The Whipped Heiress Ch 09

Having sex with a naked slave-girl while dozens of fully dressed people openly stare at you with their prurient gazes is a humbling experience, although I also found it to be terribly exciting. Being naked and objectified by prurient strangers somehow makes my head reel and makes my whole body heat up with desire.

When Sophie and I were done rolling around naked on the lawn, our respective mistresses ordered us to get up and come to them.

"You get a short break for now," my mistress said to me. "With all the other slaves that are here now, it will be hard to keep the focus on you. I'm going to put you out of the way and tie you up until I can arrange for you to be the center of attention again."

Then, Sophie and I were marched across the lawn over to the wooden fence on the west side of the property. The fence had metal rings anchored into the wood. Sophie and I were ordered to back up against the fence and stand there with our arms and legs far apart.

While Sophie and I were bound to the fence, I watched as other naked slaves were made the center of attention.

I saw a parade of naked slaves forced to make their way over to a wooden whipping post. They were tied to it and then they thrashed around in pain and cried out plaintively as their buttocks and the backs of their thighs were whipped until they were red, and the slave was sobbing uncontrollably.

I saw slaves made to crawl naked across the lawn as a cruel overseer wielded a riding crop, and smacked their buttocks, urging them to crawl faster.

I saw male slaves bent over and locked in a pillory where their vulnerable buttocks could be reddened with a leather belt. Afterwards many of them got their anuses oiled so they could be pegged by a merciless woman with a large strap-on dildo.

I saw an especially attractive slave bound to a whipping frame with her arms and legs bound far apart. While she was spread out and helpless a cruel overseer whipped her breasts. And while she was being whipped another female slave knelt between her legs and ate her pussy. The bound slave gasped, whimpered, and yelped in pain as she was whipped, but the whipping of her beautiful breasts didn't stop until she had a boisterous, writhing orgasm that entertained the assembled spectators. Of course, by the time she came, her breasts had a spectacular collection of painful looking pink and red whip marks.

And when each of these slaves were finished entertaining the crowds, Kloe returned to me and informed me that I would soon be the center of attention once again.

"It seems that someone that you know saw you on television," Kloe explained. "The slave auctions and the events on my front lawn were mainly for consumption in this country, however, the Greek and Bulgarian media picked up on the events and your slave auction was shown there as well."

I shook my head in confusion. "Mistress, I don't know anyone in Greece or Bulgaria."

"No, you do know people from the United States. And sometimes those people travel. And if they watch Bulgarian television, well..."

A feeling of dread washed over me. I had hoped to keep my adventures as a naked sex slave private. I didn't want anyone from back home to know about them. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a female figure stalking towards me, wearing a Brooks Brothers custom-tailored, tweed blazer.

I trembled and my heart beat too fast. I was naked and bound spread eagle with my boobs, my nipples, and my pubic lips very visible and glistening with moisture. This was the worst conceivable way for someone I knew to find me. I struggled to cover my naked body, but of course, the way I was bound made that impossible.

And then the woman in the tweed blazer came closer and I saw who it was.

"Mother?"

"So, Heather," my mother said as she gave me a cold, disapproving look. "This is the sort of thing you get up to when I'm not around."

I blushed crimson as she stared at my naked, bound body. Then she raised an eyebrow at me and said, "Is this the way I raised my daughter to behave in public?"

"Mother, I'm sorry," I said frantically as I squirmed in my bonds. "Please let me explain!"

"Oh, I think we're way past the point where you can fix this with explanations," my mother countered. "Everyone in Bulgaria has seen you flaunting your naked breasts and buttocks on nationwide TV. I have business interests in Bulgaria. It's only a matter of time before my business associates realize that my daughter is flashing her naked boobs all over Europe."

"I had no idea the media would get involved," I said desperately. "I had intended for all of this to be discrete!"

My mother shook her head in disapproval and made a dismissive sound. "At this point, it doesn't matter what your intentions were. Your actions have hurt my reputation as a business leader. It makes me look bad if my daughter is running around naked like some sort of scandalous slut. So now, I must get out in front of this thing and do damage control."

"Damage control?" I asked. I felt painfully self-conscious and uncomfortable as we talked. She was respectably dressed in her tweed suit, and I was stark naked with my excited nipples and swollen pubic lips embarrassingly on display.

"Rather than let my business associates believe that you're some sort of shameless exhibitionist, I'll tell everyone that this is my idea. I'll tell everyone that you're responsible for the failure of the Lisbon deal, and that I've decided to punish you for it by taking away your money, your clothes, your freedom and forcing you into the life of naked servitude."

My eyes went wide at this. It was a crazy idea.

"You've never let me be involved in any of your business dealings. How are you going to convince people that I screwed up the Lisbon deal?"

My mother gave me a look and replied, "I have an MBA from Harvard. I know how to market ideas. Even crazy ones. I'll be able to sell this story."

Part of my mother's plan involved her taking a very public role in my punishments and humiliation. She decided that she needed to whip me in front of the Sklavian media. And she decided that it needed to be done as soon as possible.

"And it will need to be a grand spectacle," my mother explained. There will need to be a lot of screaming, with you thrashing around in agony as I punish you."

I explained to my mother that the screaming and the thrashing wouldn't be a problem. When a naked girl is whipped, the pain is excruciating. Screaming and thrashing happen automatically as a result of the intense pain. I even promised that I could cry real tears.

My mother thought that tears would be a nice touch. She thanked me for being a team player.

Legally, I was the property of Morgane Papantoniou. However, my mother was a woman of great wealth and influence. She spoke with Morgane and somehow got her to go along with the whole plan to make it seem like I had been forced to become a slave because I was a bad daughter who needed to be punished.

It wasn't long after that, Morgane agreed that my mother could whip me in a highly publicized setting, with the European media broadcasting my punishment to millions of prurient viewers.

Kloe and two Sklavian women came out to untie me. I was given a few seconds to massage my sore wrists, and then I was led across the lawn and over to the whipping posts.

As a slave, there's a potent sense of dread that washes over me whenever I'm this close to a whipping post. I've been whipped before, and the pain left me with a sort of emotional trauma. I fear whipping posts.

Okay, if I'm being totally honest, there's also a sense of sexual arousal mixed with fear, but I think I would have done just about anything if I thought I could save myself from being whipped that day.

"Okay, darling, raise your arms," Kloe said when I was standing in front of the sturdy, wooden post. I nervously complied and then the two Sklavian women used rope to tie my wrists securely to the large iron ring up near the top.

Naked and bound, I nervously squirmed and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I looked up at my bound wrists, far enough above my head so that I could never reach them. They were neatly crossed and tightly bound. No matter how I danced, they would keep me by the post. I rested my head against the wood. And as I stood there, naked, and helpless, members of the media began to focus their attention on me.

I grew even more anxious as I felt scores of eyes upon me, and then one of Kloe's friends came running up. She leaned in against the whipping post and in conspiratorial tones said, "I spoke to her mother. I convinced her to use a less severe whip. It will still sting, but it shouldn't leave any welts. At least, I don't think it will."

"Thanks, Amalia," Kloe replied.

Then Amalia laid a hand across my buttocks and rubbed them reassuringly. "I know that slaves get their bottoms punished all the time. But there are limits. And your mother looked like she wanted to whip the flesh right off you. I felt like somebody needed to talk her down. Even if I couldn't get her to moderate her rage, at least I could put a less dangerous instrument in her hands."

"I appreciate that," I said to Amalie, and then she smiled and patted my bottom in a way that felt reassuring.

And then all conversation abruptly ceased as we saw my mother marching towards us. She held the whip out where I could see it. True to what Amalia said, it was one of the milder whips that could be used on a slave, but it was still a whip. It was still going to sting and mark my skin and leave me dancing and thrashing around wildly as my mother used it on me.

"I think you'd best be joining your mother now, Kloe," my mother said as she placed a hand on my bare buttocks. Kloe looked reluctant to leave my side, but my mother gave her one of her cold, combative looks and then Kloe retreated with all due haste. That look on my mother's face could frighten off wealthy, powerful men. Klow never stood a chance against it.

Kloe was suddenly gone. It was like losing the radiance of the sun. Then my mother leaned in and whispered into my left ear.

"I intend to be most unkind to you, Heather. With the eyes of the European media focused on us, I intend to make you suffer and scream."

She insinuated one hand between my naked thighs and took hold of my vulnerable pubic lips. It seemed wrong for my own mother to be touching me down there. I yelped and tried to protest.

"Mother!" I squirmed and fidgeted and exclaimed, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, so it's quite alright for half the population of Sklavia to own this pussy, but it's somehow a crime for your mother to touch you there?"

She kneaded my pubic lips with her intrusive fingers and added, "I've been told that traditionally, a slave is whipped across her back, buttocks and thighs. But, if a disciplinarian wants to be especially cruel, they might aim a few strokes at the slave's pubic lips as well."

I gasped and said, "Don't you think that would be a bit extreme?"

"Extreme is what I'm going for, Heather. You put my reputation at risk. Extreme measures are called for to defend it."

I rubbed my face nervously against my upraised arm and said, "You could defend your reputation without whipping the most delicate parts of your daughter's anatomy."

Suddenly my mother's hand was withdrawn from between my legs, and she smacked me across the ass. She didn't smack me with a great deal of force, but it was hard enough to get my attention.

"Don't tell me how to conduct my affairs, Heather," she said admonishingly. "Your actions have shown me a great deal of disrespect. Even you have to admit that much."

I tried to shrug, but the way my wrists were bound with my arms held high made that difficult. So, instead I made some weak, whimpering sounds that sounded like agreement.

"You deserve to be punished, Heather," my mother said flatly. "Using a whip to punish is a bit outside my wheelhouse, but it will hurt. I trust you'll feel duly penitent when it's over."

My mother stood back and raised her whip as she took aim. I tried not to tense up, but I failed. It's a natural human reaction to tense up for the blow, and I was still human.

"Aaahhh!"

The first blow was like fire scorching across my back. I looked up at my clenched fists, straining. Spectators and members of the media watched me with rapt interest. Large, expensive camcorders were pointed in my direction, ready and eager to capture my suffering.

"Aaahhh!"

Once again, the cruel leather smacked across my naked body, stinging maliciously. The way I was tied, there was no way for me to evade the whip.

"Aaaahhhh!"

A riot of red-hot pain exploded across my left buttock, and I clenched my teeth and pressed hard against the wooden post.

With more than a hundred people watching, I tried to be stoic and retain a small amount of dignity, but it wasn't easy.

The fact that I was being whipped by my own mother somehow made my punishment more humiliating. Being whipped by a stranger would hurt, but being whipped by a member of my own family added a potent emotional component that made my punishment all the more soul crushing. And as the spectators behind me stared intently at my naked body, I felt that they all knew it was my mother wielding the whip and that made my feelings of shame grow and surge and my heart pounded in my chest as my feelings of helplessness and mortification grew.

I was unable to stifle my anguished cries of pain and looked over my shoulder just as another blow snaked out and landed low on my right buttock, cutting a blazing path across my bare skin.

I had wanted to show some sort of stoicism and dignity in front of the huge crowd of Sklavian locals, tourists and members of the European media, But I quickly gave up on that and let out one shameless scream after another while my torso writhed, and my legs kicked.

The crowd enjoyed the way that my hips swayed erratically, and my ass bounced under the painful blows of the whip, and they called out words of encouragement to my mother, urging her to be rough with me. Of course, the blows continued to rain down and I screamed cries of girlish pain, stomped my bare feet, and danced around shamefully under the barrage of stinging blows.

The whipping of my bare flesh continued, and the leather whip stung worse than I expected. My mother wielded the relatively mild whip with some sort of malicious skill that no beginner should possess. It felt like liquid fire across my bare skin.

My hips squirmed, I writhed and danced under the painful sting of the whip. I was bitterly ashamed of my screams, however, there was no way to be brave with the sort of pain my mother was inflicting. The sharp blows of leather on my naked skin were agony.

Another blow that had originated as a slap against my inner thigh, snaked around and bit into the tender, pink flesh of my pubic lips as well. A violent scream welled up in my throat, but I did my best to stifle it and reduce it to an alarmed gasp and choked sobbing.

The whip lashed out again and this time it stung the backs of both my naked thighs. I twisted and writhed and stamped my feet. My mother was fast and vigorous in her mission to inflict pain on my naked body.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Jesus!"

She didn't give me time to recover between blows. I writhed and danced shamelessly as she punished my poor, innocent flesh. I yanked violently against the ropes that bound my wrists, I twisted to the left and to the right, I wildly stomped my bare feet, I jerked my head back, I reflexively kicked my leg out at nothing, but none of my actions did a single thing to protect my naked body from the stinging assault of the whip.

"Aaaaahhhhh! Aaaaahhhhh! Oh God! Aaahhh!!!!"

And when I kicked or raised my leg in reflexive response to the riotous agony of my cruel punishment, my mother conspired to take advantage. The cruel leather of her whip cut swiftly into the innocent, pink nether lips between my legs when my writhing left my vulva exposed.

"Aaaaaahhhhhh!"

I heard the eager voices of both men and women encouraging my mother to strike at my bald pubes yet again, urging her to punish me, and insisting that I was a bad little girl who deserved every single stroke of the whip.

I sobbed and screamed as my mother dutifully obeyed the crowds and gave them what they asked for.

My poor bottom and the backs of my legs were a scalding riot of pain. And my whipped vulva felt as if it had been stung by an army of angry hornets. I was trembling and sobbing in agony, and I struggled against the ropes that held me, but no amount of squirming or jerking around could prevent my mother from punishing every inch of my naked body.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Aaaaahhhhh!"

My mother concentrated her wicked assault on my buttocks, my thighs, and my vulnerable pink slit. No matter how I danced and squirmed, I couldn't evade the whip. My mother sadistically marked my naked body with painful pink and red stripes, and I had no choice but to endure it.

When the humiliating ordeal finally concluded, my buttocks, thighs and sex were all boiling with scalding heat. Through the mist of tears, I saw the crowd of spectators begin to disburse. The people had gathered to gaze upon the naked slave-girl as she writhed and danced under the painful sting of the whip. Now that my whipping was concluded, they lost interest in me and focused on the suffering of other naked slaves.

When the painful spectacle was over, Kloe returned. She untied my wrists, and I sagged against the wooden post, emotionally and physically exhausted, however Kloe insisted I must come back into the house.

"Your mother gave you a severe whipping." Your ass and thighs are all red. You need to be bathed, and I have a healing lotion to rub into your skin. It's going to hurt at first, but it's good for your skin. It'll help you recover."

I allowed Kloe to lead me into the house and upstairs to one of the bathrooms. She had drawn a hot bath for me.

And when she had finished washing me, there was ointment rubbed into the spots where my mother had marked me with the whip.

Kloe's fingers rubbed the ointment into every inch of my bare buttocks and into the stinging flesh on the backs of my thighs. I gasped, moaned or hissed every time her fingers found an especially sensitive spot.

Then, Kloe's hands reached between my legs and were gentle on my poor, abused sex, but my legs still trembled, and I still gasped when she touched me there.

"Sorry," she exclaimed as she rubbed lotion into my abused flesh. "I'm trying to be gentle."

It seemed as if Kloe spent hours working the lotion into the reddened flesh of my pubic lips, and although her touch rekindled the pain of my whipping, it didn't take long before there was a soft, wet throbbing in my sex.

She massaged copious amounts of oils into my swollen public lips. And she seemed to take an inordinate amount of time rubbing healing oils into my tender, swollen clitoris. I trembled and whimpered, but it wasn't all about the pain and suffering.

My breathing soon became ragged and the soft throbbing in my sex developed into something far more potent. My chest heaved and my breathing became heavy as Kloe rubbed by abused pubic lips. Before long, I was moaning. My clitoris hardened and I could feel my sex lips puffing and becoming shamelessly wet with my own juices.

There I was, standing in the tub, covered in whip marks, but I was more aroused than I'd ever been in my entire life. My breath was coming in short, desperate pants, interspersed with moans. I was feverish with sexual heat, and when Kloe finally noticed, she gave me a look and said, "Get out of the tub. I'm taking you to my room."

Kloe ordered me to walk in front of her so she could stare at my naked buttocks as I made my way down the corridor.