The Stallion - Atonement Session Ch 1B Redacted Whipping Scene

[ZeeChromosome]

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Chapter 1B Redacted Whipping Scene
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Author's Note: Below is an ordinary whipping followed by a second, more brutal whipping. I honestly don't enjoy S&M stuff, but it's a necessary component to make the story work. I like making legal slavery fun and sexy for my characters, but can't avoid that fact that slavery can also be randomly terrible and cruel. The bad ending storylines are necessary to make the good ending storylines stronger, because the characters we like are avoiding a darker fate. In most cases, I prefer to include bad endings by reference only, thus keeping them off screen. However, in this case, I felt that we needed to have a closer look. Plus, these turds deserve every lash, so there's that.
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If anyone is confused by that, please let me know so that I can clear things up. I'm a beginning writer and I'm sure to make many mistakes along the way.
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Vortex turned and gazed impassively at the two formerly-Human targets that hung before her. One of them, in her former life as the now-erased Chloe Morgenstern, had been Chloe's boyfriend. Frustrated by Chloe's continued refusal to submit to anal sex, he had booked a fun trip from Boston to Fort Worth to spend a few days at a pony ranch. At least there he could indulge in his as-yet-unfulfilled fantasy of sodomizing helpless girls against their will. Chloe and four of his fraternity brothers had accompanied him. The trip hadn't ended well.
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After eluding their assigned groom - a fat, minimum-wage high school graduate - they had arrived at a secluded picnic area and discovered that they didn't have the groom's key-wrench that was necessary to detach the ponies from the cart. Chloe had helpfully volunteered the box-cutter in her purse and used it to cut the ponies loose. That's what led to the most damning charge against them. Viciously sexually-assaulting helpless slave girls wasn't really a significant crime, it was cutting them loose from their cart-bondage that led to the most serious charge - "abolitionism while armed with a deadly weapon."
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Under Texas law, releasing a slave from bondage without a valid emergency reason was a felony punishable by years of slavery at a bare minimum. If the prosecutor can prove that a defendant released a slave from bondage - and Chloe had in fact done so - then the defendant must then prove that they believed that it needed to be done in order to remove the slave from an ongoing emergency situation. A housefire is a valid emergency. A bound slave forgotten in a hot car on a 100-degree summer day is a valid emergency. "My boyfriend wants to buttfuck her" is NOT a valid emergency. That's why Fratboy and his frat-bros had been able to pay some fines and get released on the same day, whereas Chloe - who hadn't harmed any of the slaves - had been stuck languishing in prison overnight. Harming a slave was a mere property crime, punishable by a fine.
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Returning to the prison the night, Fratboy had bribed a guard, the man now hanging on her left, to give him access to her cell so that he could finally claim her anal virtue before he left town. He had enjoyed ravishing her virgin and helplessly-bound ass very much, and the guard had followed suit after he left. That's why THEY were here tonight.
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Vortex was here tonight because Mistress Harriette Valdez, her Sun and Stars, had commanded it. Not that she was unwilling. Destroying evil-doers was now her life's purpose. These creatures were merely her first targets. They would not be the last.
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As these memories filtered through Vortex's thoughts, the whip began to slither on the studio floor as though slowly gaining a life of its own. Rhythmic flickers of the demon-pony's wrist translated into waves of motion down the length of supple, braided leather. The savage weapon rose into the air at the end of her toned arm, whirled behind her and, as she stepped forward on her mighty hooves driving her body weight forward, the instrument of power whistled through the air toward the condemned target.
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"Whoosh-CRACK!" the sound of the whip echoed throughout the chamber. The targeted creature screamed into its gag and began thrashing. A black-clad studio hand equipped with extremely thick gloves, heavy-duty protective goggles, and an enormous hazard-pay paycheck grabbed the thrashing criminal and slowed his twisting and swaying. While he was doing that, the whip fell to the ground and then slithered toward the vengeful demon-pony before leaping back into the air and hurling itself toward the next victim.
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Methodically, like a dot-matrix printer from the depths of Hell, the demon-pony inscribed the badge of her owner's ranch on the criminals' upper backs, spanning the entire width of the men's shoulders.
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When she was done, Vortex returned to her ready position, one hoof in front of the other, the whip trailing on the studio floor behind her. She was still. Her whip was still... for now. The pattern of raised red welts across the condemned men's upper backs clearly displayed the brand of the HH Ranch. It was her Mistress's brand and she had done her duty. Here and there, the whip marks intersected, and from some of those spots, thin trickles of blood ran down the men's backs. But for the most part it was only a pattern of welts. She had been very precise. The condemned men were in terrible pain, but the physical marks and the pain would fade in time. The memory of today, though, that would last a lifetime.
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Mistress Harriett inspected Vortex's work. "Salt!" she commanded, and buckets of icy-cold salt water were thrown on the backs of the condemned criminals. It revived them somewhat and washed the few streaks of blood off. Harriette was pleased, but not as pleased as she should be. These were welts, they were not wounds, this was not good enough. She returned from her inspection and informed Vortex that her initial command was clear... she intended to BRAND these men with her logo, not just temporarily mark them with it.
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Then she turned and commanded the studio crew to remove the prisoners' gags. If they were to survive the next few minutes, they needed to be have access to all of their lungpower. It also meant that their screams would no longer be muffled and their agony would echo throughout the studio chamber.
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Vortex nodded. She expected this, she knew this, she had deliberately avoided this. After all, these men had only anally raped Chloe once each. Although Chloe had been an anal virgin at the time of her rape, Vortex had frequent anal sex now and found that she quite enjoyed it - with a considerate partner. But the Mistress commands and the slave obeys. Previously, she had merely been causing these men pain, any real damage had been incidental. But that phase was now past. Now she had been instructed to destroy them.
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Whipmaster Kim, the man who had trained her to use the whip, was in the audience. Vortex didn't know that. He didn't want to be a distraction for her. She was quite possibly the best student he had ever trained and, at this point in his legendary career, that was high praise indeed. When Harriette had first contacted him he had been skeptical. It was his job to teach free men and women how to whip slaves properly - just the right amount of pain, just the right amount of damage - to fit the intended punishment. In untrained hands, the bull whip was an implement of brutality. In trained hands, it was an instrument of art. He had never trained a slave to use one. It was the ultimate symbol of a slaver's authority.
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He had found the girl to be a pleasure to teach. She was intelligent, attentive, focused, and determined. Before her enslavement, she had been an Ivy League dance major. She had had years of training in ballet, hip-hop, modern dance, and so on. She had also been a rhythmic gymnast, prancing on the mat while twirling a long floaty ribbon on a stick.
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It was this rhythmic gymnastics training that had had the biggest effect on her signature style... and yes, this slave, this girl, she had her own signature style. Usually a whipmaster doesn't develop a signature style for years, if ever. Most simply carry on as they have been trained by their masters. Whipmaster Kim had only spent 12 weeks training this girl. Normal training sessions were twice daily, an hour long, followed by a rest period, and then another hour of self-directed practice. It was during one of these self-directed practice sessions that Kim had discovered what she was using this time for - she was dancing. With her whip. At first he had been outraged. She had very specific instructions, she was to spend the time on target practice and... there they were. The targets had all been set up, just as he had instructed.
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The dancing girl whirled the whip around her in the air, never letting it touch the ground and then she struck... whip-crack! Over and over again she struck the targets with unerring accuracy, spinning in place as her body moved to music that only she could hear.
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And now, on the studio floor, she raised her whip again and... she danced. It was a dance of sorrow, it was a dance of pain, it was a dance of loss... it was a dance of vengeance. No longer was she intending to cause these men pain... their pain meant nothing to her. No longer was she intending to give the VIP audience a show... their enjoyment meant nothing to her. The Vortex danced the dance of pain because that is who she was, that is who she had become. She had truly become "The Vortex". It was her identity now and it would remain her identity for years to come. She simply abandoned her memories of Chloe's feelings, Chloe's reservations, Chloe's morality, and... The Vortex danced.
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Her body moved with the grace of a ballet dancer and the whip never stopped. It swirled and twirled and suddenly The Vortex would lunge forward and her chosen canvas would jolt from the impact as she tore another bloody strip from its back. No longer did she allow the whip to slither on the floor between strikes, it was airborne at all times. No longer did she wait for the creatures to stop thrashing and swinging before striking again. A fine spray of blood began to surround her on the studio floor as her bloodied whip whirled about her while she prepared for each strike.
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When she stopped dancing, her canvases - they were not victims, they not subjects, they were just canvases for her Art - had stopped moving entirely. They simply hung limply from their chains. She returned to her ready position and watched impassively, breathing the deep slow breaths of a resting athlete as the slave nurses and the water-bearers rushed forward and revived the canvases. The two dangling things began thrashing and screaming again as she critically observed the results of her Art. She had missed a spot on one canvas and three spots on the other one.
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Mistress Harriette, her Sun and Stars, carefully inspected her work and then helpfully marked the spots she had missed with a marker. "Whip-CRACK," she fixed the first one. Then, "whip-CRACK, whip-CRACK, whip-CRACK," she fixed the second one. One final time the Slave Nurses and the water-bearers rushed forward, and the wounds were cleaned and inspected. This time they passed muster. Pink-tinged salt water circled around the drains beneath the hanging objects and the Mistress's honor was satisfied.
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End of Redacted XXX-rated Segment
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[Carl Bradford]

Artful dancing while serving as a dot-matrix printer to mark a symbol on the miscreant's skin--great combination of images!

[ZeeChromosome]

Artful dancing while serving as a dot-matrix printer to mark a symbol on the miscreant's skin--great combination of images!

I was a little concerned about introducing the extremely un-sexy and old-fashioned image into the story, but I'm glad you liked it. I'm pretty sure that younger readers aren't going to understand what a dot-matrix printer is.