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with flashing lights arrived on the scene.
I was arrested for loitering, vandalism, and causing an
accident. A man in a blue uniform took me to the police
station where my fingerprints and picture were taken. But
when they took my coat from me and saw the marks my
Master's cane had left upon me, I was taken from the
processing unit to a private room. When the Detective came
for me a short time later, he found me huddled in one corner,
sobbing, so frightened that I could not stop shaking.
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185
Judgment
by Denise Hall
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the time we again reached Italy, what drugs had been
given were almost entirely out of my system. But my master
did not speak to me until we again reached the seclusion of
Judgment's private walls. He took me straight to his
chambers.
* * * *
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"No, Master."
"Then bring me the number three cane. You've never been
whipped the way you're going to be right now."
As I went to the display rack on the wall, my Master set up
a tall tripod in the middle of the room. When I brought the
cane to him, he took my hand in a lovers' clasp and led me to
the crux of it. My wrists were tied behind me and hoisted so
far up my back that I could do nothing but bend over to
relieve the pain in my shoulders. I spread my legs very wide
apart so that my ankles could be cuffed to the bottom of the
tripod stand. A stock bar at about waist level pushed my hips
out and back and kept my weight from dislocating my arms.
This was an awkward position that made moving painful and
my bottom an easy target for the cane.
My Master took his time setting up the room, pulling back
the furniture to give himself plenty of empty space for
magnificent swinging strokes. He even brought out smelling
salts and a cloth to bathe my face, as well as a bucket of cool
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Judgment
by Denise Hall
water and dipper. Standing a pace or two behind me, he
rolled his sleeves up past his elbows before lifting the long
cane and slashing a single, sharp practice arc through the air.
"What did I tell you when we crossed the street?" he said
gently.
"The Master told this one to stay close," I answered softly.
"What did you do?"
"This one got lost."
"You are aptly named, my dear." Without another word, he
gagged me and doused my thrust out buttocks with a fine
sheen of water from the bucket. Then it came.
ONE!
I gasped, tossing back my head as pain laved through me.
It was worse than I had expected. My Master struck me low,
laying that first cut directly across the crease that separates
bottom from thighs, and the hurt of it fanned all through me.
I wrenched in my bonds, flopping in the tripod like a trout on
a fisherman's line.
I felt more than heard him draw back his arm, and my
thighs quivered as the cane bit in just under the previous
stroke. It raised a second welt so close to the first that the
two seemed to meld together and throb as one.
I grunted, gasping through my gag, tears filling my eyes
and spilling freely down my cheeks.
"I have missed you terribly," my Master said softly, and
the next five strokes bit in without mercy. Each seemed that
much harder than the last, the whuck of the rod working
down my thighs until he reached halfway to my knees. Then
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Judgment
by Denise Hall
the cane raised and lightly measured along the crease again.
"I don't think I can bear to be without you."
I screamed through my gag when he struck me there
again, this time working up and over the curve of my bottom,
laying stroke after stroke so close together than the welts
overlapped, until he reached a point a half inch lower than the
top of my bottom crack. I gasped, writhing in inexpressible
agony, causing the tripod to creak and groan with my
contortions. Again, the cane measured lightly upon the welted
crease, and I sobbed long and low.
Another five, back down my thighs, midway to my knees,
and I felt a liquid trickling sensation winding down my right
leg. Was it sweat or blood? I whined, hoarse and breathless
whimpers torn from a throat screamed raw, and fainted for
the first time three strokes later. He patiently revived me with
a touch of the smelling salts beneath my nose and caressed
my face with a cold cloth before continuing.
Before he was done, my body felt bathed in the fires of
hell. I was weak and drained, and though the cane had only
thrashed my bottom and thighs, I ached in every part of me.
I felt whipped to my soul.
My Master did not untie me right away, but removed the
gag and gently helped me raise my head to drink from the
cup he held to my lips. The cool water soothed my scratched
throat, and I drank greedily.
The pain seemed to swell, flowing through me in crashing
waves. My stomach rebelled, and I vomited everything he
gave me into the pan that he now held just under my mouth.
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Judgment
by Denise Hall
He pressed a cup of cool water to my lips so I could again
drink. This time it all stayed down.
He took me tied as I was to the tripod, showing me even
less mercy than he had during my caning. Absolution did not
come until much later when, spent and sobbing, I was carried
to the bed and tucked gently into it.
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