Wickus Chapter 6 The Cane and the Paddle
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe: September 2013 Read my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
The characters and ideas contained in this story belong in the writer's imagination and bear no resemblance to actual persons or events. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add other artists' pictures
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Wickus:
"WICKUS, STEP FORWARD!"
My Master's shouted command signals my caning is imminent and his ominous words fill me with fear.
In the two weeks that I have been a slave in this household, I have felt the cane at the hands of Master, Master Isivile, Mistress Mandisa and Master Uuka. But these had been delivered to my ass and shoulders in situ and mostly there'd only been one and no more than two cuts of the cane. As yet, I haven't been subjected to a sustained beating such as the one that now confronts me.
I step forward and stand trembling before my Master and his two sons. I lower my eyes to the flagstone floor and wait on Master.
"Wickus, do you know why you are being punished?"
"Yes Master."
My voice shakes with fear and my reply is no more than a whisper.
"SPEAK UP BOY!" Do you know why you are being punished?"
"YES MASTER!"
"That's much better. Now tell me why you are being caned. Spell out your offences and the punishments they incurred."
I am guilty of two offences both of which have earned me five strokes of the cane. But in committing these offences I am innocent of any real wrongdoing. Both happened because of my nervousness of this man who now owns me. My first offence was in averting my eyes when he'd ordered me to look at him. In doing that, I'd meant no disrespect to him; rather the opposite is true and it was my fear of him that made me look away. And that had earned me five strokes of the cane.
My Master attributed my second offence to my "white pride and arrogance" in referring to my birthplace as Kapstaad rather than its new name of iKapa. This name has been given to it by the new regime that is in the process of rebadging all cities, towns and villages with names more acceptable to the black majority. My use of the "Kapstaad" was a slip of the tongue, again as a result of my nervousness, and it too had earned me five strokes of the cane.
"Master, I offended you by averting my eyes from you as you were talking to me for which you ordered that I be given five strokes of the cane. My second offence was calling iKapa by its old, discredited name of Kapstaad. And for that you ordered another five strokes of the cane."
"Indeed I did! And both punishments warranted a more severe response from me. But I'm feeling generous tonight. Master Thandiwe's arrival has put me in an extremely good mood and so your punishment is lighter because of his homecoming. Slave, as you are caned you should consider yourself lucky that your punishment is half of what it should be."
Commonsense warns me, as a slave, I must appear grateful to my Master for any small mercies he gives me and to thank him for them.
"Yes Master! Thank you, Master!"
"Then let's waste no more time! Uuka, would you strap Wickus to the caning bench as Thandiwe chooses a suitable cane."
Wide-eyed, I look to where Master Uuka is preparing the whipping bench ready to receive my body. I watch as he checks and positions the leathers straps that will be used to hold me in place and to immobilize me.
I have been present on other nights as one of my fellow slaves was caned. But the horror of watching as another slave was cruelly punished always overwhelmed me with its sheer brutality. Consequently, all my attention was focused on his body and his suffering and never on the bench. Tonight, as it awaits me, the bench takes on the appearance of a grim instrument of torture made all the more fearsome in knowing that I'm the one to be fastened to it and caned.
In appearance it resembles a workman's bench and stands at waist high. Its operation is simple. The victim is made to stand at one end which is heavily padded to protect his genitals when he is bent double and then his ankles are fastened to the upright legs. Once his ankles are secured, he is made to bend at the waist and rest his upper body, face down on the bench top. Then his arms are stretched out to their fullest length before him and fastened by leather wrist straps. Effectively, with his body stretched taut and his buttocks at the correct height and angle, the slave is ready for chastisement. The cane can now be applied to his shoulders, lower back, ass or the back of his thighs; the choice for this rests with his master.
Being made of solid timber, there isn't any give in the bench and the hapless slave held in its tight embrace feels the full force of the blow delivered to his body. This particular bench is an antique purchased by Master and obviously it has seen much service. I wonder how many slaves have lain upon its hard, unyielding surface and suffered there. Its timber top has been worn smooth by the writhings of countless, naked bodies and polished to a dark patina by the fear induced sweating of its many hapless victims.
As Master Uuka busies himself at the bench, Master Thandiwe is selecting a suitable cane to use and obviously he has a wide choice. There is a varied assortment of canes, paddles, whips and straps hanging on a wall rack and I watch as Master Thandiwe tries out several canes. He tests them by swishing them through the air and their frightening whine unsettles the assembled slaves who begin to fidget nervously until they are ordered to stop by our Master who warns them.
"Stop fidgeting and stand still! Or you'll all have a taste of the cane."
His threat has the desired affect and the slaves stand quietly as the preparations for my caning continue.
Finally, Master Thandiwe makes his choice. The cane he has chosen is a thin, very flexible one.
Master commends his son on his choice of the cane.
"You have chosen well, Thandiwe. It's the cane I would have chosen."
"Why is that, Dad? What makes this cane so special? And why would you have chosen it over the other canes?"
"Thandiwe, I usually pick this cane for a slave's punishment because of its particular qualities. It's made from a special reed that grows in the swamps of Botswana. As you'd have noticed, the cane is very flexible and because of this it will wrap itself around the contours of the slave's buttocks. Its thinness and length will ensure that he'll feel every stroke. And after the second stroke I promise you, he'll be begging you to stop. But you must ignore his pleas. Remember, after you sentence a slave to punishment you must follow through or you'll lose face in the eyes of all our slaves."
"I will remember Dad!"
"And you can take it from me that this cane is a most effective instrument of punishment. Wickus is to receive ten strokes isn't it? In that case, I suggest you lay five strokes to the left side of his ass and then five to the right side. And take care that each stroke lands on a new part of his rump. That way he will truly know the pain of his caning. Now it's time to begin."
Because of my Master's description of the cane's capacity to inflict pain, I'm suddenly gripped by fear. My earlier resolve to remain stoic and to manfully accept my punishment deserts me. My bowels are turning to water and I desperately fight the urge to piss. Above all, I don't want to disgrace myself so publicly in front of my fellow slaves.
But fear has made a coward of me. I kneel before my Master and beg him for leniency.
"Please Master. Please don't cane me. Master, I'll do whatever you want. I'll be good, Master."
As I hear my plaintive pleas, I am ashamed at the sound of my voice. My words are those of a whining, begging slave but I don't care. My fear of the awful cane outweighs everything else and I continue to beg for mercy.
"Please Master; you don't have to do this. I'll do whatever I'm told. PLEASE MASTER! PLEASE!"
My pleas go unanswered; my Master is unmoved by my pleading and he ignores me. Instead he asks Master Uuka if the bench is ready for me.
"How's it going Uuka? Is the bench ready? Can we hurry things along as we still have much to do?"
"It's ready and waiting! Willem! Jaco! Grab hold of Wickus and bring to the bench!"
Willem and Jaco are two burly outdoor slaves whose muscle powers the two mowers that were spoken of earlier. Consequently, both slaves are powerfully built and very strong and as they take hold of me, I know I am no match for their brute strength. Nevertheless, as they drag me the few metres to the waiting bench, I resist their efforts with all my strength. Futilely, I try and dig my toes into the floor but I can't find a foothold on the smooth flagstones.
Our tussle is uneven and I am no match for Willem and Jaco; with one slave on either side of me I'm quickly dragged over to the bench and forcefully thrown face downwards on to its hard, unyielding surface. Master Uuka wastes no time in tying me down. As the two slaves battle to hold my upper body down on the bench, I continue to struggle and lash out at Master Uuka with my feet as he tries to pull my legs apart. My resistance infuriates Master Uuka and I hear his angry response to my struggling.
"Marko, get over here and hold his legs steady."
Marko is another of the outdoor slaves and his strength is equal to that of Willem and Jaco. With Marko's hands on my left leg holding it steady, it is easier for Master Uuka to tightly fasten the leather strap around my left ankle. And with that leg strapped into place, it's very easy for Marko to hold my other leg still as Master Uuka fastens the strap around its ankle.
Now that my legs are immobilized and my upper body held down by Willem and Jaco, Marko's job is made easier for him. He stretches my arms out full length in front of my head as Master Uuka fastens the leather straps around my wrists. Spitefully, Master Uuka rewards my protest by pulling the wrist- straps as tightly as possible and soundly slapping my ass three times with his open hand.
Master Uuka and his three slave helpers stand back from the bench and wait for Master Thandiwe to begin my punishment. I'm now helplessly hogtied and ready for my caning. My upper body is stretched taut and my legs are splayed wide open. Futilely, I struggle in my restraints but my body movements are no more than the nervous twitching of my muscles as I await the first cut of the cane.
In the cold air of the cellar, I feel a sudden chill and realize I'm perspiring copiously. The bench top feels wet beneath my chest and belly as my sweat trickles down the sides of my body to moisten and stain the bench's surface; I'm adding my bodily essence to that of all those other slaves who have lain and suffered here.
I'm now displaying the first signs of my panic as my heart races wildly within my heaving chest and my lungs feel as though they are at bursting point. There is a loud roaring in my ears as the blood courses through my arteries and I'm having difficulty in breathing. Desperately, like a drowning man, I gulp air through my widely opened mouth as though I'm hyperventilating. My chest heaves from my exertions and the nerves in my stomach muscles flutter wildly.
And I'm shamefully aware that, with my legs spread widely apart, that the most intimate and private part of my body - my anus - is on full view. I feel the quick opening and closing of my sphincter as its contractions keep time with my rapid breathing; the sensitive tissue surrounding it is tickled and teased by the slow flow of my sweat trickling down through the canyon of my ass-crack to my inner legs. Totally immobilized, I'm acutely aware of my complete helplessness and of my utter vulnerability.
Then, suddenly, I feel a hand pressing down firmly on the top of my ass as another hand soothingly strokes my back much as one would with a frightened animal. Gradually, my panic eases, my heartbeats slow down and my breathing returns to normal. I turn my head to see who it is that is having such a calming effect on me and see it is Master Thandiwe.
The question races through my mind that by this simple gesture - this placing of his hands on my naked body - is he claiming me as his own property? By the laying on of his hands has he symbolically marked me as his own?
Then, with his hand still resting atop my ass, he reaches between my legs searching for my cock and balls. I gasp as he none too gently pulls them back between my legs and cradles them in his cupped hand. Nervously, I wait as he examines my genitals. I feel the skin of my scrotum stretched, each ball rolled between his forefinger and thumb and the teasing of the eye of my cock. I wonder - is he genuinely evaluating his new property or is this just a form of humiliation he's subjecting me to? Either way the effect upon me is the same. I'm degraded by it. By this very action, I realize that I'm owned property and that my body is no longer my own. Eventually, he's satisfied and playfully pats my ass much as one does with a favorite pet animal. By these actions, Master Thandiwe dehumanizes me and reduces me to the level of a domestic beast-of burden. He speaks directly to me.
"That's a good pair of balls you've got there, Wickus. We need to take good care of them and see they're not damaged. Let me just tuck them back between your legs out of the way of the cane."
At this point, as he tucks my genitals back under me, I feel a sense of my own worthlessness. Master Thandiwe's hands demean me but his words are more degrading.
With his interest in my cock satisfied, Master Thandiwe now examines my ass; his hands slide from the saddle of my shoulders down over my back to my ass where he pauses ostensibly to judge the firmness and strength of my buttocks. But his hands tell me this isn't the true reason for showing such interest in this part of my anatomy. I'm very much aware that his hands are fondling and caressing me. Instinctively, I know his interest in me is sexual and that my ass is the focal point of his lust. He confirms this as he leans forward and softly tells me.
"And you have a beautiful ass too! I'll soon put that to good use! But let's get your caning over so that I can move onto Gerd's punishment."
With those words, I realize my caning is to begin and once more my fear causes me to beg for mercy.
"Please Master. Please." I hear my plaintive pleading, "Please Master."
I turn my head sideways and look back along the bench to where my Master stands with Master Uuka watching as Master Thandiwe limbers up by swishing the cane through the air. The sinister whine of the cane fills me with apprehension and I begin to tremble as my eyes bulge with animal-like fright.
Master Thandiwe is keen to impress his father with his newly received authority over the family's slaves and walks to the head of the bench. He places the cane to my lips and orders me to respectfully kiss it three times as the instrument of my correction and to thank my Master for my well-deserved punishment.
Three times I kiss the cane and recite.
"Master, I thank you for correcting me. And I thank you for my punishment which is well deserved."
My quaking voice is barely audible as I utter the words.
"And Wickus! You are to count out each stroke of the cane in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear and to thank me for it as though you mean it. And if you forget to count a stroke then it will be repeated. Do you understand me, Wickus?"
"Yes Master Thandiwe, I understand!"
With these preliminaries out of the way, Master Thandiwe is ready to cane me. Now, desperately, I try to prepare myself, both physically and emotionally, for the torment to follow.
As Master Thandiwe moves behind me, my body is convulsed by an involuntary spasm and time stands still for me. I am suspended in a state of fearful expectancy. I hear Master Thandiwe swish the cane through the air as he limbers his caning arm and each time my body flinches in anticipation of the cane cutting into my tender flesh.
And with each false swish of the cane I yelp and flinch as though my body has been struck; yet my mind is grateful that this isn't so. Behind me, I hear Master Isivile laughing at my reaction. My stomach knots up in fear and I feel the contents of my innards turn to water.
Desperately, I will my bowels not to disgrace me in front of my tormentors.
Momentarily, my mind shuts down as I try to focus on what is happening to me. Then, suddenly, I hear the now familiar swishing sound of the cane moving through the air. This is followed by a loud thwack as the cane strikes my upraised ass.
Initially, there is no feeling; then suddenly an unimaginable pain sears itself into every fiber of my being. It is pain unlike any I has experienced before and through the fog of that pain, I hear myself whimpering softly. I still have some residual self-pride and I resolve to take my caning manfully and not to cry out.
And I forget to count the stroke!
"That was stupid of you Wickus!" Master Thandiwe's words remind me of my omission. "You forgot to count the stroke and to thank me for delivering it so it doesn't count. I will have to begin again. This time, if you want to avoid extra cuts of the cane, you must remember to count and to thank me."
Again I hear the swish and thwack of the cane and feel the pain of it cutting into my body. And again I bite into my bottom lip to prevent me screaming out in pain. And this time, I don't forget to count. Pain, like fear, is a powerful motivator and they exercise the mind wonderfully.
"URGH! THAT'S NUMBER ONE!" I grunt out my response. "Thank you Master Thandiwe!"
For a third, fourth, fifth and sixth time I feel the cane descends upon my left ass cheek. Then Master Thandiwe changes his position and he now applies the cane to my right buttock. After the seventh stroke, I lose control of my bladder and I'm aware that I am pissing.
Through my distress, I hear it splattering on to the flagstones at my feet. My humiliation is complete and I feel ashamed of my weakness. I don't understand that I needn't feel this shame; that what is happening to me is a spontaneous, bodily response to the pain that most slaves experience under the whip and cane.
Master Thandiwe stops the caning long enough for me to finish urinating as Master Isivile comments.
"Look at the filthy animal pissing himself like that. I wonder why it is that most slaves piss under the whip or cane. I guess it's just part of their animal natures."
As Master Thandiwe waits for me to settle down, I'm thankful for this brief respite from the cane. I feel the acute pain of the seven strokes I have already received. Then suddenly, my torture begins anew. Without warning, Master Thandiwe resumes and applies the cane four more times to my suffering ass. Through my tears, I continue to count each stroke for fear of it being repeated and obediently shout out my thanks for my chastisement. Then, with the twin orbs of my ass aflame with the pain That Master Thandiwe has inflicted upon it, I shout out.
"NUMBER TEN! Thank you, Master!"
Thankfully, I'm aware that my ordeal is at an end. Racked with fiery pain, my crying now subsides to a soft whimpering.
And as Master Thandiwe holds the cane to my lips, I blurt out my gratitude for my punishment.
"Master Thandiwe, thank you for caning me. And I thank my Master for the correction I have received."
"Prickus," Master Isivile intervenes and calls me by the derogatory name he'd chosen for me, "if you are truly thankful to your Master for your chastisement, you must crawl to him and tell him so. Then you must kiss his feet in gratitude."
"Yes Master Isivile!"
Before I am released from the caning bench, my Master examines his son's handiwork. He needs to convince himself that Master Thandiwe didn't hold back in his use of the cane and showed me any leniency. I wince as his fingers none too gently trace over the stripes on my ass. This reaction obviously pleases him and he praises Master Thandiwe for a "job well done!"
"Well done, Thandiwe! You have proven to me that you can punish a slave. I particularly liked that you had the slave kiss the cane and thank you after each stroke. That proved to me beyond doubt that you are now a Master in the true sense of the word. That will now become standard practice for all punishments. And judging by the welts on his ass, the slave will feel the pain of his caning for several days and it should serve to focus his mind on pleasing us and not giving any more offence. You can release him from the bench, Uuka."
Master Uuka orders the slaves, Willem and Jaco to untie me and mindful of Master Isivile's instructions, I crawl to where my Master is standing; I kiss his feet and tell him.
"Master, I am sorry I offended you. And I thank you for my punishment. I will be well-behaved in future."
"See that you are Wickus!" Master's voice is stern. "Hopefully, your caning will help you adjust to becoming a dutiful and obedient slave. Otherwise you'll find yourself strapped to the bench for further punishment. Now join your fellow slaves and watch as Gerd is punished."
I take my place among the other slaves where I stand and ruefully rub my ass trying to ease the pain I feel. As I take my place, I notice that Gerd is shaking uncontrollably and standing in a puddle of his own urine. Of course, I can't judge Gerd by this; after all I'd emptied my own bladder just minutes ago. The fear of pain renders us helpless and we have no control over our bodily functions.
My own caning had been severe and Master Thandiwe had surprised me with the ferocity with which he'd applied the cane to my ass. Somehow it didn't quite fit with the earlier impression I'd formed of him in his bedroom before dinner. Then, I'd sensed there was gentleness in his nature that he'd shown to me. I'd convinced myself that he'd be a good Master and I responded to that by vowing to serve him to the best of my ability. Now, after my caning, I am left in no doubt that Master Thandiwe can be as severe as his father and that I should never take him for granted.
However, my caning was as nothing when compared to what now awaits the unfortunate Gerd. I have never seen an "ass paddling" and so I don't know what to expect. In the few weeks that I have been in service to my Master no other slave has been "ass paddled". But I have been told by the other slaves that it, along with the bullwhip, is the most severe - and most feared - punishment among the slaves. Always, as they spoke of ass paddling, it was with a whispered sense of fear and awe.
From them, I'd learned that domestic slaves are seldom whipped and that it is reserved for the worst offences that can't be tolerated or forgiven by a slave owner. After a session under the bullwhip a slave's back is badly lacerated and the resultant scarring makes them too repulsive for domestic service. Usually, after he has been bullwhipped, such a slave is sent to a quarry or a mine where he ekes out the rest of his days.
Ass paddling stands second to the bullwhip in its ferocity and the amount of pain it inflicts on its hapless victims. It too is reserved for major offences and because it doesn't scar it is the preferred punishment if an owner wants to preserve the ascetics of a slave's appearance.
With my own ass aflame, I do feel sympathy for Gerd despite his treatment of me. And I haven't been in the household long enough to share my fellow slaves' animosity and general loathing for him of.
The other slaves have told me of the mechanics of an ass paddling. The luckless victim is hung naked and upside down by his heels from an overhead rafter as his ass is struck with a heavy, perforated, leather paddle. And as though the actual paddling isn't enough the slave's ass is afterwards liberally coated with pimentade - a fiery liquid supposed to aid in the healing process - but guaranteed to have the wretched slave shrieking in unimaginable agony.
And that is Gerd's fate for tonight he is to be ass paddled!
We all wait expectantly on Master to speak. Respectfully, we maintain our silence and the only sounds we hear are those of Gerd's terror-filled blubbering.
We all watch as Master Uuka supervises Willem and Jaco as they loop stout ropes through two heavy, iron pulleys imbedded is a strong timber beam above our heads. Master Uuka instructs both slaves to take a firm hold of a rope while he lays out the other ends along the flag stoned floor.
While Master Uuka busies himself readying the ropes, Master Thandiwe returns the cane to the rack and retrieves the leather paddle he'll soon use on Gerd. This is my first sighting of the infamous paddle and its very appearance sends a shiver down my spine. Suddenly, I am aware of how lucky I'd been to merely suffer a caning rather than a paddling. The paddle has all the appearance of a cruel instrument of torture and is oval shaped with coin- sized perforations; the purpose of these holes escapes me and I wonder if they are there for decoration.
As Master Thandiwe stands alongside his father and brother, Gerd catches sight of the paddle and begins a heartrending wailing. He is very familiar with the paddle although he has never experienced it excruciating pain and that is about to change.
In the past, Gerd has been responsible for several of the household slaves receiving an ass paddling. It didn't matter that they'd been innocent of the offences of which he'd accused them. For various reasons, they'd either offended him or his overweening pride and vindictively, he'd manufactured an offence which he then took to either Mistress Mandisa or Master Uuka for referral to Master who is the final arbiter in these matters. Master always accepted their version of events and the "guilty" slave was punished.
Now it is Gerd's turn to be ass paddled and if he is looking for sympathy from his fellow slaves none is forthcoming. Quite the contrary; they relish this opportunity to see the hated Gerd get his comeuppance.
"GERD! Step forward!"
Master's command announces that Gerd's punishment is to begin.
Gerd begins to plead with his Master for mercy knowing from past experience that none will be shown to him. How many times in the past has he smirked at another slave's discomfiture in exactly the same circumstances?
Master loses patience with Gerd and tells him.
"Your reluctance to obey my order has earned you another two strokes of the paddle. Now step forward and tell me why you are being punished."
Panicky, Gerd tries to step forward but his legs buckle and he falls to his knees on the floor. Vainly, he tries to stand but can't; his strength fails him.
Master Uuka instructs two of the watching slaves to haul him to his feet and to drag him before his Master. Trembling uncontrollably, Gerd stands - supported by the two slaves and tells his Master why he is being punished.
"Master, it's because I spilled coffee on Mistress's tablecloth during dinner. Oh Master, I am sorry. Please Master spare me?"
Master ignores his pleas and asks.
"And Is that all, Gerd?"
"Master, I don't understand?"
"Slave, was that your only offence?"
Puzzled, Gerd thinks momentarily about the question before the answer dawns on him.
"Master, I offended Mistress by wiping my nose on the back of my hand. I'm truly sorry Master that I showed disrespect to you. I didn't mean to Master. I just didn't think."
"Nevertheless you did show your gross behavior and that can't be overlooked. The fact that you didn't think is no excuse." Gerd shrinks under his Master's reprimand. "A slave must always be alert to proper behavior and I expect - no, I demand - that my slaves conduct themselves appropriately. You, as the senior slave in my household, should know that and set an example for the younger slaves to follow."
"Yes Master!"
"And are there any more offences?"
"Master?"
"Really Gerd, getting you to acknowledge your offences is like extracting teeth from a hen. Do I have to tell you?" Master's annoyance with Gerd is growing. "What happened a few minutes ago? Think slave!"
Poor Gerd! No matter that fear consumes him and disrupts his thought processes. His Master is in no mood to make any allowances for this. Gerd stares blankly into space - I assume he is trying to recollect to what Master is referring and desperately, he tries to remember. Then finally, he does recall and blurts out.
"Master, I was slow to respond to your order of a few minutes ago to step forward."
"Finally! You remembered. Now tell me what punishments you have incurred by your offences?"
"Master, I am to receive ten strokes for spilling the coffee, two strokes for my grossness and two more for being slow to obey you. Oh Master, please have pity."
"That's fourteen strokes of the paddle! Thandiwe let's round that number up to fifteen, It sounds a tidier figure."
"As you wish, Dad! Should I make a start?"
"Whenever you are ready, Thandiwe."
Master Thandiwe points to a spot on the floor and orders the luckless slave lie down.
"Okay then Gerd, let's get your ankles tied and have you hoisted up ready for your paddling. Come here and lie face down on your belly with your ankles alongside the ropes."
Desperately, Gerd makes one final plea to his Master for leniency and is ignored. Despairing, he looks towards his fellow slaves for a small show of sympathy but again he is disappointed. Realizing the hopelessness of his situation - that nothing will save him - he does as commanded and lies face down at Master Uuka's feet.
Master Uuka commands the two slaves, Willem and Jaco to each take hold of one end of the rope while he loops the opposite ends around Gerd's ankles. As the ropes tighten and bite into his flesh, Gerd's panic gives way to terror and he begins to cry out begging his Master to forgive him and to spare him.
Master Uuka gives the order to Willem and Jaco to hoist Gerd into position. None too gently, the two slaves use their considerable strength to pull down on the ropes. Helplessly, Gerd uses his hands to try and protect the front of his naked body and genitals from the keel-hauling they are receiving as he is dragged unceremoniously over the rough, flag stoned floor of punishment corner.
Willem and Jaco are finding it difficult to hoist the franticly struggling Gerd into position. As they tug on their ropes, their honed, muscular torsos show the exertion of their efforts. Their hard muscles tense and bulge and every sinew in their lean bodies is stretched to the very limit. And they aren't helped by Gerd who surprises everyone by his struggling resistance.
Master Thandiwe is impatient to have Gerd swinging head down from the rafter and he loses patience. Without warning, he applies the paddle to Gerd's ass with the command to
"Stop struggling, damn you! Keep still or you'll again feel the paddle on your ass."
The loud "thwack "of leather striking naked flesh reverberates around the cellar like a rifle shot and it is followed by a moment's silence as the pain lodges in Gerd's brain. He answers in the only way he can; his wild shriek chills my blood causing me to flinch and it serves as a precursory warning to him of the suffering he is about to experience. It does however, have the desired effect on Gerd. He ceases his struggling and allows himself to be hauled into position.
Gerd is now suspended head down from the rafter. His panic is plainly evident in the wild contortions of his body as he struggles to regain a measure of equilibrium. His body twists and turns on the ends of the ropes fastened to his ankles and his arms flail uselessly like the broken sails of a windmill. And the silence is broken by his wounded animal whimpering and the nervous breathing of the watching slaves.
Master Isivile steps forward and places his hands on Gerd's hips to steady him until he hangs motionless with his head just above the floor. Mischievously, Master Isivile kneads the slave's plumb ass-cheeks and pours scorn upon him.
"Hey, you are right Thandiwe. This is one ugly ass. It's so fat!"
"Well little brother, let's see if we can whittle away some of that flab with the paddle, shall we?"
Master Thandiwe's words upset Gerd and his whimpering gives way to loud caterwauling. As Master Isivile strokes the slave's body, he shushes him much as one does with a frightened animal. I don't see any compassion in this action; rather I see a master's contempt for his slave.
Gerd is now at the point where nothing will settle him and if anything the volume of his crying increases. Our Master impatiently intervenes.
"Uuka, we'll need to gag him! I'm sure his crying can be heard upstairs and his screaming will surely upset his Mistress and disturb her quiet time."
Master Uuka sends a slave to fetch the gag from a cupboard in a corner that holds the smaller accoutrements for punishing a slave. Mostly, the gag is used to lessen the impact of the agonized screams of the victim and it consists of a leather ball of about one and three quarter inches diameter attached to leather straps which fasten behind the head.
I watch in fascinated horror as Master Uuka prepares the gag. Obviously, it is an old one that has been well-used. The ball itself is misshapen and well-chewed; no doubt by the teeth of other hapless slaves who'd worn it as they were flogged or simply because they'd spoken out of turn.
As Master Uuka approaches Gerd, he nods to Marko to hold the suspended slave's body steady while he fits the gag. He orders Gerd to.
"Open your mouth, damn you boy! Or you'll get a taste of my strap."
I don't know whether it is shock or defiance but Gerd refuses to open his mouth. However, he is no match for Master Uuka and the slave, Marko. Cruelly, Master Uuka pinches Gerd's nostrils closed and forces him to breathe through his mouth. With his other hand he pops the leather ball into the slave's mouth, behind the teeth, and tightens the straps behind his head.
Gerd's mouth is held open in an obscene grin and his teeth are on prominent display. He tries to give voice to his objections but his words are now reduced to unintelligible, guttural sounds that are more animal-like than human. He begins to drool and his spittle trickles from the corners of his mouth onto the floor. Eventually, he just gives up and remains silent.
"That's better! That should keep him quiet." Master Uuka exclaims triumphantly. "Now we can return to the business in hand and bring matters to a close. He's ready when you are, Thandiwe!"
Before Master Thandiwe begins, he removes his shirt and hands it to a slave to hold. Why he found it necessary to this eludes me. Perhaps, he wants to be unimpeded by clothing and to free up his arm as he wields the paddle. Or could it be that he is simply displaying his body for his father's household slaves to marvel at.
Earlier, I'd seen Master Thandiwe's total nudity as I showered and dressed him for dinner with his family. Then, I'd been too overwhelmed with the knowledge that I'd just been given to him by his father to serve temporarily as his body-slave to fully appreciate his body. Nevertheless, I had been impressed by his nearness to me. As my soaped hands glided over the plateaus and valleys of his muscled body, I became aware of his physicality and masculinity. Instinctively, I knew that I would become more intimate with it in the coming days. His superbly fit, teenaged body is that of an accomplished athlete and later I will learn Master Thandiwe plays rugby and rows for his college at university.
Now he stands before me stripped to the waist and in the golden glow of the cellars lights, I am able to properly appraise this man who is my temporary Master. He stands at just over six feet tall and my guess is that he weighs somewhere in the region of one hundred and eighty pounds; all of it hard muscle and with the complete absence of any body fat. His flawlessly smooth, hairless skin is the color of warm, rich mahogany. Wide shoulders taper down to a narrow, trim waist while the hard slabs of his muscular chest are adorned with two, coin sized nipples crowned by points of needle sharpness. The flat plain of his belly is ridged with his clearly defined abdominal muscles which disappear beneath the waist band of his tailored shorts. And the shorts do nothing to hide the twin, rounded orbs of his very pert ass which are carried high on his strong, muscular thighs.
Short, tight curls of the darkest black cling to his scalp like a hand-knitted skullcap and frame his countenance. Dark, piercing eyes are evenly placed on either side of a broad, pear-shaped nose with wide, flaring nostrils. His purple-plum colored lips are full and sensuous and part to show the even, pearly whiteness of his teeth.
It has to be said that Master Thandiwe has the appearance of a black Adonis and as I drink in his masculine beauty, I am overwhelmed in knowing that I must serve him as both body and pleasure slave while he is home on vacation. My feelings about this are very mixed. One part of me resents that I am a slave who must serve him without reservation and yet another part of me looks forward to him being my Master. These conflicting thoughts only confuse me.
But for now, I am about to witness my first ass-paddling and I don't really know what to expect
The sight of Gerd's naked form suspended upside by his heels from a rafter and with his legs pulled widely apart emphasizes to me our abject powerlessness and our owner's absolute mastery over us. As he waits with wide-eyed fear for the first strike of the paddle, Gerd babbles incoherently through his ball gag and he struggles desperately, yet vainly in his bonds.
The barbarity of an ass-paddling already sickens me and the first blow is yet to be struck. Watching as Gerd is made ready for punishment is proving visceral and it strikes a primeval chord within me. And worryingly, despite my abhorrence at the scene being played out before me, I am finding it highly erotic; already I feel the first stirrings of my unwanted erection. I will my wayward cock to remain still and yet, as I glance along the line of my fellow slaves, I see that they too are at various stages of their own arousals.
But the spectacle of the naked slave hanging upside down being ass-paddled by the semi-nude Master Thandiwe is powerfully evocative. It reminds me of pictures I'd seen in books about slavery back in the days of the Roman Empire.
The paddle that Master Thandiwe holds is made of thick perforated leather and it is, in the words of my fellow slaves, designed to "blister a slave's ass, good and proper". They have told me how a slave "won't be sitting down anytime too soon after his paddling and he would be sleeping on his belly".
Master Thandiwe isn't ready to begin just yet. He limbers up his paddling arm by swinging the heavy paddle through the air. The ominous, swishing sound it makes has the watching slaves on edge and flinching while Gerd continues to babble incoherently into his gag.
Master Thandiwe plays with the unfortunate Gerd much as a predator does with its terrified prey before, the final, fatal lunge. Several times he swings the paddle downward towards the upturned ass but stops just short of making contact with the quivering buttocks. Gerd cries out in anticipation of the pain that doesn't eventuate.
Master Thandiwe continues to play with Gerd's raw emotions while his father looks on and smiles indulgently. He is evidently enjoying Gerd's discomfiture.
Gerd has been placed into a limbo of uncertainty. He is not sure of when the first blow will be struck and each false start has him jerking in his bonds and sobbing. Then without warning, Master Thandiwe delivers the first blow to the soft, spongy flesh of the slave's ass.
For a second time, the sickening "thwack" of the leather paddle striking naked flesh reverberates loudly around the closed confines of the cellar and it drowns out the muffled cries of the hapless Gerd. Each blow sets his body swinging like a pendulum and after each stroke, Master Uuka orders Marko to grab hold of Gerd and to steady his body ready for the next strike.
Because he is gagged, Gerd is unable to count out the number of his blows or to thank his Master for the lesson he is learning. But his wild thrashing and pitiful, muffled screams are a testimony to a lesson being well taught. And as my ass still tingles from my own caning, I silently count the fifteen strokes for him.
All too soon, Gerd's ass is bright scarlet and the paddle's perforations will raise coin-sized blisters which ensure the slave will feel his punishment for many days to come. But worse is to follow. Always after an ass-paddling, I understand our Master insists that pimentade and flakes of sea salt be applied to the slave's inflamed buttocks.
Master claims the pimentade and salt aid in the healing process and will prevent any permanent disfigurement of a slave subjected to a paddling. In cruel reality, it adds another dimension of agony to the slave's already appalling suffering.
Master Thandiwe stands aside as Master Uuka callously rubs the salt onto Gerd's inflamed buttocks and no consideration is given to his agony. Quite obviously, the salt stings the lacerated flesh but it isn't until the pimentade is liberally applied to the slave's ass that his true suffering begins. Using a special sponge on a wooden handle, Master Uuka generously paints the slave's ass several times before pouring the fluid into his ass-crack. Horrified, I watch as the fiery liquid slowly trickles down through the cleft and over the twisting, contorting muscles of Gerd's back.
Gerd's cock-shriveling shrieks of pain - even the gag can't completely mask them - give eloquent testimony to his suffering. I can only imagine the unbearable pain he feels as the astringent mixture sets fire to the tender tissue of his anus, perineum and testicles.
Even more heartrending is the sight of the slave's futile attempts to ease the pain of the pimentade as he thrashes uselessly in his bonds. Like a broken puppet on a string, his body twists and contorts itself so violently that it shakes the stout, wooden rafter from which he hangs suspended.
Much later, I'll learn that Mistress Mandisa prepares the pimentade from an old, well-known recipe long used on slaves and that the mixture of this vile concoction include the juice of limes, ground chili powder, cayenne pepper and other unknown ingredients.
Gerd is paying a high price for incurring Master Thandiwe's enmity; far worse than my simple caning which was almost benevolent by comparison. The pain I feel in my ass would be as nothing to what Gerd is experiencing and I thank my good fortune that it is he and not me who is suffering. I determine that I will do all I can to avoid ever being ass-paddled.
Gerd is left hanging head down until his struggling ceases and his anguished cries subside. Then Master Uuka orders the slaves, Willem and Jaco to lower Gerd to the floor and untie him. Gerd lies in a crumpled heap like a rag doll while the gag is removed from his mouth.
Master Thandiwe stands alongside his father with his feet firmly planted apart and with his hands on his hips. His demeanor suggests he is waiting expectantly for something to happen. I work out that he is waiting for Gerd to crawl forward and to pay his respects and to thank his Masters for his chastisement much as I had done a short time previously. Gerd doesn't move; perhaps his judgment is clouded by the pain he feels.
Master Uuka uncoils his short imvubu whip and applies it lightly to Gerd's back as he instructs him to.
"Crawl to your Masters and pay them your respects. And slave, don't forget to thank Master Thandiwe for his correction of your poor performance."
Poor Gerd; he is a picture of misery! He is a sorry spectacle as he crawls to where Master and his two sons are standing. Tearfully, he begins by kissing his Master's feet three times before moving on to Master Thandiwe and paying him the identical respect. In addition, he thanks Master Thandiwe for his punishment and promises not to re-offend. Then, lastly, he crawls to Master Isivile and pays his respects to the young teenager.
Master tells Master Uuka that the family will retire early and that he won't be requiring the services of the household slaves until morning. Master Uuka sets about bedding down the slaves for night and securing their ankle chains. He pays special attention to Gerd and tells him to.
"Get a good night's rest, boy! You'll need all your strength for the mower in the morning. You're to be hitched to it at first light."
I don't think Master Uuka intended any irony in his advice to Gerd to "get a good night's rest, boy!" But somehow, I doubt very much that Gerd will sleep tonight. The pain he feels in his ass and his apprehension of the new duties that await him tomorrow won't be conducive to a good night's rest.
I fully expect to be shackled to my pallet. However, Master Thandiwe obviously has other plans for me. He turns to me and speaks.
"Wickus, from now one you'll sleep in my room in case I need your services during the night. But first put on your loincloth - we can't have you walking through the house buck- assed naked and upsetting Mother- and follow me."
Mischievously, Master Isivile winks at his brother and asks.
"Thandiwe, what services could you possibly have for your slave in the middle of the night?"
"You never know little brother! I could want a light snack or a drink and to save me going downstairs to the kitchen, I can send Wickus. After all, he knows his way around the house better than I do."
I do as I am told and follow my three Masters upstairs into the living-room where Master Thandiwe tells his mother he is very tired and wants an early night. He kisses her; she hugs him to her and tells him how happy she is to have him at home for the long summer vacation. Then, he takes his leave of his father and brother and bids them a good night. Turning, he instructs me.
"Come on Wickus, it's time to hit the sack!"
Somehow, I suspect, like Gerd, I won't be sleeping much tonight.
To be continued......