ideal married couple.

David was ‘something in banking’. Nobody on the street was quite clear what. He clearly wasn’t one of those being paid an obscene annual bonus. But, even so, the couple were obviously well off.

Ellicia was known to have been in banking for some time as well. But, as the neighbours understood, a year back, because of the long-distance commuting it had involved since she and David had moved with his job, here to Skenton, she had given up her career to become a full-time housewife; and loved being just that.

Yet today, just after breakfast, there seemed to be a little tension in the household of David and Ellicia Jones, loving man and wife.

David was about to go to a room in their home set out as an office for him to work at home; Ellicia dressed to go out.

Ellicia was deliciously shaping-out a well-tailored clearly top-price designer apple-green pure wool miniskirt and matching jacket combo. Beneath its jacket, her off-white silk blouse was tensioned attentively by her more than generous bosom.

Her shapely legs, in suspender-supported white nylons, had their calves sculpted to erotic tension by her seven-inch-stiletto-heeled two-tone green patent leather strappy slingbacks.

Her glorious straight radiantly red hair flowed to just below where her buttocks rearward rotundity counter-balanced the pronounced prominence of her breasts.

Under her clothing, Ellicia wore a full-cup underwired brassiere. And, contrary to the wishful thinking of the men in the neighbourhood, she did wear panties; or, rather, a tiny g-string, in which it made a pouch with a clearly delineated close-closed-lipped Giaconda smile.

That the underwear Ellicia wore had been jointly chosen with her husband, with David having the casting vote, could be reliably deduced. An opened red rose embroidered at each nipple decorated her brassiere, and found their single echo in a tightly closed red rosebud at the crotch of her g-string in the area were its clitoris was secreted. Her g-string matched the pure white of her brassiere and suspenders.

There was nothing extra to ordinary there. But the slim elasticised straps dangling from her suspender belt till the slide-in studs at their adjusted adjustable endings clasped her stockings’ tops, took a straight path at the front of her thighs, but, at the rear, enjoyed a slightly impractical but equally erotically scenic route, framing her heart-shaped firm smooth bare bottom.

Outstandingly attractive, but, for some reason this morning, almost as nervous and unsure of herself, Ellicia made her standard enquiry of her loving husband:

“How do I look?”

“Just wonderful darling; but then you always look wonderful!”

“Oh David!”

“Elly, sweetheart, we’ve been over this over a dozen times. It’s just a letter from the local police back where we lived for four years, four years ago. I don’t know why you’ve got so anxious about it. It just says they’d like to find if you can help with enquiries.”

“It’s probably about that poor little shoplifter girl you saw stealing, when was it, six months back when you were visiting over at Hill-Pinset? There’s nothing at all sinister in that.”

“It was your choice, a sensible choice, to call in on the police while you are at your mother’s again for the week. They said in their letter, that if you phoned and made an appointment, they’d have willingly come here”.

“But why wouldn’t they say on the phone, what it’s all about?”

“Confidentiality darling. Would you like your case discussed with an uninvolved stranger, just a potential witness, over an unsecure phone line?”

“Sweetheart, we have been over this. That bloody insider-dealing business is long since out of the way. It’s a year since Henway Marshall let you and your team go. And you know perfectly well that you were personally assured there was no question of you yourself not being other than entirely innocent.”

“They got rid of the team as a whole, and therefore you as well, because you were its leader, so as to prevent even the remotest possibility of a stain on the bank that would have lost them clients. They had to be seen to take the ultimate action with you all without exemption, else The Business World, and that grubby little bitch of a reporterette who broke the story, would have annihilated Henways.”

“Am I being so annoying?”

At this, David Jones swept his beautiful flame-haired wife, a girl he had adored since their college-days together, into his arms and kissed her gently on her ever-willing soft lips.

He then held her by her slim trim waist with her leaning back at arms’ length to admire her lovely face, as he teased: “And besides; mother said she’d come round daily, and clean and cook while you’re away.”

“David Jones! Is that all you’re going to miss me for?! I hate you!”, Ellicia outraged with a giggle, lovingly swinging a pretty hand at her husband’s face to slap it, while making sure he would catch her wrist before she could make impact, and knowing that she would then be made to surrender, once more, to a kiss.

The two lovers, lovers still after five years of marriage, parted reluctantly.

Ellicia located and sweetly angled on her head before the hallway floor-length mirror, her warm-cream-coloured broad-brimmed low-dome-crowned soft-felt hat. This had a hatband-ribbon of jacket-and-skirt-echoing apple green tied bow at its rear, with long tails from the ribbon that would flutter in the lightest breeze.

Now she took off a shelf and drew on, over very pretty hands, a pair of white silk gloves, unfurling them to just below each elbow. She then worked her fingers to the extremity of the gloves’ fingers, with presses by the opposite hand’s fingers on each “gusset” of her gloves’ finger stalls by turn, before finally ensuring they were fully drawn up her slender arms.

And last, she took hold, from a hall stand, of the white parasol she would always carry in the warmer months to protect her supremely white supremely soft lightly freckle-kissed complexion from over-exposure to the sun.

As his wife still thresholded the doorstep, before he could stop himself, David added:

“Now, are you sure you’ve got everything sweetheart?” and metaphorically wished he could bite his tongue off for asking, knowing that Ellicia would always want to pack more changes of outfits, shoes, underwear, hats, makeup, brushes, skirts, blouses, dresses, more shoes, and what you may, and more shoes, and was relieved when she didn’t seem to hear that particular enquiry.

So he then speedily added, as cover: “See you at the end of the week darling .......Friday ..... I’ll be at the station..... Promise....”

Outside her home and shared love-nest, Ellicia unfurl-raised her parasol whilst also taking gloved-hand grasp of a large wheeled travel case containing barely enough, in her view, to see her through the week she would be visiting her mother, and began to exit down her marital home’s front garden path to wiggle the quarter mile to the train station.

“Hurry now darling, or you’ll miss your train. Give my love to your momma, and my regards to sleepy old Hill-Pinset.”

“Take good care my love”, David soothed sincerely.

“Bye sweetheart!”, this latter mouthed by David, after a blown kiss, as he waved his adoring adorable wife on her way from the gateway of their Skenton home to adorn and bless the pavement sidewalk with her steps to Skenton’s rail station.

Merely by walking Ellicia gave meaning to the words “spice” and “entice”, her bottom’s roll role in her seductive stroll being the apotheosis of the dance.
..........................

By some miracle known only unto she who must also have created the sheer wonder of girls, Ellicia’s train arrived at Skenton Central exactly on time, to the very second. Both English Railways and god truly moved in mysterious ways that day.

Once safely aboard, after being adored by a station porter who longed she would grant him the honour of helping her with her luggage, which she politely did and which he eagerly did, Ellicia texted ahead to her mother that she expected to arrive at Hill-Pinset’s train station at 11.30 – this being confirmation of last evening’s final arrangements phone call.
..........................

An hour and a half later, after all the slow-train’s other station stops, alighting her delightful presence at the station in the village of her birth, some fifty miles north of her new marital home in Skenton, Ellicia’s honey-glowing hazel eyes espied that nothing had changed.

But that was hardly surprising. It had only been two weeks since she had last visited her mother, and therefore Hill-Pinset; Ellicia’s home before she’d married and the locale of her first home with David, was more “just” than mere “much” the same.

Ellicia just couldn’t wait to be with her “mummy” again. There was such a lot to talk about. That was, of course, despite that they had been on the telephone to each other for two solid hours only the previous evening; for Ellicia was a girl in every meaning of that most wonderful of all the words in all the world’s dictionaries.

A short wiggle to her childhood home, a loving embrace of mummy, a long chat before during and after lunch, followed by a quick look at her watch and discovery that Ellicia was already late, another lovely girly trait, to make her appointed time at the local police station.
..........................

Ellicia need not have worried. The appointed hour was 02.00 p.m. By when she got to the precinct house it was 02.30 p.m., and yet at 02.45 she still stood in a queue, waiting to make her arrival known to the pretty blonde desk sergeant.

The sergeant’s endless patience was being tested by an elderly gentleman whose short-term memory was challenged to retain the directions she was giving him. He wanted Hill-Pinset’s bus station. Unfortunately, for the length of Ellicia’s wait, it needed for him to be directed across the other side of the village from where he now was, and to recall his turns left from his turns right, and the order of the distinctive buildings that would act as his landmarks.

As she waited, Ellicia found herself unusually nervous. And, as she flexed her very shapely legs, with her constantly shifting her feet where she stood in line, the musical clitter-clatter of her stilettos on the station house’s mock-marble floor, eroticised the air.

At long last, the previous customer was satisfied – he held a hurriedly drawn diagram - and left, leaving Ellicia now at the front of the police station’s counter.

Free at last, the desk sergeant smiled her apology. In that smile and its accompanying look, which had already unconsciously run up Ellicia’s legs and body as she stepped forward, before it found her exceptionally pretty face, Ellicia recognised that this blonde found her sexually alluring.

Ellicia was used to other girls being distracted by and attracted to her charms, and, as reward for the unspoken compliment, simply smiled back with eyes aglow.

“How may I help you Miss.....?” the pretty blonde sergeant enquired, leaving a silent query-ended gap to inviting Ellicia to orally fill in the name she should be addressed by.

“‘Mrs’ actually”, Ellicia responded sweetly, but nervously.

The sergeant smiled indulgently. She knew this very attractive woman was not seeking to be rude. She wasn’t ‘trying to be clever’ as the teen girls so often were on like occasions.

“I have an appointment with...I had a letter from a Lieutenant Envers?”

Ellicia passed the unfolded A4 letter over, face up, pressing its former folds as flat as she could on the counter between the sergeant and herself with her gloved fingers, and at the same time turning it the right way around for the pretty blonde to read.

“Oh I see. Righty-ho. I’m afraid Alarsanta’s..... the Lieutenant is out on a case at the mo’ Mrs er...” [the sergeant’s eyes sought Ellicia’s name on the letter] “.....Mrs Jones. She’ll be back afore an hour and less. If you’d be kind enough to take a seat [‘so I can have a good look at your lovely legs’ thought the sergeant, hoping her eyes didn’t tell what was on her mind]. I’m sure she won’t be long, not what with you and ‘er ‘aving an appointment like....”

When Ellicia sat, the surreptitious glimpses from the sergeant were not disappointed or disappointing. Indeed, the brevity of Ellicia’s miniskirt displayed, as well as her shapely calves, her handsome thighs as a double-bonus. However, though it was not for want of trying prying looks, the sergeant’s eyes failed to satisfy her perfectly natural subliminal ‘yes or no’ enquiry in regard to the presence or absence of panty.

“Mrs Ellicia Jones?” queried, suddenly, a stunning brunette, who seemed to have appeared on the scene from out of nowhere.

Ellicia rose and blushed.

“How do you do, Mrs Jones..... Lieutenant Alarsanta Envers? Step this way and we can talk in my office.”

Alarsanta Envers was forty something in the lower numbers. As a detective, she was in civilian clothes: crisp white blouse and pleated black miniskirt, black stockings - stockings rather than tights Ellicia guessed - and practical and clunky one-inch heeled lace-up black leather shoes. It would have been no great deduction that Alarsanta was a gymnasium freak. Her body was youthful lithe and clearly exceptionally fit.

Ellicia suddenly found herself with a feeling she hadn’t had since she had been at school: the onrush of a crush. When she, Ellicia, had been but fourteen, she had fallen in love with her French teacher, a Miss German. And that strange feeling had just come over her again... some tummy butterflies, an urge to display her attractions... almost to overplay her femininity.... The age difference with Alarsanta Envers here today, and Miss German back then, was about the same.

Ellicia decided that she would go along with this urge, this feeling. Lieutenant Alarsanta Envers was a very attractive woman. By all appearance she was as cool calm and collected as lovely Ellicia was often a tad ditzy. And Ellicia had an innate attraction to calmness at the helm in the stormy waters in which she lived her emotional life. That was why she adored David. That was also why she felt drawn to older women; not least those as good looking as Alarsanta Envers.

Given this subconscious need had become conscious attraction; when she sat as bade by Alarsanta, Ellicia felt compelled to display a little more leg, and to look down at the mating display made with her bared thighs with a look that said to the sad looking life-experienced dark brown eyes of the Lieutenant: ‘Why don’t you “ease your eyes here?’.

“I’m afraid we’ve had a complaint, Mrs Jones.”

“‘Ellicia’.... please feel free to call me ‘Ellicia’.”

Well, it’s a sworn affidavit, actually, Mrs....Ellicia. It’s from people whose names I’m not at liberty to reveal. They’ve asked for anonymity. And that’s been granted by the court.” Lieutenant Envers announced, ignoring Ellicia’s invitation to admire her thighs.

“What could that possibly be about Lieutenant? I’m sure I’ve done nothing wrong. Are you certain you’ve got the right person? You must be mistaken surely....”

“I’m sure there’s no mistake....Ellicia. That is unless you’re not Ellicia Jones nee Lovepiece who married a David Jones here in Hill-Pinset five years ago this July? And you weren’t the Ellicia Lovepiece who was educated at St Angel and All Saints Academy for Girls here in the village? You match the photograph.....”

“That’s all absolutely correct. But what can this possibly be about? Did I ought to pinch myself? I can’t believe this! It’s like I was having a dream: a bad dream: a nightmare!” Ellicia begged, with pretty tears teetering as pear-shaped diamonds at the corners of her pleading eyes.

Lieutenant Envers had, of course, seen this kind of thing before. She’d recognised how highly-strung Ellicia was. It so often went with beautiful women. Girls such as Ellicia, were so often unsure of themselves. It was as if their stunning attractiveness made them feel constant prey; at least to doubts. It was as if it put them in torment.

Of course, that only added to their beauty. But there was a feedback circle there. Some girls, such as this, were tipped over into a nervous near insanity simply because of the wonder of their wonderful wonder. Alarsanta sensed that Ellicia, like many a thoroughbred, was constantly uncertain and on emotional edge. But that, underneath, she had a strong core; that she had the strength of a girl indeed.

“Please don’t get upset Ellicia. I’m sure it will all be quickly sorted. And I expect it will turn out to be nothing that can’t be easily resolved.”

At this the Lieutenant pressed a button on an intercom on the right of where she sat centred behind her desk...

“Good afternoon Vona; Alarsanta. I’ve got a Mrs Ellicia Jones nee Lovepiece here? Is the duty judge free?”

“Makepeace?” Ellicia heard queried from a long seeming distance.

“No....Lovepiece... L.... O.... V.... E.... Case number....hang on it’s here in front of me somewhere..... I know I’ve seen it.... Right.... Case number 38DD2037.”

“Okay, right.....Yes, yes, she’s free. But it’s Judge Smyth-Carter. And I better warn you, she’s in one of her moods!”

“Thanks Vona.”

“Let’s pop in on Investigating Judge Smyth-Carter, Ellicia. And take no notice of what you’ve just heard. Judge Cassidy Smyth-Carter is one sharp cookie, and Vona, the communal secretary for the duty judges, could sometimes try the patience of a saint.
..........................

For Ellicia, there followed a wiggle down the covered umbilical corridor that led from the police station across a one hundred yard gap to its semi-attached courthouse, an introduction to the judge’s secretary, Vona of the recent distant intercom voice, a knock on the duty judge’s door by Vona, who popped her head around its imposing oak substance while her feet still stood, respectfully, in her own room, and was heard to announce......

.....“Mrs Ellicia Jones, nee Lovepiece, with Lieutenant Alarsanta Envers, my lady”

.....before Vona stepped across the door’s threshold, still on her own office carpet, and opened the door wider, holding it thus with her back to it, to leave sufficient room for the two would-be entrants to enter, before she returned to the room her feet had only in this last action left, adding the obvious: “You can go in now.”

Investigating Judge Cassidy Smyth-Carter had Ellicia stand before her imposing green leather centre-covered dark oak desk, with Alarsanta at her side.

Cassidy Smyth-Carter was an astonishingly attractive negress of around thirty. A business-like smile passed over her generous lips. In her heart she wanted to reassure Ellicia. In her mind she knew she had the onerous duty of upholding the law. And that and that alone was why the smile, messaging a kind heart behind the austere visage, was so perfunctory.

“Who precisely is this young lady, Lieutenant Envers?”

“Mrs Ellicia Jones nee Lovepiece, case number 38DD2037 m’lady.”

“Ah yes. I read up on that one just this morning.”

“I apologise in advance for having to use such language, Mrs Jones. But we have a sworn affidavit from people whose credentials are impeccable, and they say that you.... well, to come straight to the point...... that you masturbated on several distinct occasions, for which they give locations, dates, and even commencement times, when you were at school. Would that be right?”

Ellicia was astounded. Completely taken aback, she exclaimed, unthinkingly directly, and without due respect for the court:

“Good god! I was at St Angels. It was totally forbidden. I would have been expelled if I had... I’ve never ever masturbated. It’s totally disgusting. I would never ever do it. It’s nauseating! Horrible! But, for god’s sake, I left school six or seven years ago.”

“Mrs Jones, though it’s not in the words you speak as such, your tone is saying to me that there might be some truth in the accusation. I read into your response that you could well be in denial of an underlying truth. Mrs Jones; you would be wise to be honest with the court.”

“No m’lady, I am not in any way saying I ever did it. What nonsense is this? The school has no hold over me now... not after seven years. I’ve graduated from college since then, and taken a post graduate degree. For god’s sake, I’ve been married for five years. My husband, David, likes to masturbate me. But I wouldn’t touch myself that way, even for him. It’s too...it’s so gross; it’s foul, it’s disgusting....”

“Calm down now, Mrs Jones. Calm down. I have to enquire. It’s a matter of law. It’s the Morality of the Female Act of course. I have to be sure.”

“Let’s be understanding here Mrs Jones. You’re not exactly convincing me that there’s no truth in the allegation. Indeed, your reaction is one I’ve seen very often, even in my few years on the magistrates’ bench; and every time it’s been the reaction of someone who’s guilty as charged.”

“Who is it that’s accusing me m’lady?!”

“There is no reason for me to tell you that, no liberty for me to do so, and no right for you to know. The affidavit has been signed witnessed and sealed. You, young lady, have no right whatsoever other than the right to prove to me, right here and now, that what it affirms is, in fact, untrue. I need irrefutable counter-evidence. And you have said nothing that, even reading between the lines, would convince anyone. The law is quite clear.”

“Mrs Ellicia Jones nee Lovepiece, I am arresting you on the charge that you did, while a pupil of St Angels and All Saints Academy for Girls in the Village of Hill-Pinset, in the County of Dortford, on one or several occasions, avail yourself of the opportunity to masturbate yourself, in contravention of the rules of that institution, the contract signed by one or both of your parents and / or guardians, and therefore both in breach of contract and of the Morality of the Female Act of June 2032 and Amendment 14 of the said Act of August 2034.....”

“Do you plead guilty? If not, it will be my sad duty to have you whipped.”

“Please!” Ellicia pleaded.

“Have her whipped please Lieutenant. Ten lashes....”
..........................

At that same moment, Ellicia, safe at home in her bed, shot up to sit still half-sleeping but full-screaming.

“Darling, darling, it’s just a bad dream.... it’s just that same bad dream, David reassured her as he wrapped his terrified wife in his arms.

“Don’t let them take me David!”

“Darling, you know I love you. I will always love you.”

Ellicia’s tears streamed and he held her.

“I know you’re frightened darling. But the law is the law sweetheart. You admitted your guilt....”

“They whipped me David! They whipped me!!”

As he wrapped the terrified Ellicia in his arms David could still feel the brutal ridges of the welts from Ellicia’s whipping; healed now in the month since, but still scarring the soft complexion of her back.

He had seen the truth of her interrogation when she had come home, completely unexpectedly, the day after she had gone to visit her mother in Hill Pinset. Her back was still bleeding then. It had taken an age to take her blouse off. It had stuck onto the scabs forming on her still fresh cruel welts as she had travelled home on the train. Removing it was agonising for her, and her brutalised back had bled the more once more.

It was part of the punishment. Sending Ellicia home was part of the punishment. Sending Ellicia home after they had whipped her, served to remind her that she was answerable to the law. Ellicia had then to choose the timing of her final punishment for having dared to masturbate when she had been but an early teen, thus adding the torture of anticipation of her punishment for that crime to her punishment for that crime.

David longed for the Ellicia he loved to return to him in spirit as well as corporeally. He was a patient man, but even the most patient among saints must have physical needs this side of heaven.

It was not that Ellicia had lost interest in making love. She had always been a passionate girl. But he knew he had lost that essence that turned mere sex into an expression of something on a far higher level.

He was no longer able to give her a cum with his cock. It was as if, since she had been whipped, she, or he, or they, had lost that certain something that tipped her over the boundary and made David proud of his prowess in responding, once in a while, to Ellicia’s passion and need for full satiation, with his cock alone.

But he seemed to have lost her. Since her whipping David seemed to have lost Ellicia.

If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought their love-life was challenged by a third party. But, then, Ellicia would never be unfaithful to him; that he was sure of. And besides, it had only been since the whipping that it had happened. She’d been healing and recovering and, besides that, it was surely too short a while ago for her to have strayed into another’s bed.

Of course she was frightened of the day she knew she must choose from a list of those available, to suffer her final punishment for that she had confessed to. But, for David, it was more than just that.

Ellicia had not lost her love of physical love. But it was as if her threshold, her trigger, that which was needed to tip her over to orgasm had moved to a different order, a differing plain.

To David this was a complete mystery. Why could he no longer satisfy her fully anymore? What had happened during the whipping to take away this loveliest aspect of their marital combining?

Of course he had not cummed her with his cock alone every time they had made love; not even when it had included her taking it up her bum, which she just adored. But the golden occasions when his pride in his manhood was renewed by her kisses after she had had a cum, or even cums, after a cocking alone, had completely gone. What did his adorable and adoring Ellicia now need to take her to heaven?

In the month since Ellicia had been whipped and confessed her guilt, the rumour mill had been at work. David had made enquiries of contacts at Ellicia’s old employers, Henway Marshall Bank. It was still only speculation. But it seemed that two girls, two former school contemporaries of Ellicia, had signed the affidavit before a notary public, as revenge. They blamed Ellicia for causing Henway Marshall to let them go. It had taken a year to work its way through the legal labyrinth.

They believed she had told on them for the insider trading they’d indulged. And this was their way of getting back at her. The contradictory fact that Ellicia had been fired too, they dismissed. They’d concluded she’d left with a handsome bonus pay-off – not just David Jones, but a financial one. And the opulence of Ellicia’s marital home, to them, was proof she must have told on them, and sold them as soiled.
..........................

Ellicia’s dream had been as vivid and as precisely detailed as if it had been a film of the facts.

The concrete floor of the room was tiled. Cold white square ceramic tiles covered the walls; larger irregular-rectangle brick-coloured products the floor.

Water hoses, neatly-evenly wrapped around storage-drums that looked like truck wheels sans tyres, were on each side wall. Their purpose might have been related to the prospective outbreak of fire. The floor rose to a slight central crown. There were also squeegee mops in buckets alongside each hose, and what was clearly a drain channel around the edge of the room.

The bare ceiling of the room was twenty feet or so high; and that fact, plus the room’s considerable volume, and the hard covering of its floor and walls, leant voices within its confines, an eerie hint of echo.

Lieutenant Alarsanta Envers was in charge of proceedings. She was assisted by the pretty blonde sergeant, who must have been relieved from her duties behind the visitors’ counter.

In the corner of the room where Ellicia was assembled with her guardians, was a large strong inverted-Y shaped wooden ‘cross’, standing in the horizontal plain, two feet off the floor, mounted on rigid supports at each leg of the upside-down Y bolting it to the floor.

Ellicia was presently standing at midpoint between the two strong prongs of the Y, and seeing, but in her terror not perceiving, the straps near the end of each of these legs, or their triplet at the distant end of the single leg, or the strap and buckle arrangement on the single leg, just above where the two prongs of the inverted-Y melded to become the long stretch of its single prong.

Was Ellicia contemplating the lack of wisdom she had shown in voting into power the Religion and Morals Party for their third term? Hardly.

Was she thinking that she had been foolish not to find time to vote in the referendum that had resulted in the Morality of the Female Act, with its clamp-down on lesbians, the banning of the employment of women in a list of occupations due to be extended over future time; in future time too on their right to an education, on girls’ rights to drink alcohol, and, through interpretation of the ban on lesbianism, the right of girls to use any form of stimulation to excite themselves sexually, especially in a way that could result in an orgasm? Of course not.

That law and its amendments had seemed eminently sensible when proposed. After a succession of recessions, it’d originally been introduced, under a completely different title, to reduce unemployment. Obviously, only girls could bring forth babies. So, in a transformation to the past from the future, girls were to marry and begat and raise children. Over the next ten years, they would hand over the few waged jobs still available, to men alone; thus halving the labour force and, concomitantly, the number of unemployed.

It was the Hetzarian Party that had added the morality elements and insisted on their precedence, including in the final title given the Act. Their votes were essential for the government to survive. Their will had won them their way.

And so here we were.

None of that was even in the furthest back of lovely Ellicia’s mind. She knew the punishment laid down for: “acts of direct indirect or capable of being construed by any reasonable person as of solo or joint or several lesbian deed style or thought in performance nature or direct or indirect intention”, and it was that she was in horror of; that and whether she could withstand what was shortly to come to persuade her to plead guilty to masturbating when she had been just a first-teen naturally exploring the glories of her burgeoning body.

In part, she was to be beaten to make her confess. Was this the 21st century equivalent of the ducking stool for those accused of witchcraft in days of long distant yore? Back then, if you survived you were guilty. Only if you drowned would you have had your reputation restored; though, of course, for you that would be of somewhat limited utility. Ellicia didn’t contemplate that thought either.

The punishment she was about to get, was not only to persuade her to plead guilty, but also for troubling the court by not having already done so. That was why it would not stop even if she pleaded guilty during its administration, or, indeed, even if she pleaded guilty now, before it had yet started.

And, if, after this whipping she had not changed her mind about a guilty plea, the court could, if it so chose, order she be whipped again.

Ellicia had therefore to take her punishment and, if after or during it she decided to plead guilty, be awarded the statutory fait.

Or, if she resisted, hope that, rather than decide she be whipped once more so the court could be sure that it was not being mislead or unduly lenient, instead the court would enter a “not-proven” verdict.

“Undress completely, but you can keep the panties......the g-string on”, Alarsanta Envers quietly ordered.

Ellicia found herself all fingers and thumbs and terrified and tense, and fumbled, and tried to smile through her teetering tears.

“I’m afraid we haven’t got all day, Mrs Jones.....Ellicia”, Alarsanta sympathised without her words soothing the terrified to near petrified Ellicia.

The whip was four feet long. Black leather, it had been skilfully plaited from six original gradually tapering strips, now expertly inextricably interwoven, and intertwined too, with three strands of sharpened-edged spring-steel wire. The far distant tip of its business end showed six short tails beyond where its interwoven leather length and strength had been knotted-off.

The strips at its thick end were the core of a leather tube, which made them into a foot long still flexible handle that was an ideal handful for a woman’s smaller hands. This type of whip was a device popularly referred to in the more sensational news websites, as a “girl-tamer”.

When Alarsanta picked up the curved toward coiled whip and then sought found and wrapped a loop attached at the handle end for that very purpose, around her slender but strong wrist, Ellicia listened to the ‘creak’ of the whip’s desiccated leather.

Now she was naked bar her g, the two women who were to whip Ellicia, tried their hardest not to look at her lovely body, and especially not the reverberations in Ellicia’s very ample breasts, caused by her quaking in fear.

It was the blonde sergeant who bade Ellicia lie face down on the Y, with her head and body down to her bottom on the straight, and her shapely legs parted to align themselves on each of the two branches off from the straight part.

It was the blonde too, who strapped Ellicia’s ankles, and then encouraged her to stretch out her slim arms, with the down on Ellicia’s forearms glistening gold starlight-like in the unrelenting fluorescent lighting, till she could strap the wrists.

And it was the blonde who arranged Ellicia’s glorious red hair aside to one side, and her breasts astride, so that they were divided by the long part of the inverted Y, such that Ellicia’s trunk crushed their soft firmness and made their coral-pink nipples take on very conspicuous “suckle-on-me” pleading conicals. All this before she arranged the up-from-centre-strap across Ellicia’s wisp of a waist, to finally tie her down.

“Sorry, Lieutenant”, the sergeant then explained; displaying something Ellicia could not see, try as she might.

“This one here has been bitten clean through. We need to change it. I’ll have to look in the store”, the sergeant apologised, before she was heard by Ellicia, walking away somewhere beyond.

A seeming age followed, and then Ellicia was able to look up the blonde sergeant’s uniform skirt as she squatted with a device smelling of rubber held near Ellicia’s pretty mouth. And Ellicia saw her fine strong stocking-ringed thighs and her eyes unconsciously sought to see if she could see it, only to find that police issue knickers were of too opaque a hue of dark blue.

“Bite on this Mrs Jones, or else you may bite your tongue. It’s to help? It’s for the pain.”

Ellicia admitted the thick black rubber-bit beyond her coral lips between her wonderfully white teeth, and puzzled how she was to admit guilt as she now longed to, with this gag being tied behind at her neck.

Alarsanta Envers must have whipped other girls and learned from that, or practiced elsewise very assiduously, for she whistled the whip from the floor, where she held it trailing while she stood with her body side-on to Ellicia, nextly neatly through the air, with such speed it must have burned a trail and left a vacuum behind its flow.

And she put her whole arm-strength, full-arm-length, backed by the bending at her waist and the consequent swinging forward of her shoulder and back into the stroke.

And the whip slapped Ellicia’s bare back, cutting her skin leaving a rising ridge welt that burned like agonising fires even after the terrible pain of the lash in its own right, and Ellicia’s soft skin was torn and her wound bled red and the stroke was so excruciatingly painful that Ellicia’s scream spat out her bite-on-gag and she howled and howled with the horrible pain.

But the whip whistled down again, and then rebounded with the ferocity of the impact on her shoulder blades, and Ellicia squealed and screamed incoherently that it had hit her titty, as if that excused her nipples dancing with a sudden excitement of wholly holy feminine origin. And it was true and her right nipple was split and bled as so too did her welt-ridged naked back.

And the whip cracked its echo off Elicia’s poor bleeding back a third time hitting her bare flesh so cruelly hard that it found rebound to from whence it had come; and Ellicia’s body arched in its bonds and then crashed down and crushed her titties on the Y, and blood made mock of maiden’s milk as it squirted from her split right nipple, and Ellicia screamed so loudly and clamped closed her pretty mouth so suddenly after, to ease her pain, that she bit her tongue and blood made crimson spittle from the corner of her succulent lips.

And the whip whistled and lashed and cracked on her bare back a fourth brutal time, and Ellicia merely moaned while she fought to close her legs, to hide the evidence that the whipping of her soft girl’s hide had sounded out, found, and suffice surfaced something deeply hidden even in a very feminine core. And her eyes closed with the savage searing as her skin was cut and a flaming fiery dreadfully painful welt was ribboned across her soft complexion yet again. And yet her tears had dried and her lovely eyes were wide and looking lovingly lengthily in a lengthy direction.

Again the whip’s sigh scorched the air and echoed off the hall’s walls, and it kissed Ellicia’s bared body caressing her with the loudest yet crack on her totally naked back, and cut her skin in an instant’s instant, following the terrible pain from the lash with the fire from the trail it had cut across her silken skin, and the rising of the bruised flesh at each side of the welt it had scored her body with, and the roar of its raw soreness and the blood with which the welt wept while Ellicia yelped akin a helpless whelp and then moaned and closed her eyes and begged that her tormentors should not espy that her nipples were hard as diamonds, and there for all to see was a growing wet patch in her g-string’s crotch, crowing that this was indeed the most feminine of girls.

And now Alarsanta Envers walked around behind Ellicia’s legs [‘Oh god don’t let her see I’ve dampened my panties! Please don’t let her see my moist panties!’] Ellicia muttered in her mind as she closed tight her eyes in her plea, as she fought too to close two pretty legs.

Now she was aware that the whip was to come down from the other side, and she turned her head to look longingly at her snaking new lover, and must do so, peeping with her golden eyes through a curtain of her disordered glorious hair. [‘Let it kiss my other titty! Please let it kiss my other titty’].

And the whip whistled anew and Ellicia knew anew too the crack on her bare flesh the agony of the stroke the fire of the welt the pain as the bruise grew walls aside the welt’s uncaring path and the blood that wept and the growing pain of the lash that cracked across crisscross where her naked nude skin had already been once twice and even thrice before lashed. And was that her voice screaming “Harder! Harder!!”?

And the whip scorched the oxygen from its path so fiercely that the wonder was it was not followed by a thunder clap, though Ellicia could testify and did with the arching of her body that the crack on her bare back was louder by far in her mind and that her mind screamed more loudly with the pain than her lovely mouth with her throat hoarse with her previous hollering of its horror and the pain again and the stripe across her bare flesh that burned red hot after the savagery of the whip’s kiss and then the welt’s rise and the look in her lovely eyes when her mind finally gave in to her being shear girl and her horny hoarseness hollered “Harder! Harder!! Harder!!! Harder!!!!”

And the whip sighed and Ellicia cried out with joy that was from her very soul and it cracked on her bare back and traced its brutal impact-path and striped her flesh passing path to crossroad with former tracks that spat with blood where Ellicia was cut twice and thrice deeper, where the pain was impossibly on a higher yet plain, and she didn’t recognise the voice though it was her very own uttering vile words to make balm for her terrible agony and then reverting to full-on fulsome girl again as she longed to direct that which had made her g-string so wringing wet and so begged “Whip my tit! Whip my tit!! Whip my other tit!!!

“Whip me for masturbating! I masturbated!! I wanked myself till I came!! I’m a filthy whore! I masturbated!! Whip me! Whip me!! Whip my tit! Whip my tit!! Whip my other tit for masturbating!!! Whip my cunt for masturbating!!! Whip my cunt!!! Whip my cunt!!! Harder! Harder!! Harder!!!!! And the lash cracked on Ellicia’s bare back turning her girl-mind-disordered-ordered pleas into another howl that again fell short of expressing her terrible pain, and she shouted and screamed obscenities to ease the horror of her bloodied and bleeding stripes.

And Ellicia’s lovely loving eyes were closed, and so too were her coral-pink lips silenced, as she waited for her lover to express devotion to her with another kiss. And she longed and patiently waited for her lover’s return, and she spurned all other would-be lovers while the love of her life was away, nobly sacrificing her life serving her country in the air. And then Ellicia’s silent celibacy was answered by her lover’s savage return home landing and the passionate kiss that only a girl who has waited so patiently for her lover’s return and the ending of her voluntary abstinence, can get from the girl who has sacrificed her all for the same; and the crack across Ellicia’s bare back was so savagely brutal this last time, that the girl-tamer larruped back at Alarsanta, who only just avoided having it hit her in the face, and Ellicia’s body having stiffened to a rigidity that a long-dead corpse could not possibly have matched, she screamed and screamed and screamed, the final lash having cut her sweet flesh almost it seemed through to her ribs, and then so suddenly were they filled with an agonising sensation of fire like molten metal had been poured within their cores, that Ellicia was sure as sure can be sure, that her tits would burst, and, all of a sudden, with a single singular combination, she squirted in her panties, and worse, more did she pour, as she twin-hosed the floor with endless fierce jets of liquid that she had never ejaculated before, and she cried out till her voice went beyond hoarse on its course to being the sound of a whore that has met her match and fate and mate, and Ellicia came and came and came from her cumming and from her cumming from her cumming as she squander-squirted a three-legged-stool, pissing triple pools, that met and melded and flowed one into one and into one another under the Y frame......

.......And then she turned her head and smiled with her lovely mouth and her golden eyes up at her torturer, and whispered, mouthing with her sweet lips to the completely bewitched Alarsanta Envers: “Thank you.”

Recalling she had her duties to perform for the court, Lieutenant Alarsanta Envers reluctantly drew her eyes away from the bewitching Ellicia, who, anyway, now appeared to be lost in totally exhausted bliss.

And so, Alarsanta, removing the handle loop of the whip from her wrist, and looking for the towel she had left ready to bathe from her brow the perspiration produced by her efforts in the flogging, instructed her equally bewitched assistant:

“Hose her piss and milk off the floor will you please, Sergeant.....”
..........................

On a Saturday morning twelve days after Ellicia’s latest nightmare, David rose and went downstairs alone, leaving his lovely wife to catch up with her fitful sleep.

Downstairs distracted, he could find no occupation that absorbed his concentration for much longer than the time he found himself spending looking at his watch and subsequently seeking confirmation of what it told him, from a clock; or vice versa.

Instant coffee he made five times, and poured away, gone cold, by the cupful three out of the five.

Eating was impossible, and not just because, in his distraction, David twice made toast of a hue recognisable to the chefs in hell.

From this, the kitchen stank with the burning. So David tried to find an aerosol air freshener can, he well knew the whereabouts of, only to kneel on his haunches routing around with his eyes alone in the cupboard below the kitchen sink, and suddenly find himself asking that same self what it was that he was looking for.

When the doorbell rang it was it was 10.00 on that morning. When the doorbell rang it was not unexpected. Yet when the doorbell rang David jumped as if he had as suddenly stood on the sharp end of an upended carpet tack.

Answering the ring, David let into his and Ellicia’s home, a strikingly good-looking brunette of around forty, who introduced herself as a Lieutenant Alarsanta Envers of the County Dortford and Skentonshire Police. With her was an attractive blonde.

The brunette wore civilian clothing. The blonde, a uniform with jacket sleeves bearing the three down-pointing chevrons of a sergeant.

The latter politely doffed her cap. But David had already subliminally noticed and unconsciously noted, as if he didn’t already know, that it bore a badge with the running hare that was the County Dortford heraldic device, leaping the queen’s crown that symbolised Skentonshire.

“Ellicia is taking a shower.... I....I’m sure she’ll be down any minute. Would you like to take a seat?”

“Thank you sir”, Alarsanta whispered politely.

“You have a lovely home. The...” the start of Alarsanta’s second sentence clashed with David’s intended “thank you” for the compliment to his and Ellicia’s home. And both would-be speakers stopped at their unintendedly coincident and congruent “Th...”

“Sorry – You go first”, David offered.

“I was just going to say, that....there appears to be quite a crowd gathering in your street. I hope you have nice neighbours. People can get very.....they can be very cruel when.....”

“....I’ve distributed a number of constables on the route from here to the park. So, while we obviously can’t deprive the public of its right to see justice being carried out, we can at least stop any undue interference.”

“Must it be today?” David suddenly blurted, as if he’d forgotten he knew: but more in evidence of his obviously wound-up tension.

“Your wife...Ellicia chose....She’s is on her bleed I trust”

“Yes.”

“And the equipment....still in your garage?”

“Ah..yes....I’ve unlocked the door. There’s a door through from the hallway...that door and the garage door as well, I’ve unlocked them both...”

“.....They use the same key you know”, David added latterly and completely irrelevantly, with his tension thus further on display.

Then, as they suddenly stood in respect when the redheaded beauty announced her lovely presence at the foot of the open staircase that entered the rear of the lounge where they and David sat: “Good morning Mrs Jones”, the two police girls chorused.

Darkened by it’s being still damp from washing in her morning shower, Ellicia’s crowning glory, her radiant hair, was mostly wrapped in a towel. In addition to the white towel as a ‘turban’, she wore only a towelling dressing gown with its waist tie-cord emphasising the beeline nature of her central shapeliness, and heelless slip-on bedroom slippers also in white both.

“Would you like coffee?” Ellicia whispered nervously to her guests.

“That would be just great.....Black with no sugar please....We both don’t.....we neither of us take milk or sugar.”

While Ellicia went into their kitchen, closely followed by Alarsanta, David sat and lowered his head slumping forward with his elbows resting on his parted thighs, his forehead on the heels of his palms.

“It will be alright sir.....Soon be over....” the sergeant ventured as an unsuccessful comfort.

In the kitchen, Alarsanta was whispering firmly to Ellicia: “Forget the coffee Mrs Jones. We’d best be getting on with it, don’t you think?”

“Times moving on I’m afraid. I’m glad you managed some sleep. It’ll make you feel better....help you look your best?”

“Let me have the head-towel and the towelling-dresser and the slip-ons.”

“Are you wearing a tampon or a towel? Either way, get rid right now. When we’re out there, I’m afraid you’re going to have to let the whole world see that you’re on your bleed.”

“Please may I keep the robe till we’re past the lounge...till we’ve passed David?”

Seeing that it was little enough to let Ellicia off one small indignity in the circumstances, “Okay” Alarsanta conceded.

A moment or two later, as Ellicia passed her love in the lounge, she looked for his look of comfort, but saw only the way he lowered his head even more to stare at the carpet. She knew he was aware she was there, but could find no ease for her.
..........................

A few minutes later, as three girls were in David and Ellicia’s garage, and one of them was presently completely naked, while two wore, additionally, thick leather gloves.....

“Try and keep this one between your teeth, Mrs Jones. We’ll have to take it out after we’ve dressed you though....”, the sergeant instructed.

Back in the lounge, even the hands he now pressed to his ears could not save David from the cries of Ellicia’s pain. Or was it pain? Was it just distress? He could hear an insistent buzzing and Ellicia’s loud wordless but far from soundless despair and sad sobbing.

Then he began to hear her cries, indisputable cries of unbearable pain.

[‘What are they doing to her in there!?’] he asked himself, as if he didn’t know.

He knew for confirmed certain though, when, thirty minutes later, he heard the garage’s vehicle-access steel door being raised, that Ellicia had been prepared.

But it was not the silent glide of the rising door that bore into his mind, but the cheers of the neighbours, the jeers of the wives and their teenage daughters in particular, that told him Ellicia’s punishment was proceeding.

“Whip her! Whip the fucking bitch!!”

Through the window David watched what, for him, was a tear-unfocused scene.

Nobody had told him that Ellicia’s head would be shaved bald! They’d sheared and shaved her head completely bald. Gone was her glorious golden hair! Her fabulously alluring red hair had been shorn and shaved from her head!

“Whip her! Whip the whore!!”

She was shod as per tradition. Her feet were bare, but for that around each of her big toes she wore a stainless-steel tube-ring, of a length sufficient to circle her toe down to just above the first joint down from her foot.

Her “shoes” thereafter made mock of mules. The tube-rings were where a big toe containing strap might have been in some design of sandals. But the tubes were in the vertical and not the horizontal plain. And the stainless-steel “mules” sole that was behind it comprised a bed of needle-sharp up-thrusting nails of rising lengths, with a final broader nine-inch nail that made play of being each shoe’s heel.

“Whip her! Whip the fucking slag!!”

These torture shoes were buckled to Ellicia’s ankles, by means of a vertical stainless-steel riser just behind the base of the heel nail. This rigid riser was strapped at each of her ankles, with buckled and padlocked leather straps that were attached by rings around the round riser, so that they could slide up as far as a preventive stop, or down as far as floor level, if, in the latter case, Ellicia cared to impale her feet.

And Ellicia was thus encouraged to walk on the very tip-top of her painfully bent big toes, or skewer her pretty feet on the merciless soulless spitefully spiked soles and heels of her torture shoes.

“Whip her! Whip the bitch!!”

Ellicia’s shoes were inseparably-twinned by a two-inch-long hobble-chain between the tube-rings on her big toes.

Bars extended sideways out just beyond each of her shoe-imprisoned feet. These extensions beyond her toe rings, being rigid, and ending in horizontal-plain fixing-rings.

“Whip her! Whip the fucking tart!!”

Around Ellicia’s slender neck, she wore a stainless steel yoke. It had a hinged tubular neck-brace; the hinge of this being behind her neck, the neck-brace closed to contain her neck, and the closed brace then padlocked at where her Adam’s apple was, like with all girls, discreetly hidden.

“Whip her! Whip the whore!!”

This neck-brace also held her head rigid, and obliged her to look exclusively forwards, head up, as she walked.

“Whip her! Whip the fucking slag!!”

Out from the bottom edge of Ellicia’s neck brace, to complete her yoke, were the stainless-steel shoulder covers. These long “epaulettes” went a little beyond each shoulder. They were shaped like an inverted-U to cup her shoulders. At the ends furthest from her neck, they were secured by straps under each armpit.

Padlocked horizontal-plain rings at their far outer ends beyond her armpits, clamped Ellicia’s slender wrists, leaving her pretty hands waving helplessly in the air at just above her shoulders.

“Whip her! Whip the bitch!!”

Oh, and of course, she was wrapped in barbed-wire.

Ellicia’s legs, thighs, buttocks, belly, back, and trunk, wore an ankle-long “dress” comprised of two tight-taut lengths of brutal multi-barbed barbed-wire: wire barbed at one inch intervals, essentially throughout its length.

These barbed-wire strands were wrapped around her in two slowly rising corkscrew coils, one anchored to her left steel shoe’s toe ring, before it embraced her naked flesh with no more than one inch gap between its “paths”, as it coiled helter-skelter around and up her bare body in a clockwise direction. And the other, crossing the first coil’s ‘paths’, as it did the same cruel service in the counter-clockwise direction.

“Whip her! Whip the cunt!!”

Each of these coils ended under her armpits; her arms and hands being outside of, and not imprisoned in the barbed-wire. And for their last two feet of length their endings lacked barbs.

And the tips of their top ends went through holes in her yoke; holes next her armpits toward the front of the yoke. And each coil at its top end, was secured securely to a strong steel ring that rested above the holes in her yoke, and thus stopped the coils slipping back through the holes and coming loose.

“Whip her! Whip the fucker!!”

And they had not neglected to provide Ellicia with underwear. For she wore a barbed-wire thong, the single strand gusset of which was firmly pulled up inside it, so that its soft outer lips gently kissed several brutally sharp barbs.

And thus that which already seeped with the monthly blessing that distinguishes girl as the highest form of existence short of angel, was kissed by savage barbs.

So too did the barbed-wire run up between the cheeks of Ellicia’s firm bottom. This was arranged so she was arraigned such that one barb rested within her anus.

“Whip her! Whip the fucking bitch!!”

And both of her tits were multi-wind barbed-wire wrapped with tight coils that bit into their soft firmness nearest her chest, making the unwired tips of her tits bulbous.

Her tits pronouncedly pronounced their very pert presence beyond the confines of the barbed-wire that wrapped her body’s trunk. Her breasts were imprisoned in barbed-wire in their independent right, not within her helical hell-dress.

And the individual single strands of barbed-wire apiece, in which her tits were wrapped, were crisscrossed such that they doubled-back, so that, for each tit, two ends apiece were near her chest at the top of each breast. And these ends, four in total, ran for a two foot length without barbs, and again finished fastened to steel rings, after they, the loose lengths, had passed through holes provided for that purpose in Ellicia’s yoke: the same holes as the barbed-wire of her hell-dress.

“Whip her! Whip the tart!!”

And nor had they neglected her nipples, for a single stand of barbed-wire was fastened to the criss-cross wraps around the base of her tits, such that it fashioned its path over the top and under the bottom of each of the otherwise bulbous bulging end of each tit, and ensured a barb bit into each nipple.

“Whip her! Whip the fucking bitch!!”

To finish Ellicia’s barbed-wire binding, the rubber bite-gag that she had been allowed her for the pain while they had wired her up, had been removed, and she now had a barbed-wire gag, with a barb in her pretty mouth right over her tongue.

“Whip her! Whip the fucking slag!!”

And to denote that this girl was the prettiest of pretty princesses, she wore a four ply weave barbed-wire crown pressed down over her bald-shaved head onto her brow.

“Whip her! Whip the cunt!!”

But could even this latest barbaric barbarous brutal torture tame a girl?

Ellicia had struggled to wiggle onto the path that led down to the front garden gate of her love-nest and home. But she had a mile yet to go.

“Walk Ellicia; walk sweetheart, or we will have to whip you” Alarsanta gently insisted.

Both the lieutenant and the sergeant carried girl-tamer bullwhips such as that Ellicia’s back had already tasted months since.

Ellicia’s agony echoed with agony as she merely stood. To use her legs, her extremely tightly barbed-wire wrapped legs and thighs, had ripped and would rip her bare flesh.

“Walk Ellicia; walk sweetheart” I won’t warn you again.

And Ellicia re-began her walk, ripping her calves, ripping her thighs, ripping her buttocks, crying out with the pain, and therefore thereby ripping her tongue, as she slowly sidled her womanly wiggling way down the path to the paved sidewalk before her home, watched by her friends and neighbours, there to witness the punishment laid down in law for any girl who, at any time, dared to masturbate herself.

“Whip her! Whip the whore!!”

Unable to bear the pain of walking, Ellicia stopped, and tried to rest her dainty feet, only to receive multiple sharply-spiked spiteful reminders that she must keep up on and walk on higher tiptoe than if she wore mere ballet-heeled boots.

“Move, Ellicia, move; I don’t want to have to whip you, sweetheart!”

Ellicia pleaded with her gorgeous eyes, that she could not move, and...

‘THWACK!!!’ Alarsanta whipped her across her barbed-wire crossed and crisscrossed buttocks and nearly knocked sweet Ellicia of her teetering toes.

And Ellicia began to walk, and she ripped her calves, ripped her thighs, ripped her bum, and tore her tongue as she keened a scream of agony, and closed her eyes fighting the mental constraints of the dreadful pain from the barbed-wire restraints wrapping her beautiful body, and the urge to refrain from walking, and the knowledge that the whip would drive the barbs deeper into her soft sensitive flesh if she did. And so she wiggled her enforcedly minute steps onwards.

“Yer ain’t so ‘igh and mighty now is yer, yer slag?!!

Ellicia recognised the voices, overwhelmingly women’s voices, some the voices of those she had considered not mere neighbours but friends, loving friends. And now, as she struggled to wiggle in her barbed-wire hug-gown, they shouted vile insults to add to her agony.

“Can’t get yer ‘ands on it now, can yer, yer fuckin’ bitch?!!”

Tears teetered at the corners of Ellicia’s lovely eyes. Gentle sparkling tears of perspiration bathed her inspiring body. With her every step the barbed-wire dug deeper into her flesh. The pain was beyond even the unbearable.

The whip was swung and ‘THWACK!!!’ she was made to cry out and tear her tongue again.

Ellicia’s progress was so painful and so painfully slow that she was followed by women who all but surrounded her, bar that the kept out of reach of the swing of one and both of the whips now being used frequently and even excessively to drive Ellicia along.

Even, in a sense as regards her senses blind and deaf from her mind’s sole concentration on her pain, Ellicia could still hear what the women were saying about her. And they meant her to hear. And they meant it to be cruel, as if her suffering excited them to a new-found or re-found profound depth of crudity that would have made them ashamed in any other circumstance.

“She’s on her fuckin’ bleed! Look, she’s on her fuckin’ bleed, the filthy cow!!”

Ellicia emitted a cry of agony stopped short by a squeal of pain as the barbed wire gag tore into her tongue, and that resulted in another trickle of blood from her sweet mouth.

“She’s der only one’d wanna get ‘er ‘ands on it in dat state! Would yer wanna finger it when it’s seeping ‘er filthy monthly like dat?!!”

“Bet even her ‘usband wouldn’t wanna get ‘is cock in that! Wud you?”

“If I had a cock you mean?”

“Well yeah, if you ‘ad a cock, wud yer wanna stick it up dare? I know I bloody wunt, not if I ‘ad a cock.”

“No. But, tell you what. If I had a cock I wouldn’t half like to shove it up that gorgeous bum of hers!”

“Yer dirty cow! See wot yer means doe. She ain’t ‘alf gorra wiggle on ‘er.”

Two more female voices, one-time close friends and still near neighbours to David and Ellicia Jones, joined in.

“I always fancied licking her out. But I wouldn’t want to have my tongue in that!!”

“You dirty cat! But I must say, I often thought I’d like to suck her clit! I bet she squeals like a banshee when she cums!”

“You’re a ‘dirty cat’ yourself then!”

“Well yeah, but I wouldn’t want to even touch it now, and not just cos girl on girl is against the law, as of course it should be!”

“I ‘ope day fuckin’ whip ‘er agen!”, came another voice.

Why was all this oral cruelty being thrown at Ellicia? Was it to hide that, when these taunters and tormentors got back home later in the day, there would be as many pairs of girl-juice-sweetened panties tossed into laundry baskets?

Ellicia’s torture continued. The distance she had to wiggle to what she knew awaited her on the common grassland used by the locals as a games-park seemed to get ever longer than the mile it was in statute and on sat-nav.

‘THWACK!!!’

“Did that ‘urt you darlin’? I fuckin’ ‘ope so!!”

“That’ll teach ‘er not to play wiv it!......Woanit darlin’?!!”

‘THWACK!!!’

This latest blow nearly felled Ellicia. Her body snaked from where her lovely legs nearly gave way via her knees thighs buttocks and back as she fought to right herself whilst not impaling her poor feet.

Throughout her walk of public shame, the whips would be purposely deployed and be deliberately employed to further pain her and to drive the brutal barbs of Ellicia’s twin-wrap of coiled cruelty deeper into her soft flesh.

But such was the concentration she had to apply to prevent her falling forwards on her pretty face or backwards on her shapely bottom, that she lost another battle she had been grappling with with increasing urgency; and she pissed herself.

“Ergh! You filthy filthy slut!”

“Fancy bein’ reduced to dat?! It’s fuckin’ disgustin’!”

“Watch out wiv doin’ dat darlin’, or you’ll mek dat lovely dress wot yer’ve got on, go all rusty!!”

This final indignity, this degradation even on top of her being made to go naked in public in a state of menstruation, tipped a balance for Ellicia, in the sense that it renewed her strength.

The harmonious homonyms ‘tear’ and ‘tear’ knew congruence in Ellicia’s eyes and body. The barbed-wire tore her flesh and diamonds of perspiration mingled with those ruby red of differing origination; tears from tears in her supremely white supremely soft complexion; and so to her soul lanterns, and so too her soul’s lanterns leant ‘lachrymose’ its mournful meaning this morn.

On she must walk on legs combining beauty with power that even their barbed-wire binding could not constrain nor the heavy whipping of her barbed-wire bound body contain.

“Yer ain’t even ‘alf way dare yet, yer slag!”

Eye’s so pretty pleaded. Did Ellicia’s eyes know and show more beauty in pain than in joy? Could eyes show more appeal for punishment to be repealed? What glowing glory might such heavenly orbs show if this were dream and release were instant and instant upon her being out of harm and in love’s arms?

In exchange for this unendurable pain she must endure, what more than mere mite of earnest eagerness might Ellicia show in enthusiasm in the bedroom fight to allow a cock up it in reward for the man who would prince valour be and free her from this excruciating pain? Would she wish she had more than but a mere three orifice offices of love to offer up for it to glide up, even if those she did have included her bum for him to deep shaft and sperm hose within his white-hot cum in the ultimate intimate consummation of man consuming a girl?

Would that, in place of the barbs that tore her innocent flesh in this cruel punishment for her making love to the loveliest of girls she had ever in the mirror seen, prince valour would ride in with his spear and would ram it up it and impale her on love, and, if his own mining of her consenting shafts was considered inconsequential and consequently an as yet insufficiently sufficient sufficiency of a forceful fucking to suffice to exchange for this torture and sacrifice, give her too to his stallion to ride with its rod inside it.

“Move, Ellicia, move! Move yourself faster sweetheart!”

‘THWACK!!!’ Alarsanta whipped Ellicia across her barbed-wire crossed and crisscrossed buttocks yet once more, and rocked her into a rumba of snaking with her barbed-wire-bound body to find purchase from her ripping on the barbs that wrapped her and the whips that lashed her by finding some purchase on the tortured tips of teetering toes.

The pain was horrific and yet she must a million miles walk within the mere mile of what the talk was as being the confirmed distance to her destination, dropletting the thus appointed anointed paving with her blood her menstruum tears and perspiration.

The pain minded her to remember that she was a girl being tortured for pleasuring her burgeoning body in an insubstantial instance of, in a sense, innocence, when but a schoolgirl.

The humiliation of parading her menstruating body publicly naked and having pissed herself publicly naked combined with Ellicia’s pain, and she must divert her mind as she walked in wiggle and tore her lovely long strong legs on the brutal barbs.

Did it have to be a prince on white charger; a stallion and satyr saviour, to savour and save her? Was not deserved a calmer balm for the brutal harm of her distress in this barbed-wire dress? Would and could it ever be so, that only the gentler gentle hands of another girl on her beauty was that she, as she had for so long longed for, needed to know? Was it not now ripe that lovely Ellicia had done her time as wife in the ‘man and wife’ life and needed new the higher love, the highest love, the love heaven made girls for, the love that represents heaven on earth and reduces the higher locale of that name to the same degree its seduction succeeds on the lower plain thus raised by it to the highest height though it might be; the flawless love of adored adoring adored, the love of a girl for a girl, albeit the love banned by the prevailing salient law?

Dare dear Ellicia risk her eyes showing to the mocking wives that she was now ready to enter their lives and that it only ‘I love you’ needed by them to be said for to have her wanting wanton the while, willing wonderful wicked wild wiles in their bed?

What balm was this for her calm? Did the pain of the barbs not ease a little, albeit minimal and minuscule, when her mind turned to the love she had longed for at and since school? Was this torture intended the hetero-love to impose, giving bosom to the blossoming of love’s sweetest form of rose?

The whipping re-doubled on redoubled whipping of her bum her back and her thighs, and her mouth torn by its barbed gag trickled with the blood from her tongue ripped by her cries as the barbed-wire in which she was wrapped ripped her body her legs her breasts and her magnificent thighs.

But before her, before long, lay the long ramp leading up to a platform.

At the front of the platform was a tubular steel framework akin a soccer goal post. And from the crossbar of that, dangled the steel-rope hawsers and stainless-steel hooks.

As if it had ever ceased, let alone ceased so to do, the whipping increased; not because Ellicia’s impossibly slow pace could possible slow or speed, but because Alarsanta and her assistant had become carried along by the blood-lust of the crowd.

The women in the crowd in particular, were unleashed from all pretence of civilisation. Indeed, the women’s bloodlust was as unconstrained as Ellicia was constrained.

Once Ellicia was under the arch, the hooks hanging from the crossbar of the “goal-post” gallows were swiftly attached to the rings that held Ellicia’s wound-and-contra-wound ankle-length barbed-wire dress to her wounded body; the rings where the wire went through her yoke. So too were the hooks attached to the barbed-wire wires that bound Ellicia’s breasts.

Then her two torturers stepped off the platform and pulled a lever to collapse it from under Ellicia’s feet.....

.....And the crowd jeered and cheered and shouted and laughed and pointed to prompt neighbours who were already staring and cheering and jeering too, as Ellicia, the helplessly bound Ellicia, fell fully six feet from where the platform had supported her, to one foot from the ground, and screamed and howled and hollered her pain as the barbed wire was ripped and whipped tighter in its unmerciful grasp and grip of her naked body, and tore her already torn flesh and bit into her unmercifully cruelly as her delicious one-hundred-and-ten pounds of barbed-wire wrapped pure girl dropped, her barbed-wire dress ripping her flesh savagely cruelly as it tautened its tension with her fall and her delicious poundage, until Ellicia dandled dangling in the summer breeze.
.............................

And perhaps the real cruelty was, that the rumour that Ellicia had a massive orgasm or even, some said, a series of unstoppable constantly repeating orgasms rising to a crescendo akin with a roll on all the kettledrums in the world, followed by the synchronised ejaculation of all its cannons and howitzers; was and were untrue.

Ellicia hung there in the agony of all agony, denied even the orgasm that she had experienced under her interrogatory flogging. Denied her only hope; the hope that had determined her to keep walking in her barbed-wire dress, the hope that determined her that she could survive this torture for having dared to masturbate: the hope that she would again be delivered to earthly heaven by a cum or cums that would give her the joy of this unendurable pain......

“Ticket sweet’art: only an ‘undred dollars?”

“What on earth for?”

“For yer ‘usband darlin’. So dat when day cuts ‘er darn..... ‘er wot iz ‘angin up dare.... When day cuts ‘er darn and tek off ‘er barbed-wire gift wrappin’, ‘arter midnight, ‘e can ‘ave ‘iz turn to give her some cock, soas to teach ‘er what she’s really got one for!”

“No! No! No thank you! No.....” the girl questioned replied knowing whom she longed she would lay in her bed beside, if only Ellicia would forgive her when the cruel wounds healed, and let her love be revealed, and allow her to take her to some foreign clime where the love of a girl for a girl was and is no crime, and in place of this sacrifice in savagely cruel strife, a girl can take and make a girl her life-for wife.

Such suffering as Ellicia had so far endured was not considered sufficient suffice and time must see her hang in pain in view plain for endless hours till midnight’s chime came.

She would then be cut down and her barbed-wire coils cut from her tortured torso and tits so as to available her, her final lesson to learn, with the alluring lips between her legs, as the men of the town would take turns, as many and as many times as they saw fit, to ram their cocks into it and up it to fuck it.

Although and despite knowing this, experience-wearied dark brown eyes looked up at the suffering Ellicia and saw the unswerving affirmative answer she knew she was of undeserving, and the attempted smile on the tortured mouth’s lips.....

......And, in case fate had out its spies and love might thereby thus be denied, against the chance this one long longed for love might from her finger tips slip, Alarsanta Envers made tense pretence, as if busy about re-coiling her whip.....