A Severe Whipping For Monnelia
This over-the-top whipping scene comes from The Blue Train by Richard Manton, who is notorious for his faux-Victorian tales of underground dealings in mistreated young women. At the time of this story our unhappy heroine is in the clutches of the flesh trade somewhere in rural Greece:
The overseer inflicts whippings in the yard. There are high walls and complete privacy, there being no windows on that side of the building. At the centre of the yard lay a large cartwheel. It was on its side and firmly fixed in position, the hub rising at its centre. The girl to be beaten was secured over it face down, wrists strapped to the wheel rim on one side and ankles on the other, the hub lifting and broadening her backside for punishment.
I joined Shavez and the others to watch Monnelia whipped. The overseer curbed the disdain of this graceful nineteen-year-old negress. His calm sadistic eyes studied her supple figure, the self-possessed beauty of a tribal princess in her face, the primitive warrior-girl appearance of her upward brushed hair and ribboned coiffure at her nape. Her brief-cut panties and bra, her white high-heeled shoes, made Monnelia agonisingly conscious of showing off her beautiful legs and hips, and her seductive dark-tanned bum-cheeks.
We watched the demure rhythm of her haunches and their natural elegance as she approached the wheel.
Her long and graceful legs, bare and swarthy, moved with practised delicacy in tall-heeled white shoes. Her long thighs brushed together with maidenly restraint and her downcast eyes avoided the gaze of the men who would determine her punishment. The overseer licked his lips at this view of the proud young negress-skinned swell of Monnelia’s arse-cheeks and the supple curves of her bare thighs. His eyes were fixed on that area where the white cotton of her tight briefs emerged between the rear of her legs, the seat cut to arch up high and tight so that the dark oval smoothness of Monnelia’s bottom-cheeks was suggestively half naked.
She walked with controlled steps. She must have known that the white shoes with their tall heels made her hips more mobile and made her seem to flaunt her shapely bottom at her chastiser. Seeing the whip lying ready on a little table, Monnelia was fearful of making matters worse by such voluptuous roundings of her backside as she walked. Yet the glamorous white high-heeled shoes made the supple-figured warrior-maiden seem to flirt her hips and arse at the very man who was going to thrash her.
The satin-smooth brown cheeks of Monnelia’s behind swelled out temptingly as two masked overseer’s assistants made her kneel at the iron-bound rim and then lie forward over the padded hub. They pulled off Monnelia’s knickers and strapped her down in this lasciviously inviting pose. The overseer himself took the elastic waist of Monnelia’s panties, drew them down her legs and pulled them off.
He used intimate fingers to free them where they caught under her legs or in her rear cleavage. Her wrists were strapped wide apart to one side of the rim, her dusky bare arms at full stretch, and her ankles to the other.
The swell of her hips as she lay over the hub pulled open the slave-girl’s rear cleavage a little more, so that her warm-toned buttocks were quite bare and temptingly offered. She was obliged to hear the laughter of the onlookers behind her and the suggestions of what they would like to see done to her.
The overseer took a length of stout cord, tightening a loop round her bare brown waist and the padded wheel-hub to hold her down. The remaining length he drew tight down her lower belly, straining it back under her legs and up deep and taut between Monnelia’s swarthy buttocks to knot it firmly again in the rear of her waist. Bound tight like this, all surging or twisting of her hips and backside was checked. By tying her in this intimate manner, he ensured that the double-cheeked ebony swell of Monnelia’s arse-target remained properly presented for the whip. It was more suggestive than complete nudity. As she lay over the wheel, the stout cord was visible, straight and tight between the African-tan gloss of Monnelia’s bottom-cheeks. Its thickness kept her cheeks apart a little and exposed her to more searching discipline.
With a figure that the Three Graces might envy, Monnelia displayed the most delectable rear-cheek target to the overseer. He spent a good while measuring the cane this way and that across Monnelia’s bottom-cheeks. She tensed those bare elegant ovals and, long before the caning began, he had her squirming with a fearful apprehension.
Then, with the veins standing out dangerously on his forehead, he thrashed the sleek ebony beauty of Monnelia’s backside and the rear of her thighs at their tops. He made it like a prison whipping, though he still did it with mounting excitement. The smarting willow-pattern of the bamboo weals across her lithe and dusky rear cheeks and the cuts here and there seemed like a vengeance upon her for his own inability to have her as his bed-slave.
Monnelia began to twist her head and plead with wild cries. Much of the time her face and the upward brushed warrior-maiden coiffure were twisted to her chastiser. The calm dignity of her African beauty was transformed to a wide-mouthed and wild-eyed frenzy. Because she was free from waist to ankles, the long athletic grace of her thighs squirmed as if making love. The cheeks of Monnelia’s bottom rounded and writhed as if in an erotic dance. A less impassioned master would have strapped her down more tightly when she deserved punishment. But Captain Shavez liked to see the sinuous native writhings of Monnelia’s bottom-cheeks, as if she was riding on an invisible lover beneath her and therefore randy for chastisement.
Monnelia was not one to scream easily. But the overseer intended, as he promised her, to whip Monnelia’s hot-chocolate bottom very hard indeed. It was prudent that she should not be overheard and for that reason the yard was isolated from the rest of the property. Monnelia screamed with the naked agony of the whip after the third stroke and the overseer kept her screaming for the rest of the session.
Presently he picked up the whip with its stout handle and its thin tail of woven leather that dangled about eighteen inches. He cracked it sharply in the air and the onlookers saw Monnelia’s buttocks and thighs flinch at the report. Then he trailed the cold menace of the leather lightly over the swelling dusky ovals of Monnelia’s bottom-cheeks and round her thighs. The murmuring among the spectators fell silent in expectation.
The thin leather snake caught the light as it came whistling down and landed with a pistol-crack sharpness across the sleek ebony swell of Monnelia’s bottom-cheeks. Her legs went tense with the anguish so that the muscles appeared in contour. From the onlookers there was a sharp intake of breath in admiration and excitement of what he had done to the shapely young negress. The whip had marked Monnelia’s buttocks with a fine curlicue and a red-hot kiss of leather. Monnelia screamed with all her strength, tensing her bum-cheeks desperately as a plum coloured weal began to appear. He caught her again, the whip curling so that it just touched where one cheek began to curve in towards the other. A wild shriek was heard and the knee of one shapely negress-skinned leg tried to press against the other as if to contain the torment. But her legs were strapped apart to prevent this! The spread cheeks of Monnelia’s African-tan bottom bucked and thrust as if seated on woven fire.
The onlookers watched the measured rhythm of the overseer’s arm and the desperate constricted cheek-creasing of Monnelia’s bare backside. Tight-lipped and keen-eyed, he stooped a little and looked closely at the native-tan ovals of Monnelia’s nineteen-year-old bottom, as if to see where she would feel it worst. With the suggestive length of cord drawn tight and deep in her dusky anus-valley, she could not clench her rear cheeks together, which made it possible to catch her more intimately than would otherwise have happened.
The prison whip printed the next of its fifty curling red-hot kisses, leaving another searing loop of fire across Monnelia’s young backside. These loops and curlicues remained, printed in raised weals across her ebony-sleek bottom-cheeks. The whipping began in earnest. Though only her buttocks and the rear of her thighs made up the target, Monnelia was flogged like a hardened criminal.
When the fifty had been given, the overseer turned to Captain Shavez to ask if he was now satisfied with the state of his recalcitrant slave-girl. The captain walked forward and looked at the swarthy whip-tapestried cheeks of Monnelia’s behind. He went and sat down again.
I should like to see the randy-arsed young bitch receive twenty more, he said, without the cord between Monnelia’s bottom-cheeks.
The overseer smiled and understood. His boys hurried to undo and draw clear the cord between Monnelia’s nineteen-year-old bottom-cheeks. The overseer made the whip-tail describe a hissing S-shape in the air. This caused it to cut in a curling agony over the first of Monnelia’s lithe native bottom-cheeks, down into her anus cleavage and up over the second cheek. This curling welt was repeated a dozen times, searching out the most vulnerable areas of Monnelia’s native-girl arse! There was no mistaking the excitement among the other onlookers at the torment to which he had condemned the shapely dark-skinned beauty. When her blackamoor bottom was under his orders, he would explore and pursue the possibilities it offered for punishing her until the afternoon waned and dusk turned into night.
As the helpless bare-bottomed jungle Venus twisted her upward brushed hair and ribboned tresses, turning her face frantically, she screamed abuse at her chastiser, calling him a bastard! He paused and took another whip from the case. It was a short snakeskin lash. He wedged a rubber cushion under her loins so that Monnelia’s ebony-sleek bottom-cheeks were a little more voluptuously and vulgarly presented.
He taught the young negress-skinned bitch a lesson in manners! The whip was one known for its exceptional cruelty and he now tortured Monnelia’s bare bottom and thighs with it. Six savage curling strokes high up across the backs of Monnelia’s native-girl thighs. Monnelia’s bottom next, the satin-sheen swarthiness of its rounding cheeks. Eighteen strokes! The ebony-tan swell of Monnelia’s bottom writhing and cheek creasing. When it was over, the African Venus of nineteen lay drooping and limp over the wheel.
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