Chapter 2: Whip of Fire -- Fire and Ice!
Tears still filled the youths eyes and his face was still wet as he sobbed pitifully now, shaking his head in some distress as if he hoped to be able to just will his pain away.
Although he'd turned 18 he looked to be about 15 or 16 years, blond, tall and, very long-legged
He stood in a corner of the room now, dressed only in long white knee socks and very tight, pastel blue and girl's style frilly tennis panties.
Across the room crumpled on the floor over his work-boots was the rest of his gardening uniform from that day, a gray sweatshirt and some extremely short blue denim shorts.
His very long legs were now spread about 4 feet apart, held straight, and wide by ropes at his knees and his heels.
He had been left standing like this for about an hour after Sarah had walked away from him.
The wrists had been cuffed behind his back and his elbows cinched painfully close by his bonds.
His blond head was bowed and he was now quietly sobbing and moaning.
He was gagged firmly with an inflatable ball gag that was locked around his head and drool was flowing out of his mouth mixing with tears falling down his cheeks.
He is a slave-boy, a toy for the ladies of the house.
The young slave was being punished for being caught with his socks down inside the house without permission and for having been caught where he had no right to be and doing things that mere little slave or toy had no right to do.
His long and, fair bangs and, his delicate features gave an almost girlish appearance which was reinforced by the fact that he was completely shaved and denuded of all bodily hair anywhere below his eyebrows. His smooth skin was made shiny by the light sheen of sweat that clung to him
Sarah had found him in Helen's study looking through papers, and after she had well thrashed his slender thighs with the Brazilian stinger she had later made him strip down to just panties and socks, then bound him and made him then stand in the corner.
Then she had left him to stew in his misery.
She wanted him to really feel and appreciate the savage and relentlessly growing burn from the thigh stinger, and she knew it would intensify over the next few hours.
The long thighs were covered and criss-crossed all over, front and back, with very painful looking welts.
The welts had been throbbing and hurting terribly on the boy's legs and they were still blazing deeply now, some 2 hours after his whipping, worse than ever.
They would still continue to burn, slowly becoming even worse and ever more painful over the next few hours, before the intense pain in them might eventually ease, if he was lucky, some 5 or 6 hours after his whipping.
Such was the power of the "thigh stingers" the thin crops called by Brazilian's in Portuguese
"Chicotes do fogo" - or "Whips of fire".
The stinger firewhip is a fearsome implement indeed and right now, the fires in both thighs were still burning even more fiercely than ever, but with his hands and elbows cuffed behind him and his legs held wide apart, and straight he could now only move from his waist up.
The ever-increasing pains were making him writhe and squirm in terrible agony and he was twisting this way and that almost bowing forward then backward and straightening in ever more desperate circles of agony.
His plaintive whining and keening would sometimes give way to muffled, futile shouts and screams into his gag.
He knew from painful experience that the agonizing pain, terrible as it was, would inexorably, get still worse for maybe another 3 hours or so. That knowledge, caused him miserable despair as fresh tears poured down his cheeks.
This however was not his only problem right now.
The click, click, click of stiletto heels told him that Sarah was now coming back down the hall.
She had left him to check on his work and as she had walked out, he had dared to hope that she would leave at least him alone for a while.
As he focused through watery eyes he saw her come into the room again, and he saw through his tears that she had brought her "toy bag" some canes and also the stinger.
It was not over!
Tears of absolute despair were now added to his tears of pain and, overflowing from his eyes, they poured and rolled down his young face splashing on the floor.
He really hated crying like this whenever Sarah punished him because he did not like her to have the pleasure of seeing him break, but unfortunately, she always saw this as a challenge and she loved challenges. They both knew that eventually the youth would always end up crying like this, like a little bitch much to Sarah's own great amusement, satisfaction and delight.
For now though, Sarah just smiled and strutted over to stand in front of him. Then dropping the bag beside her she placed her hands on her hips coldly regarded him with a callous smirk.
She saw his mounting fear and the pain in his eyes and then laughed out loud.
Speaking to him as if he was an infant she started taunting him.
"Awww poor little cry-baby ... Hurts doesn't it? Feeling the burn, bitch?" she mocked him.
"Has beastly Sarah been hurting the poor little slave's sexy legs for him? Mmmm?"
He glared at her through his bangs, his green eyes blazing in brief, futile anger and hatred then fresh tears of hopelessness flooded them and he sobbed into his gag.
