Alana

Everybody in this story is over eighteen years of age and everything described happened to me after I turned eighteen. It ends well. Not in this episode but later. And it was a great adventure.

Just to recap, I attempted to leave the island on which I had been made a prisoner by swimming to a nearby mainland shore. I had been left bound and naked in an underground room. The last thing I saw before I entered the water were preparations being made to whip a blond girl I had never seen before. She offered no resistance that I could see, was also naked, and bore a disturbing resemblance to me: eighteen or twenty years old, long hair, pretty face, athletic, good body. The preparations were being made by two older men, very possibly the men who had brought me to the island the day before. Also present were three young women, each with brown hair, dressed in summery off-white frocks, and four young men in forest green shorts and shirts. My escape was cut short mid-swim by two power boats sent from the island upon the detection of me in the water. My escape having failed, I was brought back to the lawn where I had seen the blond girl strung up for her whipping.

She was still there, had indeed been thoroughly whipped, and was still strung up, now hanging limply from her bonds. The sun was fairly high in the sky and her bare skin fairly shimmered with sweat from the heat and her ordeal. The three girls with brown hair were still there, clad in their simple dresses, which left their arms and shoulders and a good part of their bosoms bare, cut well above the knee in length, drawn in tight about their middles to just beneath their breasts. Their legs below their short skirts were bare as were their feet. Now that I was closer to them I saw each wore a thin gold choker around her neck. I laugh when I read stories in which the girls are all young and beautiful, but all the girls I had seen here were, having been hand-picked, it seemed, no doubt by men. Unlike me and, I imagined, the other blond girl, the brown-haired girls did not seem like prisoners, they all seemed happy enough to be right where they were.

The young men, the ones who had foiled my escape, were there too, still clad in dark green. The older men whom I had seen preparing to whip the blond girl had proceeded, undeterred by my escape attempt, and were, mercifully, now finished. I had been spanked on my bum a number of times, as punishment, or for fun by a lover. But they had done her almost all over, her bottom, the backs of her thighs, and her back, of course, but her bare breasts also displayed the after-effects of the lash, including little trails of blood running down where the whip had cut her still erect nipples. Marks on her inner thighs hinted that the hard leather tip had found its way to the sensitive skin between her wide-open thighs.

Immediately I was tied to one of the two pillars the blond girl was stretched between, facing her from the side. There was little doubt I would be next and I was left there close to her to better appreciate the effects of what was going to be done to me, the price I would pay for trying to escape. Her wrists and ankles were cuffed, the cuffs tied to ropes attached to screw eyes protruding from the tops and bottoms of the pillars, spreadeagleing her in the nude. Around her neck was a noose that hung from a metal bar that ran from the top of one pillar to the other, the noose tight enough to keep her head erect and out of the way of the lash, but not to choke her as long as she stayed awake, now that her torment was over. In front of her, about four meters distant, was a thin metal post topped with a gold cross, reminiscent of what was provided to Joan Of Arc. Hung from this cross, though, was a pair of girls panties, which I took to be hers.

I was, I would say, a meter and a half from her body, and the sight of her close-up, hanging there helplessly, bearing the marks of what had been done, filled me with awe. I could hear her breathing softly, smell the sweat on her body and the musty smell of sex strong from between her wide open legs. I watched her carefully. She made no move to get free. She did not entreat me to help her. Whatever pain she was in she bore silently. No one came to her, either to help her or punish her further. She just hung there silently in the sun, as if in a trance. And she was an entrancing sight, her physical beauty only enhanced by the ropes that bound her, her utter helplessness, the marks on her body that testified to how she had been tortured. The utter wantonness of her hanging there naked, legs spread, her body offered to whoever wanted it turned me on enormously. We were left alone for almost an hour.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her hair hung straight down her back, almost to her bum, pulled back to show her pretty face, offering her breasts unobstructed to the whip. She was soaking wet, in some part by sweat, but also from the water that had applied to the whip to add weight. I could clearly see her face, though she never looked at me. Mostly her eyes were closed and her cheeks were streaked with tears from the pain. She wore not a trace of make-up and her lips were parched from thirst. Her arms were stretched up tight toward the tops of the pillars. Every muscle in her upper body showed the strain of her body weight pulling her down, her biceps, the upper part of her chest muscles where they inserted in her arms, her back muscles spread wide behind her. The delicate fuzz under each arm showed she had not shaved in many days, a hint of how long she had been a prisoner. Her neck rope was tight enough under her chin to show strain marks on her neck.

Her chest heaved with each labored breath. Her snow-white breasts were shining with sweat and hung low and wide and full on her chest. Her nipples were hard with desire, though the damage to them from the whip, the little rivulets of blood that ran down her bosom, were now diluted by sweat and water. With each breath her boobs shook slightly with the effort it took to breathe, as her weight pulled her body down, like a young woman hanging on a cross. Beneath her breasts the thinness of her body displayed her ribs, spreading to either side and down, rising and falling. Below that her tummy was creased by the shadow of her abdominal muscles, above and below her belly button, the whole area shining with sweat. In back, her bottom, snow-white like her bosom and well-formed and firm from whatever sport she did, bore the most evidence of the abuse of the whip, the reddish tracks of many blows delivered from both sides.

The most intriguing area of all, of course, was low in front, as the spread of her hips gave way to the tops of her thighs and her tummy lower down narrowed further. Then there was the prominence of her mound showing, like her underarms, a hint of blond fuzz. Finally, the cleft of her girlhood divided and there was the hood of her clit and the pinkness of her outer lips and the marks of the whip on both of her inner thighs left no doubt that the lash had found the most tender parts of her in between. I shivered as I realized what soon awaited me and felt my cunt retract involuntarily. Time went by. At length came the noise of a motorboat arriving. One of the older men gave some orders and some things happened.

The three brown-haired girls went up on the porch of the house, stripped off their simple dresses and brassières and hung them on hangers on a rack. Each was now naked except for their gold choker and thin white thong bikini bottoms. As each was fully shaved between the legs, their bottoms, slightly damp with sweat from the heat, barely concealed the clefts between their thighs. The men stared, the girls seemed indifferent to their near nakedness. They secured beach towels from the top of the rack on which they had hung their dresses and proceeded to lay out on the grass on the other side of the yard.

The man who gave the orders went to the third building on the property, in addition to the house and the smaller building in which I had been imprisoned, which was much like a barn. He went in and directly came back out. Soon after, two girls came out, like the brown-haired girls clad only in bikini panties. They got their towels and joined the first three. These girls wore silver chokers rather than gold. One had brown hair, like the three, but was darker in complexion, Latina I guessed. The other had red hair and fair skin, Irish, most likely. Now that they were all essentially naked I could see some of the girls had nipple and belly piercings and a tattoo on their bums. The same tattoo in the same place. None had any other body marking, nor wore any jewelry beyond their chokers except for one girl who wore a wedding band. All bore latent marks from the whip, or similar abuse, and marks on their wrists and ankles from being bound.

Some a man came up the path from the boat launch. The man who had given the orders spoke to him at the corner of the porch, and they both surveyed the blond girl who was still strung up from her whipping, still hanging limply from her wrist cuffs and the cruel rope around her neck. They each nodded and the man went inside. More orders were given and the young men in green came to us and cut the blond girl down, catching her when she almost fell. They removed her wrist cuffs, replaced them with handcuffs behind her back and almost carried her into the house. From the male chatter it sounded as if a sexual encounter was about to take place. But soon the young men in green returned with the girl, still naked and handcuffed, and took her to the building in which I had been held. Another order was given and the two girls from the barn entered the house. One soon came out, the Irish one remained some time. Now from the chatter I deduced a sexual encounter was indeed taking place.

More orders. The young men in green untied me from my pillar and brought me beneath a large tree, directly under a solid limb about three meters from the ground. I waited, looking up at the limb from which I knew I would hang, wondering how much just hanging there would hurt. I knew my soft brown body was just minutes away from great pain. I had been whipped at commando school and knew what it could feel like, but that promised to be nothing compared to what these people had in store for me. Instead of spreading my arms wide they had me keep my arms together in front of me and fastened the bondage cuffs on my wrists. A rope was run through the little rings attached to both cuffs and tied off so my hands almost touched. They threw the loose end over the tree limb. They went and got that pole with the cross on it and drove it into the ground in front of me. They replaced the panties that had been on it with another pair. They were the ones I had on when I was kidnapped.

I stood there naked in what was by now a hot sun and whispered a prayer, one not inspired by the presence of the cross on the pole. Or my panties. I was now almost a woman, eighteen, but standing there I was scared shitless like a little girl, and had a profound sense that nothing much had changed inside my head over the intervening years. The little girl in me was still there and she shivered with fright at what was about to be done to her. But the eighteen-year-old me somehow wanted to do this. Nevertheless, as they began pulling on the rope to raise my arms toward the tree limb I felt the fear well up in my stomach, knowing what they were going to do, helpless to stop it. Now they had pulled my body up to where it was stretched taut. I could barely feel the ground beneath me with my toes. I was trembling, frightened, trying to comprehend what this would be like. They tied the free end of the rope off to the tree trunk and there I hung.

There I hung for a while. They finished the tying job by tying my ankles together. This was to prevent me from flailing my legs around, but it also offered the promise that they would spare the glistening wet pink target between my legs. I hung there waiting. This part I reveled in. I had always known there was something about being tied up and tortured that was special to me and now it was about to happen. I rejoiced in the warm wet feelings between my thighs. I didn't why my body wanted this. All I knew was it turned me on, the most wanton and glorious thing that could be done to my naked body, outside of getting fucked. I felt the hardness of my nipples, the wetness of my cunt, the fear inside me. There was no escape. I shivered somewhere deep inside, terror began to grip me, my mouth was dry as sand. Sweat glistened on my bare skin. I felt the first glint of the pain that would haunt me for the next two hours as the strain on my tautly stretched body began to sink in.

It seemed they were waiting for the man inside to finish with the Irish girl. I listened to the other girls talk amongst themselves. I had yet to be sexually assaulted, beyond the finger fucking I had received and enjoyed right after being kidnapped. Hearing what they said made it sound as if they were fucked on a regular basis, sometimes as God intended, sometimes in the bum, sometimes while tied to a bed. It sounded like the blond girl who had been whipped had not yet consented, and I wondered if her whipping had been a form of, shall we say, encouragement. Also, the other girls evidently ate regularly and the blond girl was pretty nearly starved. I had had nothing to eat for almost twenty-four hours now, and prospects for getting any food soon seemed dim. And they had regular accommodations, while it seemed I could look forward to a cell at best. I wondered if I let them fuck me my circumstances would improve. Like the other blond I meant to hold out as long as possible.

The men talked too. Their benefits were seeing pretty girls naked and getting pussy in return for favors. They got to participate in scenes and watch the girls shower and sunbathe. There were bosses who actually ran the place, e.g. the guy with the Irish girl, but I learned little about them except that they filmed various scenes and showers and sex and sold copies to special clients overseas, and the girls could share in the profits. Time passed and I hung there, my hands by now numb from the weight of my body hanging down. The young men in green brought over implements for use on me. There was of course a bullwhip, long and new looking, tipped with hard leather, for wide full-body lashes, perfect for a girl hanging free, whose body could rotate, like me. There was a short, stiff plastic implement to use close up on my bum and the backs of my thighs. A short, flexible, thinner bullwhip for my bosom. My heart sank when I saw an even thinner tail meant for my inner thighs and my genitals.

Finally, the Irish girl came out of the house. She was now stark naked. Her complete nudity was, I thought, a sign she had given her all. She joined the other girls on the blanket she had left an hour ago, now freshly fucked. In a minute the man who had fucked her emerged. He gave an order and the young men in green came over to me and added a noose around my neck, like the other blond girl had suffered, with the loose end thrown over the tree limb and tied tight. They also bound up my long blond hair in a bun so its presence would not block the whip's access to my back, or, more importantly, to my bare breasts, as it snaked around my body.

I was ready. They were ready. One of the older men, the man who was to whip me, took up a position behind me. He picked up the bullwhip. I looked at the cross on the pole in front of me and prayed for strength. The message of my panties tied to the pole indeed was clear. I would be tortured until I willingly surrendered the parts of me that were normally in those panties. The man who had fucked the Irish girl gave a command. The girls on the blankets all sat up and stared at me. The men moved a few steps closer. The man flicked the bullwhip out to the rear and positioned himself so that when it struck its full length would wrap around my naked body.

I closed my eyes and heard the whistle of the whip moving through the air.