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“Please!”
He ventured a thin smile. “Then I will whip you. You pay with your ass.”
“Oh, lord, please,” she sunk back into a chair behind her and sighed. This should not surprise her. Nothing should surprise her, not anything that would mean more suffering or more sex. She was so tired of being afraid, so tired of feeling panic and fear and the hellish accompaniment of arousal that seemed to flourish in her body under these circumstances. So tired, so worn out, so fucked, so used, giving herself to another man hardly seemed fair, but it didn’t seem at all out of the question.
The judge was not a bad looking man, nor was he a good looking one either. He had a long, substantial face and his dark hair was clipped close. His brows were thick over a pair of sad eyes…what color were they? A lovely brown—with a biting edge; that edge she’d grown to love in an authoritative man. His mouth formed a natural frown. It wouldn’t be so hard to imagine him sexually, if she imagined a man wounded many times by love.
She almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of that last thought. Here she was, imprisoned in a foreign country with not a lick of identification, about to be whipped on the ass for being victimized by three of Prague’s horny hoodlums, and she was calling this man wounded…
If getting whipped were what it took to get her out of this predicament, then she’d get whipped. If he wanted it sexual, she could do that, too. She could already feel a tickle between her legs, a heaviness in her crotch.
She gazed at the judge, her eyes a little dreamy now and surprisingly seductive, as if being seductive had been programmed into her psychic circuitry, to the point that there was no fending off this kind of sexual response. Hadn’t Kafka basically said as much? Kafka and how many others?
In turn, the once imperious judge saw the hint of seduction in Laney’s face, and was willing, she could sense that in those sad eyes… “I beat you now,” he said. “Get up.”
Laney rose to her feet as ordered and waited for the judge. Her knees knocked on cue and her pussy melted away into the same lusty place it had been for days… how many days was it now; she’d lost count.
The beating started with the judge’s hands running over her bottom and overtop of the grey muslin prison dress. He let that satisfy him for quite some time, drawing close to her side as he rubbed and squeezed and pleasured himself on the feel of her ass. He didn’t seem to care about the rest of her, her pussy, her lips or her heaving breasts. But the uproar that followed in Laney’s submissive body made her chest heave all the more, and her lips moisten and her pussy clench tight as it would around a man’s cock. She was very close to a climax, starting to pant, while feeling the judge move even tighter to her side, so that she could feel the body heat coming from his crotch, and his penis as it throbbed in tandem to her own spasmodic pulse.
He could have her coming quickly. Just the right touch in the right way and he’d set her off. But instead of bringing the prisoner off with a few strokes of his hand, the judge abruptly pushed her into his desk and pulled the muslin dress up to bare her ass.
Thwack!
She grunted with the first blow of a leather paddle laid on the center of her ass. There must have still been whip marks from previous beatings, but he paid no notice of them as he continued to strike her with the paddle until her entire bottom was scalding hot and scarlet. She’d become so aroused in advance that the sensation from the paddling only increased her arousal, making her writhe in obvious enjoyment against the edge of the desk, which happened to rub directly on her clit.
“A masochist, eh?” the judge finally said, setting the leather paddle aside. “I beat a woman, I expect her to cry, and you will cry.”
Being on the edge of climax, this statement hardly had her worried; in fact, she hardly heard his vow.
But she did feel the wrath of the next strikes that peppered her skin, when a hefty wooden paddle with a dozen holes drilled into the surface bounced against her reddened bottom in a fast cadence of blistering strikes.
Frantic and raving, she was soon screaming, those longed for tears streaming from her eyes—anything to make the judge happy. Her wailing went on and on, as the paddle tore into her as viciously as any implement of punishment she’d ever felt.
Then he was done. As abruptly as he started, he stopped, laid the paddle down and took a deep breath on returning to his seat behind the desk.
It took some time for the recovering Laney to finally lift her head, and when she did, she found herself staring directly into the man’s long sad eyes.
“Get up!” he said.
She slowly rose, snuffing, then started to wipe her nose with the back of her hand. The judge quickly intervened, handing her a freshly pressed handkerchief that he’d pulled from his pocket.
“Thank you,” she said as she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
“I drop the charges, you go now. Leave through that door,” he pointed to a door at the back of his office.
She looked in that direction. “Leave now, just leave?”
“Yes. Leave, please. Out of here now. I don’t want to see you again.”
She stared down at her bare, dirty feet, assuming that the stilettos Kafka gave her were still in the hotel room, or by now on some other woman’s feet. “But no shoes?”
“You had less when you arrived here,” he reminded her.
“Yes. You’re right,” she agreed.
Memories from all the outrageous events of the last several days seemed to converge at that moment to remind her of how tired and weary she should feel. Her head was heavy, she almost felt drunk, even her elbows and her teeth ached, and now her ass smarted, while a warm, liquid sensation in her bottom continued her ever-present arousal.
The man waited, not budging on his decree, which meant that the barefoot, bone-weary Laney finally walked to the door and slipped into the alley behind the courthouse. Thankfully, this alley was not nearly as forbidding as the one behind the nightclub, where Kafka left her and she waited for nearly an hour for her rescue while slumped against the brick wall.
