Punished


By Louetta 

This is a pretty accurate rendering of something that happened 
to me one summer at a camp on a lake in New Hampshire.


Slowly, amid the silence she realized she was awake. No alarm
required. Not a sound to disturb the silence, the eeriness of the
mist outside her window. Nerves took care of ending her sleep.
Nerves she always felt before punishment. Punishment. A sentence
to be carried out. And this time in front of witnesses. In front
of witnesses she would hang there naked, naked and helpless, and
submit. Willingly. Willingly submit to her whipping. Her
punishment. Richly deserved. Eagerly awaited. At sunrise. In an
hour or so, with the mist still on the lake and the sun peering
over the horizon.

On her bureau the clock said 5:03AM. It was cold in the room and
colder still outside. During the night she had closed her windows
but the chill had crept in. It was only September first but the
chill had crept in. Soon she would be outside in that chill,
naked, hanging, suspended by her wrists, waiting for the sun to
rise, helpless, frightened. Waiting for the whip to sear her thin
bare ass and scorch the relative hardness of the backs of her
thighs. But no breasts today. No breasts. No hard strokes against
her soft white boobs, no painful rawhide welts on her hard pink
nipples. No, too painful, too erotic, too sexual with witnesses
watching her nude body rise to every cruel stroke of the leather
thong. Rise and fall back, quiver, twist slowly under the lash
til she hung there limply, exhausted, sobbing into the flesh of
her upper arm. Occasionally a scream but never a word. Never a
plea for mercy, an entreaty to slow down, only an involuntary sob
or moan when she momentarily lost control.

Sunrise. 6:13. 6:13. Like an airplane departure time, 6:13. She
put her feet over the side of the bed and stood up. She smoothed
her nightie over her bottom and looked at it carefully. It would
do nicely. She would present herself just as she was: nightie,
perfunctory white underpants, ankle bracelet. Nothing else. Her
hands would be tied tightly behind her back, head up she would
walk to the edge of the lake. Coolly she would stand there as she
was stripped naked as the day she was born. Hung by her wrists.
Naked, shameless, brazen, before the three of them, naked except
for her ankle bracelet. Naked, nude, bareass, indecent, immodest,
helpless, faltering, faltering ever so slightly in the mist and
the cold, waiting for the whip. Struggling a little, trembling,
sobbing, trying the ropes that bound her wrists to the rope that
hung from above. Trying them and finding them taut, too taut to
budge. Helpless, a prisoner, doomed to the coming ordeal. And
then she would wait. Wait for the sun to peer over the far edge
of the lake. Wait for the first crack of the single wet rawhide
strand across her bare bottom. And then she would be whipped.
Whipped, whipped, more and more til she cried, more and more til
she screamed, and still more until she begged. There in the
morning cold and mist.

5:09. She crossed the hall to the bathroom. Time enough for a
shower. She stripped off her nightie, turned on the shower, sat
down to pee. Panties off and into the shower. She wanted to wash
her hair. She would have to dry it against the cold but there was
time. The heat of the water felt good on her bare skin. Her puppy
brown body felt good. Nipples hard, a trace of warmth in her
small, white breasts and in the hollow of her groin. She put her
hands to her tender young breasts, and then slowly ran both of
them down over her stomach past the soft brown floss to the pink
lips of her sex. Middle finger of her right hand slipped inside
to tickle her clit. She shivered at the tingle in her loins and
stood there for a minute feeling the heat rise inside her,
enjoying the pleasure of her own naked body. But just for a
minute. That was all. She was there to shower not to toss herself
off.

5:22. Shower finished, step out naked, towel around the hair,
pick up the nightie and the underwear, back across the hall. A
noise downstairs. The car bringing the witnesses. Her name is
called, yes, she is up, can't they hear the shower? Still nude,
dry the hair, brush it, leave it down, comb the runway a tad,
after all there are guests. Back on with the little white
panties, back on with the nightie. Sit on the side of the bed.
Wait. Enjoy. This is fun.

5:45. She is called. She descends the stairs and through the
kitchen. No time to eat or drink. No thought for it. Out to the
porch. Open the door and down the stairs to the ground. It is
cold out. She shivers slightly. Her nightie barely covers her
taut little behind. Her long brown legs are bare. Goosebumps
immediately spring up over the fronts of both thighs. Her arms
are bare too, as is the upper part of her chest. She feels the
cold sneak down the sides of her breasts and further down her
body. Her feet are already cold in the moisture of the grass. Put
your hands behind your back, they tell her. She does.

5:47. Slowly, somewhat clumsily, her wrists are bound behind her.
Tight. The ropes hurt. They are supposed to. She wants to be
hurt. She wants to be tied. They stare hungrily at her, a nearly
naked girl with her hands bound behind her. She knows they can
almost see her tits through her nightie. She knows she is
helpless. Her body responds to being the victim and her nipples
harden like diamonds, between her legs she can feel the moisture
seep into her underpants. She spies the thermometer on the corner
of the porch. Fifty-two degrees, or eleven, if it suits you
better. Ready to go. Two in front, one in back she heads for the
water. Head up, chest out. A procession, more like an execution
than a whipping.

5:53. Only a hundred feet but she's really cold, her feet are
freezing on the damp ground. Up two stairs into the little gazebo
near the corner of the dock hidden by the trees from the house,
open to the water. In the middle, from the cross beams, hangs the
rope from which she will hang, hang naked, on her tip toes, to be
tortured, the rope cutting into her wrists as she twists and
turns. Turn and face the river. Underneath the rope is a
Styrofoam kickboard. Stand on that so you can be tied. When its
removed you'll hang just enough from your wrists so your toes
touch the floor. The three foot length of rawhide that will lash
her bare skin goes into a small can full of water to soak. Placed
where she can see it. When its soaking wet the weight of the thin
strand will insure she will suffer. The witnesses stand in front
and to the side. Don't block the view of the river. No sign of
the sun yet. Quiet, cold, misty. No one about. Behind her busy
untying her hands. They have to be retied in front of her after
she has taken her nightie off. Hands are undone.

5:56. Off with her nightie. She must strip herself. Hands crossed
in front of her she slips the straps down off her shoulders
halfway down her arms. There she waits. She likes being a sex
object and she's going to act like it. Then slowly down her
breasts. Halfway. She waits again. The whiteness at the top of
her tits hints at the tantalizing little breasts still concealed
beneath the top of her nightie. All the way. Her innocent breasts
bared to the thin gray light of morning and the boys in front of
her. Over her stomach and down over her hips to the ground, step
out of it and kick it away. She stands up. Arms crossed in front
of her tits. They have to wait a little bit longer to see what
precious few boys have seen before. First one then the other, she
looks the witnesses in the eye. One eyes her hungrily, the other
with amazement. It occurs to her that her nakedness, or near to
it, is a surprise. Put your wrists together. She does and again
her wrists are bound, this time in front, again a little
clumsily. Evidently whippings make everybody a little nervous.
Now hands over your head. Now her small white breasts are clearly
visible, as is there effect on the witnesses. Cocks stir inside
trousers. Her hands are pulled as high as possible above her, the
rope from above looped through her wrists and tied off as high up
as can be done. Her thin brown body is stretched as taut as
possible, naked except for her somewhat threadbare little panties
and her ever-present ankle ring. With her body pulled tight her
underpants inch down her body to in back display the top half of
her ass and in front her tummy almost to the hair that guards her
moist pink lips. She can't help trembling with excitement knowing
she is about to surrender her naked body to two hours of this.
Her hands now tightly bound she can feel her heart soaring out of
control as her last avenue of escape has been stripped away. Her
hair is tied up behind her head. Not sure why, only her ass and
her upper thighs are to be whipped, not her back. But it will
make her look and feel even more naked. Naked. She can't wait.
Naked in the mist, bound, helpless. Already her nipples ache, the
velvet lips between her legs are soaked and seem to quiver almost
with joy.

6:01. Her ankles are tied together. Tightly. Her wrist ropes
already hurt and soon will her ankle ropes. But all that will
soon be lost to the pain of the whip. She still has her panties
on. In case someone comes they must be near enough to preserve
her at least a trace of modesty, so they will never leave her
ankles. Now there is a tug at the waist band. Finger tips inside
her panties. Inches from the tender pink lips that guard her
girlhood. Inches from the dampness between her thighs. Slowly the
thin little garment is lowered to reveal the snow white bottom
that soon will feel the bite of the whip, lowered in front over
the flossy little hillock that leads to her soft pink lips. And
inside those soft pink lips lies the little tunnel which offers
the boys who stand in front of her the ultimate pleasure a girl's
body can offer. Now the little garment slips down her thighs, her
knees and down to her ankles where they will for the next half
hour reside. The board is kicked out from under her feet and her
naked body stretched taut. The witnesses in front of her stare
wide-eyed so, thrusting her bare breasts forward, grinding her
virgin thighs like a whore in heat, she gives them something to
stare at. Girl power is being nude and helpless and knowing you
can't be touched. The whiteness of her breasts and ass contrasted
with her brown body makes her feel all the more naked, all the
more vulnerable. She almost glows with the knowledge that in
minutes she will be offered to the upcoming sun and to the whip
that will provide her with both the ultimate pain and the
ultimate pleasure that her body can provide her. At 6:13.

6:03. She is alone. She has ten minutes. From behind her she
hears muffled voices, some laughter, the odor of cigarettes. But
she is alone with her thoughts. The smell of the trees brings
back scenes from her childhood when they would play cowboys and
Indians in the woods. Like the girls in the latest remake of the
Last Of The Mohicans she would be marched hands bound through the
woods by make believe Hurons. She was tied to trees, tied to
fence posts, staked out and hung by her wrists, just as now. But
she was never naked, topless a few times not that it mattered
then physically but she gained a hint then of the attraction her
now bare chest held for men. Hanging naked now she felt the
ghosts of many of the same feelings she felt then only then they
had no names, they were just feelings, feelings she liked,
feelings she felt now, hanging by her wrists in the woods, only
now she was naked, now she would be whipped. Then as now, despite
the necessary presence of her tormenters, being tied up was an
extremely private and personal thing, not wholly to be shared.
She didn't understand it then and didn't really now but there was
something about it that satisfied a need or some appetite that
couldn't quite be described and that satisfaction was multiplied
over and over when she was old enough to add the whip. Taking off
her clothes she understood now as a prelude to a sexual
experience. The cool breeze against her bare skin. The eroticism
of being naked before these boys, thinking about perhaps being
discovered that way by someone else. Being bound, the tightness
of the ropes, the discomfort in her wrists and ankles, the
feelings of helplessness, vulnerability, expectancy. The physical
sensations of being turned on, rock like nipples, warmth and
moisture inside her. The agony of the whipping itself,
surrendering, submitting, sometimes faltering, forlorn,
frightened, struggling, shaking, crying, trying to summon her
courage to continue, the bite of the lash, the uncertainty of
never knowing quite where it would fall. Finally the ecstasy of
getting off. Forgetting about hating her body for causing her all
that pain and now loving it for providing her with all that
pleasure. As the clock ticked she felt her breath quicken, felt
her heart beat a little faster, forgot about the cold and the
bite of the ropes around her limbs and remembered her body, her
soft brown body with the snow white breasts and ass, the pink
lips of her pussy and the warmth in her loins and what it could
and would do for her in just a very few minutes.

6:12. Of a sudden the cigarettes were extinguished, the witnesses
in position. In a minute the sun would rise to warm the gentle
curve of her breasts, kiss the pinkness of her nipples, caress
the smooth skin of her belly, peak at the smoothness of her bare
white ass as she writhed back and forth in agony, tickle the
softness of her inner thighs, smooth the downy runway of her
pubic hair and catch a hint of the pinkness of her cunt lips. Did
the sun or the whip know the best orgasms she ever had where when
she was helpless as she was now, her body given up to an ordeal
such as she was about to willingly undergo? The rawhide lash came
out of its can of water, indulged itself in two practice strokes
against the railing. There would be no warm-up, unless it was the
fire building between her legs.

6:13. The sun peaked above the horizon, the glow shown all the
way down the lake to where she hung naked, wide eyed and
expectant. She felt the butterflies in her belly, the trembling
of her body, a flush that crossed her boobs, a touch of sweat
under each arm. Remembered the glow she felt as a little girl
playing a game, the center of attention, the heroine waiting to
be rescued, frail, slender, desperate, alone. Then a different
kind of glow flooded her eagerly offered body as the first strike
of the wet rawhide whip bite hungrily into both cheeks of her
bare ass started her on a journey of pain that ended five minutes
later in waves of pleasure. And when they cut me down sometime
later the good part is all I could remember.