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Archive name: yolanda3.txt (MMF, exh, nc, ws, v)
Authors name: Elmer B. Ben (elmerbigben@hotmail.com)
Story title : Yolanda's Story: Part 3
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Yolanda's Story: Part 3 (MMF, exh, nc, ws, v)
by Elmer B. Ben (elmerbigben@hotmail.com)
***
Yolanda having been transported to eighteenth Century
Europe from her comfortable middle class 21st century
suburban life finds her fate a sorry one in this strange
place from the past. Betrayed by almost every man she
meets she is arrested, humiliated, forced to accept
unwelcome sexual advances and finally imprisoned
awaiting corporal punishment at the whipping post. She
longs to return to our present time and misses greatly
her only one true friend in this strange time and place,
Jennifer Barstow, the sister of her erstwhile lawyer,
Percival Barstow. What is to be her ultimate fate?
Punishment
They come for her in the darkest, coldest part of the
night, the hour before dawn, She hears their heavy boots
clomping on the cobblestone floor of the corridor of her
cell block long before they reach the door to her cell
and pause there. She hears hushed voices in the hallway
and her heart skips several beats as she hears the heavy
iron key rattling in the lock. She has not slept well
since she arrived here at Grey Rock Prison. Each day,
each hour could bring the dreaded carrying out of her
sentence, her sentence of harsh corporal punishment.
Moreover the time frame allotted by the court of two
months has nearly expired and she has known the time
must be near. The seven plus weeks in this hellhole have
not been pleasant, the food has been vile and cold, the
sanitary facilities nonexistent except for the odiferous
little pile of straw in the corner one day replaced by
the equally odiferous chamber pot. A bucket of cold
water and a dipper has served both for quenching her
thirst and minimal bathing. There are the weekly bathing
sessions, however, performed with the hard milled soap
and cold water by a fellow inmate, a shy unhappy woman
embarrassed by such an onerous task.
This presided over by a chief wardress gleefully openly
enjoying the discomfiture of the two women. Then, too,
is the cold dank atmosphere of her cell, especially at
nighttime. She soon learns basic comforts are to be paid
for or rather earned in her case. The price of a warm
blanket offered by a male guard is fallatio performed at
his whim; warm water for her bath and being allowed to
perform her own ablution is bought at orally pleasuring
the wardress. Mild soap and warm water for the weekly
bath are bought at the expense of more extensive sexual
favors.
Shame and dignity must be cast aside if she is to endure
what is to come and, to survive what is beyond Twice she
has received visitors, the first time blessed sweet
Jennifer who apologizes profusely for her brother's
betrayal (he has since secured a position with the
Prosecutor's office as assistant in matters of
misdemeanors, a fairly lucrative position for a young,
as yet inexperienced, barrister); it is Jennifer who
offers her lodging and help in gaining some sort of
gainful and legitimate employment after her ordeal here
is past.
On the second visit Jennifer brings with her the judge
who presided over her arraignment. He is a kindly man
who sympathizes with her predicament and pronounces his
regrets he could do no more for her at the arraignment.
He is likewise interested in her version of the
unfamiliar legal concepts. He is mystified from whence
and where she came. Yolanda is no help there for she is
as puzzled as anyone else by what has happened to her.
Within her still stirs the faint hope the situation will
reverse itself and she will return home before the worst
happens. But the time as come and there is no longer
time for hope. Things will move fast from now on and
Yolanda will have little time for thought or for hope.
She has lain awake this night as many nights before,
lain awake in uneasy anticipation of what must surely be
near, the carrying out of her harsh sentence in this
awful place. She has lain on her straw tick watching
through the small barred window at the ominous shadows
dancing on the wall of the corridor, shadows cast by the
flickering flames of the torches that line the walls at
intervals along the corridors. The light from these
torches flood her cell as the door creaks open on rusty
hinges and the guards enter.
Two of the men stand just inside her cell on either side
of the open doorway; another, the captain of the guard
enters and stands before her bed. "Arise and stand
before us," he commands.
Yolanda complies standing on shaking legs before him her
hands at her sides. "Remove yer garment," he commands.
Yolanda shivers in the early morning cold taken from the
warm blanket and straw tick to stand naked before them.
Goose pimples break out and she involuntarily rubs her
arms and hugs her arms around her body for what little
warmth that will afford. The guards step back enjoying
her display of nudity as well as her obvious
discomfiture. The captain produces a legal document from
his westcot and proceeds to read it. "Yolanda Price,
name of record from the High Court of His Majesty, I am
obliged to read ye the following.."
Upon reading pronouncement of her sentence and intent to
carry it out at this time the captain produces wrist and
leg shackles which Yolanda must wear to the post.
"Please, must I be naked all the way there? Can I not be
covered at least until it is time?" she asks tearfully.
The captain produces a short cape, one that will not
cover the whole of Yolanda's privacy as she would wish,
but is better than nothing she thinks. Even this small
deference to her wishes is to have its price Yolanda
soon discovers.
Grabbing a handful of her long thick hair the captain
bends her head back and kisses her roughly. Thereupon he
fondles her intimately in the presence of the other two
men who stand there looking on leering obscenely. Not
wanting to "hog the patch" as he puts it the captain
offers Yolanda to the other two quickly go about the
business of passing her back and forth between
themselves and the captain all the while taking the most
outrageous and indecent liberties with her person.
However unwilling Yolanda submits and becomes sexually
aroused. Looking up at the lightening day beyond the
skylight the captain admonishes, "We'd better get to it
boys er we'll be late an' the warden won't like that
I'll tell ye".
One last indignity before Yolanda can don the cape and
be led shackled down the long hallway of the cell block
to the prison courtyard where she is to be flogged
before witnesses: one last indignity and one last
humiliation she must endure.
"It is best ye relieve yerself if ye haven't lately
miss. Best to do it now than when ye stand at the post
and can't help it before them people out there."
One of the guards retrieves the soiled chamber pot from
the far corner of the cell and shoves it between
Yolanda's quivering thighs. Thus she is invited to piss
in their presence rather than before the spectators
gathered outside.
Reluctantly she complies, the guards leering gleefully
as she does so. In this manner Yolanda is treated in the
moments before she is to receive more pain and
humiliation than she has never heretofore known.
Yolanda's courage fails her as she is led down the long
gray corridor and at last her knees, shaky at best, give
way beneath her. She begins to sob, tears stream down
her face and her heart beats wildly.
A guard on each side of her holds her up by her upper
arms, the captain following behind unceremoniously
gooses her, bringing fresh sobs and tears.
Stopping at the end of the long corridor at the huge
iron door that leads out into the courtyard they listen
as the last sharp cracks of a whip land on yielding
tender flesh and faint screams subside from whatever
convict presently stands at the awful gibbet. Yolanda
hears and believes the screams come from another female.
As the prisoner, after being loosed from her bonds, is
half led half carried past the iron door Yolanda judges
the soft moans she hears to be female. She will sound
like that she thinks.
In the short moments before they enter the courtyard
Yolanda's guards show no compassion or pity. They molest
her furiously, french kissing her roughly, squeezing,
pinching and inserting rough fingers into soft tender
parts of Yolanda's anatomy. The sheer excitement of it
all arouses her, much to her chagrin. The door opens on
to a rush of newly cold air but also to a bright sun
appearing over the eastern wall of the prison.
Yolanda and her guards are bathed in bright morning
sunlight much to the delight of the audience assembled
there. They are gathered there to watch a naked female
prisoner, this time a very beautiful naked female
prisoner, be ruthlessly scourged by the masked beetle
who stands near the Post carefully oiling and flexing
his instruments of torture. This is common in this time
and place; invitees of the warden and those who pay a
pretty price to watch such a spectacle are gathered on
this cold crisp morning.
Amanda shivers anew, trembling violently as he is led
out the doorway. Determined to maintain a modicum of
poise and dignity Yolanda refuses the assistance of her
guards and strides determinedly toward the tall black
post at the center of the courtyard. On wobbling knees
she approaches it appalled at the sight of it but with
head still held high. For long moments she approaches it
not seeming to draw any nearer with each step. The walk
seems interminable. Though, at last, she is there.
The Post as it is euphemistically called is in reality a
tall black pole from which protrudes a braced arm from
which dangles a thick hemp rope from which in turn
dangle long leather straps. Attached to these are fur
lined leather shackles. A notch at the top of the arm
allows the hemp line to be either lengthened or
shortened as to the times it is looped in the notch. A
prisoner is generally hoisted almost on to tiptoes so
that his (or her) body is stretched taut for the most
advantageous exposure to the whip. Yolanda stands in the
shadow of this monstrous structure and peers up the
length of the thing. In spite of her self she quavers
and fresh tears fill her eyes.
"Please don't..." she whispers, her voice trailing of
into nothingness.
Two assistants of the beetle step forward and take the
place of her guards. They quickly strip away the cape
and render her perfectly naked. Even the thin sandals
are removed from her feet. The small crowd assembled
cheers. As Yolanda's arms are pulled far above her head
and her slight wrists fastened in the leathern shackles
Amanda peers into the far corner of the courtyard in the
directions of the assemblage. Perhaps the prosecutor is
there, perhaps even Percival Barstow. Surely not Tom
Turner; he could not afford such entertainment.
The audience, however, is shielded in shadows and
Yolanda cannot perceive individual faces. Here men sit
in attendance with reluctant wives or mistresses. Some
have employed the services of ladies of ill repute, some
of whom have stood at this very post themselves,
convicted of prostitution or perhaps occasionally of
thievery. Male hands furtively steal underneath
voluminous skirts and female hands slip under lap robes
and light blankets to fondle the male genitalia of their
companions. Most all have paid a pretty price, indeed,
for this entertainment and intend to enjoy it to the
fullest. Liquor flasks warm the innards of male and
female alike as they await the fun to come.
At last Yolanda is secured to the post in a manner
suiting the wishes of the beetle. Displayed to the
fullest, stretched taut and fully exposed to the eyes of
the onlookers Yolanda is breathtaking in her beauty. A
sigh of satisfaction is heard in the direction of the
onlookers.
Overcome by fear and excitement Yolanda is overcome by
the sheer power and expectancy of the movement. Her body
weak, chest heaving Yolanda surrenders her self to the
intense eroticism of the moment. Fully aware of what
effect she is having on the spectators Yolanda
surrenders her self to the power of her sexuality.
Already partially aroused by the actions of the guards
she abandons herself further hoping her arousal will
ease the sting of the whip and certainly lessen the
awful embarrassment. It is the beetle that aids her.
Laying aside the whips and the oiling pans he has until
now busied him self he steps back to enjoy the complete
and utterly enticing display of female nudity before
him. Then stepping forward he begins to touch and stroke
Yolanda's bare body. With gentle and deft fingers he
touches her distended nipples, cups his hand over the
bowls of her full bosoms. strokes her smooth soft inner
thighs. He kisses her shoulders, strokes his hand
lightly over her tight, flat belly. Lastly he cups a
hand over her throbbing sex, lightly stroking her
tingling clitoris with a practiced fingertip.
Yolanda is made to orgasm in public-to the cheers of the
onlookers. The time for play is over now. He steps back
and picks up his favorite whip, limber and supple, well
oiled braided and fringed at the tip. Yolanda takes one
last look at the morning sun, at the nearly cloudless
blue sky before she closes her eyes. Already she hears
the sharp hiss of the stroke as the whip cuts through
the crisp morning air. She braces herself (a mistake)
just before the lash burns a line of hot stinging fire
across her quivering buttocks.
Mercifully, Yolanda faints immediately.
Conclusion
"Andi, Andi..." Yolanda opens her eyes to the sound of
her nickname. She has not heard it for how long? "Andi
are you all right? Maybe you'd better wake up now."
The voice is familiar. Familiar and it awakens anger in
Yolanda. Sitting upright in her bed in her home in
Binghamton, NY she winces in momentary pain.
Instinctively reaching back she runs her fingers
gingerly over the angry red welt that runs all the way
across both cheeks of her tender ass. Then she turns her
head to look straight into the concerned face of...Tom
Turner.
"You son of a..." she starts to say then remembers all
has changed somehow. She is home! Thank God and all that
is holy he is home and in her own comfortable bed. "Andi
we were so worried about you. You had that terrible
fever and kept turning and tossing in your sleep. I
think you were delirious. You kept talking in your sleep
and saying things that didn't make any sense."
He left out the parts where she had orgasmed several
times and peed the bed once. Tears filled Yolanda's
eyes. "I'm sorry Tommy," she told her boyfriend, "I just
had this terrible nightmare and in my dream you..." She
did not finish nor did she show him the big sore place
on her ass. "Strangest thing I wanted to tell you-
there's a girl downstairs. She's really weird. She's
dressed in old, I mean old time clothes and she talks
kind of weird, too. She says she doesn't know where she
is or what day it is but something told her to come
here, like she had a premonition or something I guess."
Yolanda sat up straight in bed, fully awake now. "Go on,
go ahead. What else did she say?"
"She said her name was Jenny, Jenny Barrow or Jenny
Barlow. Something like that."
"You mean Jennifer Barstow don't you?"
"Yeah, that's it. I told her this was your place and I'd
let you know she was here as soon as I could. She seemed
to know you but I never heard you mention her except..."
"Except you heard me say her name in my delirium."
"Yeah, that's it. How did you know?"
"I just did, Tommy. Did you treat her well?"
"Of course I did. I sat her down and asked her if she
wanted something to drink while she waited." She said,
"A spot of tea would be fine."
"Now who talks like that?"
"Never mind. I'm going to get up and shower now. Tell
her I'll be down in a few. Tell her that she's come to
the right place; that I'm here and everything is going
to be all right. Be kind to her."
"Yes ma'am. I'm sure glad to see you'r finally well,
Andi." Tommy turns to leave and just reaches the bedroom
door when she calls. "Oh, and Tommy, I want you to know
I forgive you."
"Forgive me. Forgive me for what?"
"Never mind. Just care for our guest till I get there."
As he leaves Tommy Turner is heard to mutter, "Women,
who can figure them."
FIN (As they say at the end of the art theatre movie)
Elmer B. Ben
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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