Twelve Days a Slave Ch. 08

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Ch. 8 of 13; Slave missy is introduced to "The Whipmaster."
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Part 8 of the 13 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 01/10/2016
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This is the story of a young woman's conviction as a terrorist and what happens to her when she is sentenced to penal slavery. Penal slavery is not impossible. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Constitution of the United States of America do NOT prohibit slavery. They only LIMIT slavery to punishment for crimes. In other words, the Constitution allows penal slavery.

After the woman is convicted, a "sentence negotiator" gets her sentence reduced to a public day of repentance followed by eleven days of public punishment. Following that, she is to serve one year of penal servitude.

This story deals with non-consensual punishment, pain, and involuntary slavery. If such topics offend you or upset you, I would advise skipping this particular book.

There are thirteen chapters to this story. The chapters can be read on their own, but the story is much better understood if the previous portions have been read. The complete story is full book length. I debated publishing it with some of my other books at Fiction4all, but decided that I would rather serialize it and post it here.

A description of the thirteen chapters follows the end of each chapter. On the sixth day of her punishment, missy is introduced to "The Whipmaster." Before punishing her he provides a demonstration of his abilities. The chapter is focused on public nudity, public humiliation, and public flogging of one sort or another.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2015 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Chapter Eight - Slave missy meets The Whipmaster.

William and missy's morning routine was quickly becoming exactly that... very routine. For missy, each morning was coffee, bacon, eggs, do dishes, grease herself up with the mixture of baby oil and baby gel, get in her cage, ride through downtown, then return to the fairgrounds and literally hang around until show time at two. The routine had been basically identical for five days and this day was starting out no different.

Shortly after William locked her into her cage, however, something changed. Rather than immediately driving the ATV with the cage trailer and the rolling billboard downtown, William stood around looking nervously at his watch.

"Is something wrong?" missy asked.

"No problem," William replied. "He's not late... yet. He promised he would be here exactly at 8:00 and we still have a few minutes."

He then went back to pacing and looking at his watch every few seconds. Missy was about to ask who "he" was when she heard the approaching roar of a motorcycle. Turning in the direction of the sound, she could see a large bike coming across the fairgrounds parking lot.

There were two flags fluttering on poles attached to the bike. One was, of course, the American flag. The other at first appeared to be a pirate flag. It looked like a pirate flag. It was black and appeared to have the traditional skull and crossed bones on it. Something else appeared to be fluttering above the flags, but missy couldn't quite make out what that was.

As the bike drew up to where William was impatiently waiting, missy could see that it was a Harley chopper. The front wheel had been extended significantly out in front of the bike and almost every surface of the bike-- including everything on the motor-- was bright, shiny, chrome.

As he got closer, missy realized that what she had first thought to be crossed bones on a pirate flag turned out to be crossed whips and a oval signet-like emblem which said, "The Whipmaster" in old gothic-style lettering. The unknown items fluttering above the flags turned out to be long strands of black leather. The poles holding the flags had been wrapped with leather so they would look like the handles on a whip, and the strands were braided so that the two flag staffs appeared to be huge bullwhips.

The man riding the Harley was as impressive as the bike itself. He was in his late twenties or early thirties with a very muscular build. He was wearing rather tight, black leather pants and a matching black leather vest. Since he was shirtless, his six-pack abs were on display, framed by the open front of the vest. The muscles of his arms rippled as he brought the bike to a halt alongside the cage. Missy could see that the black leather vest he was wearing had the same signet and crossed whips that decorated his flag.

He brushed his long, black hair off his face and asked, "Do you want me leading or following?"

"Leading, by all means," answered William. "You do remember the route we discussed, don't you?"

In answer, the man tapped the side of his head with his finger and said, "Got it." He then smiled over at missy. His bright white teeth contrasted greatly with his immaculately trimmed, shiny black moustache and beard. For some reason, to missy, his whole appearance and demeanor made him look like someone trying to be a rock star from the 1960s.

"Let's roll," shouted William as he got on the seat of the ATV. "... and remember to make three laps around the town square." He waited for the man to answer. When he did not, he added, "And only three!"

In response the man once again tapped the side of his head and then revved the engine on the Harley. Despite the custom pipes, the sound of the engine retained that distinctive, almost musical, Harley roar.

As they pulled out of the fairgrounds missy said aloud to herself, "I don't think I like him, but I have a feeling I am going to know The Whipmaster a whole lot better before the day is over." She kept her eye on him, but remained silent as their very short parade continued on its morning route.

The crowds had gotten slightly smaller each morning as people became used to seeing the naked slave being displayed in her rolling cage. This morning, however, the roar of the Harley chopper and the huge flags streaming above The Whipmaster's head as he rode through town brought many people back to the sidewalks to watch them pass.

Missy wondered why William had specified three trips around the town square. Usually they circled the square only once. As they completed their second loop, however, his plan became clear. There were twice as many people standing on the sidewalks on the second time around the square as there had been on the first lap. And more people were streaming out of the shops and offices to get a closer look at The Whipmaster.

She wondered for a moment if they should take a fourth lap around the square, but then realized that the crowd seemed to have peaked. It was large, but very few additional people were coming out of the buildings. "Two wasn't enough," she thought to herself, "and four would have been too many."

"P. T. Barnum could learn a trick or two from you, Mister Wilson," she shouted toward the ATV. She wasn't sure if William heard her or was just waving to the crowd, but his hand appeared to raise in response and give a slight wave as they turned back onto main street to return to the fairgrounds.

Once there, The Whipmaster roared once around the race track and disappeared out one of the front entrances. In the meantime, William drove up onto the stage so missy's cage could be raised to its normal pre-show position.

After William left, missy settled into her pre-show routine of watching the stage crew set up the equipment and slowly stroking herself to a satisfying plateau of sexual excitement. She wasn't seeking an orgasm, but she was making sure that she was turned on. Somehow, handling whatever pain was awaiting her in today's punishment was easier if her body was already experiencing sexual sensations.

There didn't seem to be much in the way of equipment today. There were what appeared to be a dozen or so candlesticks set up in a circle in the center of the stage. On stage left was what appeared to be a very high spanking bench. From the restraints which were attached to it, it appeared to missy that a person was expected to lay their upper body over the padded bar. Their ankles would then be restrained to a low bar on the front. Their arms would be stretched down to a similar bar on the back side of the stand. The result was a very well-presented ass and totally exposed legs. Missy wondered whether it was going to be her wrists and ankles which were strapped to those bars.

On stage right was an upright frame consisting of two poles attached to a wide base. Again, missy wondered if it would be her pulled taut between those uprights while The Whipmaster did his thing with a bullwhip. That thought caused her to shudder in fear.

"William's right," she thought to herself. "Knowing what is coming is worse than not knowing." She decided it would be best to concentrate on what sensations her fingers could give her and not worry about what some egotistical wannabe rock star with a whip might do to her body. She closed her eyes and ignored the stage crew as they continued to set up equipment beneath her. She did not ignore her fingers.

Around 1:30, she heard The Whipmaster's motorcycle rumble into the infield and park behind the stage. At 2:00, exactly on time as usual, William strode out onto the stage and welcomed the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, drawing out each word into several extra syllables. He was starting to sound more and more like a ringmaster at a circus-- or perhaps a ring announcer at a fight. "Today is day six of our repentant terrorist's days of punishment."

William paused and missy could hear the sound of a motorcycle engine starting.

"We have a very special treat for you today," he cried out and suddenly the rumble of a Harley filled the air. The Whipmaster roared out from behind the stage, flags fluttering, and rode completely around the fairgrounds race track as if taking a victory lap at the end of a race. When he got back to the grandstands and the stage, he came in at full throttle in front of the crowd, locked his brakes and pivoted on his left leg, spraying dirt and gravel in a wide arc around him. He stopped facing the crowd. There was a moment or so of complete silence before the crowd erupted with applause.

"I present to you," William yelled above the crowd, "The Whipmaster!"

The leather-clad man bowed from his seat on the Harley and then bowed once more after he had dismounted. He bowed a third time when he joined William on stage. "The Whipmaster," William began, "is going to be starting a world tour next month. He has chosen to sponsor this day of punishment as a preview of that tour."

"Thank you, Mister Wilson," The Whipmaster said in a very heavily-accented voice.

Missy couldn't place the accent, but somehow thought it was false. He's trying to sound like he's from Russia or some place like that," she said silently to herself. "but I bet he grew up in Chicago or New York." She huffed loudly before continuing, "He talks that way just to make himself sound sexy."

Missy looked down at him as he bowed once more to the crowd's applause. This time, he bowed so deeply that his long black hair nearly touched the stage. Remaining bent over, he reached out and touched the finger tips of the women now standing at ground level in front of the stage. Missy watched as scores more women of all ages left their seats and crowded in front of the stage.

"Well," she said aloud, "it works." He was a superb showman and she, as well as most of the women in the crowd, now thought The Whipmaster definitely looked and sounded very sexy.

"I still don't like him," she said aloud. "... but I wouldn't kick him out of bed."

He returned to stage center and a scantily-clad young woman rushed out to hand him two long-handled black whips.

"As you can hear," he said to the crowd, "I have a little trouble with your language." He loudly snapped both whips above his head. Missy jumped in the cage even though the tips of the two whips had to still be several feet below her. It had sounded like a rifle shot.

He snapped the whips in the direction of the audience and added, "So I will let my whips speak for me."

In response, the crowd roared their approval.

He snapped one of the whips three times and three more scantily-clad young women ran out onto the stage carrying lit candles. They put them into the candle holders and then ran back off stage for more. When they returned, the fourth young woman was with them, also carrying two candles.

The girls set the candles in place and then began placing twelve of the candle holders in a large circle around him. The additional two, they placed just inside the circle on either side of him. He faced the left side of the stage and held both whips high above his head. He swung them slowly back and forth so that the leather seemed to writhe above his head like a thin, black snake. He then stood still for just a moment and simultaneously snapped one whip to the front and one to the back.

There was a long silence until someone realized that both candles had been extinguished. The applause began with one person and grew in volume as more people recognized what he had done. The Whipmaster bowed deeply as two of his assistants ran on stage and carried the extinguished candles-- and their candle holders-- off stage.

He then started snapping both whips rapidly all around him. When he stopped, there was a smattering of applause, but for the most part, the audience looked confused. All twelve of the candles were still burning brightly. He looked around as if he were confused and then shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated way.

The four young women ran on stage as if to carry the candles and holders off as they had done before, but this time, they stopped just outside the circle and each grabbed two of the candles just below the top. They then stepped back holding just the top half of each candle.

The Whipmaster had cut each candle in half without knocking it over or putting out the flame.

The applause was deafening. He waited until the crowd had almost quieted down when he once more snapped his whips all around himself. All of the candles were now out, and the roar of the crowd was, if anything, even louder than before.

He bowed several times from within the circle of candles, then grabbed the top half of the four candles which the girls had not taken and walked up to the very front of the stage. He was smiling broadly as he tossed the candle portions one by one out to the screaming women.

By the time he had turned around, the four assistants had carried the remaining candlesticks off stage. When they returned, they were each leading a female slave by a chain attached to her collar. Each of the female slaves had large silver bells hanging from both of their nipples.

The Whipmaster waited patiently as the assistants positioned the naked slaves to stand in a square around him. Then the scantily-clad assistants took their own positions which rounded that square out into a circle. In their hands, they each were holding more silver bells.

The assistants held out the bells in front of themselves, and the slaves lifted their breasts as much as they could to present the bells to The Whipmaster. The whips began snapping and the bells began ringing. Soon a popular Christmas carol was ringing out from the stage.

The crowd's applause almost drowned out the bells before the short piece ended. The Whipmaster walked to the front of the stage and took his customary low bow and then returned to the center of the circle.

From her perch high above the stage, missy could see three of the slaves and all four of the assistants turn their faces toward the remaining slave. She nodded her head quickly several times. All their eyes returned to The Whipmaster as he once more snapped his whips above his head. The then began-- literally-- whipping out the "William Tell Overture".

After only a few notes, most of the audience recognized it, even if they thought it was the theme from The Lone Ranger. He had barely finished the opening bars, however, when one of the slaves... the one everyone had been looking at, suddenly flinched and stepped back.

"How dare you!" he screamed in his heavily-accented voice. "Do you not trust my skills with the whip?" He glared at her for a moment and then said very firmly, "Back in place, slave!"

The girl stepped back into place, but again, after only a few notes, jumped back out of the way so that the whip missed the intended bell.

"If you can't stand in place on your own," The Whipmaster said, trying to sound very severe, "then we will have to help you."

He pointed over to the frame on stage right and ordered, "Restrain her!"

"It's a setup," missy said to herself. "They were making sure who was supposed to mess up." Then she, and the audience, watched intently as the four assistants carefully strapped the pseudo-miscreant slave tightly into the frame. From the grandstands it looked like she was struggling against them, but missy could see that her movements stopped every so often so the assistants could properly close the restraints.

"Transfer the bells," ordered The Whipmaster and the other three slaves removed their nipple clamps and re-attached them to the bound slave's breasts on either side of her nipples. The slave now had four bells hanging from each breast.

"All of them!" he said, pointing his whip at one of the assistants.

She stepped forward and began attaching her bells to the bound slave's body. Evidently there was a clamp of some sort already on the short chain which the assistant was holding because when she stepped back, both of her bells hung from the flesh of the bound slave's right underarm.

A second assistant stepped forward and attached her bells to the left underarm. The third assistant's bells were placed one on each of the breasts so the slave now had four attached to each breast as well as one on each nipple.

"Where are the other two going to go?" missy asked herself. Most of the crowd was asking itself the very same thing.

As if in answer to that unspoken question, the last assistant stepped forward and held one of her bells up in front of the slave's face. The slave dutifully stuck out her tongue and the assistant clamped the bell in place. She then stood in front of the slave slowly moving the bell around in the air as if trying to think of where to place it. Finally she lowered her hand so that the bell was dangling just below the slave's crotch.

She looked out at the crowd as if asking, "Should I do it?"

The crowd roared out its answer and with a smirk and a nod of her head, she clamped the bell to the slave's clit. The slave responded with a very painful-sounding groan.

The Whipmaster again addressed the crowd. "First the tune," he said and then quickly returned to the overture. Once again, the shouts and cheers from the crowd almost drowned out the bells before he completed his short excerpt.