Cruel Prison Strapping
Julie is at the state prison farm, and she has angered one of the matrons. Now she’s in for it:
I ain’t going to use no whip on you,” Hazel snickered. “I got me something better. Real humane it is. Take a look at this.”
Julie looked. She had no choice. The supple heavy strap was dangled for her inspection. It was not as frightening a thing as a whip, but she liked not the look of it. It had the appearance of having been much used. It would most certainly hurt.
“Got to look after our gals.” Hazel chuckled.
“Inspectors don’t want no cut skin. This little beauty makes a lovely sound when it connects with a gal’s rump.”
The word ‘Inspector’ gave Julie a faint hope. “But aren’t I supposed to have done something bad in order to be punished?” She asked tremulously.
“Oh, but sugar, you have.” Hazel’s voice oozed satisfaction. “Don’t you remember your first order here: to call the Matron and I ‘maam’? You haven’t done it once. You’re too damn anxious to be snotty to think of it.”
Julie quailed. There would always be an answer. She looked at the hard cold eyes surveying her and swallowed apprehensively.
“Paying a bit of attention now, eh.” Hazel had seen the flicker of fear. “Let me tell you something, sugar. You can offer to munch my cunt now until you’re blue in the face and it won’t save you from a single stroke.”
Julie was searching her mind for a plea when the strap struck her across the ripest curve of her bottom. The crack was indeed resounding. It was a frightening sound like a peal of evil laughter to accompany the pain. Despite stoic intent she tugged wildly at her strapped wrists and writhed in anguish.
“Warms you up a bit more than you thought, eh, gal’!”
Hazel delivered another ringing impact, this time across the already wealed shoulders Julie moaned.
“Glad you’ve got a tongue, sugar. I’ll have you screaming in a minute. Try this one.”
When the screams got too hard to contain, Julie pealed them out. Why cherish her misery! It proved nothing. The strap was worse than she had supposed. A quite new and different kind of pain. Each blow sent scorching waves of agony in every direction through her punished flesh. Finally her tongue spoke against her will.
“No more! Oh please not again! Please stop. Ohhhh!”
“Makes a nice introduction to The Farm,” Hazel commented conversationally. She did not even pause. The strap slapped in delight on Julie’s nudity.
“It’s too awful. I can’t bear it.”
“You’re doing fine, sugar.”
The strap splatted where it chose. Held only by her wrists, Julie was able to provide writhings and twistings and the rattle of her ankle chain in a manner deeply gratifying to the woman who strapped her. “Which would you say you prefer, sugar, this or a whip?” Hazel sounded clinically interested.
“I don’t know. I really don’t – oh stop … please!”
“I’d like an answer. For the record, you might say. Fine intelligent gal’ like you ought to come by an opinion. I’ll just keep letting you have it. I don’t mind the work; it’s in a good cause.”
Julie knew there would be no right answer for her.
“The whip is the worst.” she said bleakly, uncertain if she had lied.
“Glad to hear it, gal’. Sort of makes me feel easier about using this strap. I can hack away at you for an hour with a clear conscience.”
The blows continued. The sound of some was as potent as Julie’s scream.
The girl strapped to the cross did not faint.
From Julie by F.E. Campbell.
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