The Professional Bullwhipper
Public Domain CC0 The above artwork, obtained from Pixabay, is free of any known copyright restrictions. Modified by Patheticus using Fotosketcher
23 year old, slim and svelte, tight-blonde-ponytailed officer-mistress Emma is professionally trained in the application of the bullwhip – the most fearsome punishment known in the Gynarchy, reserved only for the most recalcitrant of prisoner-slaves.
Watch as she expertly bullwhips one such dirty prisoner-slave, convicted of insolence towards a mistress – just 7 lashes, but 7 lashes that will remain with him for the rest of his natural life, seared onto his memory with indelible pain!
See, first of all, how the prisoner is naked from the waist upwards (and in rags from the waist downwards) as he hangs forlornly in his bonds, suspended by the wrists from two metal chains, with nothing to prevent a wanton wraparound of the cruel, brown lash across his entire scrawny torso.
Look at him face on, from the front – see the fear and trepidation in his eyes as he braces himself for the first female lash.
Meanwhile, see how the cute, if somewhat chavvy-looking, goddess-mistress punishment-officer, miss Emma, in her crisp, navy-blue uniform blouse and masculine cargo pants, and with an incongruously feminine garland of white flowers in her dyed-blonde hair, plays with the 15 foot long, brown leather bullwhip at some distance behind him, cartwheeling it through the air above her and snapping it behind her petite, feminine frame several times in order to both break the sound barrier, and the male prisoner’s spirit! She is getting a feel for this mighty monster of an oiled, brown leathery whip!
Is she also chewing gum?!
Notice too how her tight, blonde-ponytail swings behind her, as her heavy, black leather, laced-up, uniform ankleboots stir up the dust from the ground around her thick, navy-blue trouser-hems, whilst she practises her whip-strokes and finds her footing at exactly the right distance from which to deliver the most stinging and damaging of bullwhip-cuts to the prisoner’s vulnerable, bare back. Unfortunately for him, he cannot see his beautiful, blonde whipper’s dusty, reinforced, black leather boot-toes behind him, as she is standing so far away from him – at a distance of several yards, in fact; detached and aloof, with only the business end of her long, brown leather whip about to form a connection between them; a connection of pleasure and pain – pleasure for her, pain for him.
Having finished her practice strokes, she pauses; takes aim; raises her right, whipping arm; swings the mighty beast of a whip twice above her head through the air; and then lets rip – flailing it forwards towards her target of human back flesh. Her blocky, right ankleboot-heel rises up out of the dust into the air as she maintains her sweet feminine poise and balance.
There is an almighty crack as the whip meets flesh at the burning speed of sound – followed a skin-splitting second later by an unholy scream of pure male agony and despair. You can see from the look of dismay and astonishment on the whipped fool’s face that he wasn’t expecting that – not so much pain! Unbelievable pain! Indescribable pain!
See how mistress Emma then professionally recoils the brown leather whip, unwrapping her unwanted gift of pain from the prisoner-slave’s now involuntarily writhing torso. She unfeelingly gathers up the long, leather lash, and pauses again to watch the bright red gash developing on the slave’s right shoulder-blade and flank, whilst simultaneously observing his writhings and listening to his shocked pain reactions. Her healthy, young eyesight helps her to see his suffering clearly, despite her considerable distance from his back.
Prisoner-slaves’ differing pain reactions always fascinate her. This one is quite demonstrative about his humiliating pain – weak and unmanly.
For her part, she is smugly pleased with her first stroke; and rightly so – it was a belter!
Miss Emma is a consummate professional; she does not whip in anger and haste; she waits patiently for the weak and feeble, male prisoner-slave’s body and mind to absorb the full impact of the first lash, before readying herself for the second, searing stroke. She has decided to aim lower down his torso this time – no need to overlay at this early stage of the proceedings; he is clearly a bullwhip-virgin, and there is still plenty of maleslave back to scar and open up to the elements in the whipwound-glistening sunshine.
Again she cartwheels the heavy, brown bullwhip twice around her pretty, blonde head before projecting the long lash forwards, her right boot hovering in mid-air behind her… Swish…Swish…Crack!
A sickening thud of pain, followed by an equally nauseating cry of complete and utter, male-slavish anguish and despair. But goddess-mistress Emma isn’t sickened; she’s used to it! Indeed, she smiles, ever so smugly – for that one was a classic! One of her best ever – judging by the depth and breadth of the newly forming gash on the prisoner’s lower back, revealed for all to see as she once again unwraps the bullwhip from its hateful embrace of the prisoner-slave undergoing punishment!
Gynarchy gashes, they call them – the unmistakeable marks of the angry, female whip on a penitent, male back! If it weren’t for his bonds, the rolled-eyed prisoner would by now have collapsed face downwards in the Gynarchy dust, and would be summoning up all his remaining strength to crawl through the dirt over towards the dusty, scuffmarked, reinforced, rounded boot-toes of his female whipper in order to kiss them and beg for her mercy – kissing black leather, female boot over increasingly sweaty, black cotton, female bootsock, in a futile, male attempt to avoid any further excoriating contact with the cutting-edge of the expertly wielded, brown leather bullwhip!
But he can’t even do that! He is immobilised. All he can do is writhe in his bonds, and pray out loud for sweet feminine mercy – to his cold and distant female whipper behind him.
His cries fall on deaf ears, of course – for professional-bullwhipper miss Emma is well and truly getting into the swing of it now. She waits less time before delivering the third blow of the bullwhip to his already bruised and bloodied back.
Swish…Swish…Crack!... AIIIEEEEEE!
Words fail him now. His voicebox will only permit him to gurgle, scream and gasp, as he sinks beneath a veritable tsunami of pain!
And he’s still less than half way through his prolonged punishment!
You would think, wouldn’t you, that a sweet and innocent-looking, soft-skinned, white-garlanded and blonde-haired girl like miss Emma, despite being far away herself from the pain-end of the heavy bullwhip, would nonetheless naturally be on the side of healing, rather than hurting? That she would be the one eager to run forwards and gently soothe his open, male wounds, rather than inflict them? To bathe them with her dainty, feminine fingers in anaesthetising antiseptic? But, not a bit of it! Smug, blonde-haired officer-mistress Emma is very much a professional practitioner of the femdom art of whipping a male slave to a quivering jelly-pain; and she is, as you can observe, a sickeningly talented whip-artiste!
Likewise, you might think that her dainty, feminine feet would not be all that hot and sweaty inside her heavy, chunky-heeled, laced-up, black leather ankleboots and thick, black cotton bootsocks? But, again, you’d be wrong – her boots and socks are indeed building up a nice, vinegary-warm sweat inside as she expertly plies the brown bullwhip onto the prisoner’s back. She might even rest her black-socked, white feet on his whipped back once he is back in his recovery cell – use his lacerated, red and white back as a stripy footrest, and sting him even more by rubbing her salty socksweat into his open sores?
It’s her right to do whatever she damn well pleases with her whipped prisoner-slave – by law, he is all hers!
Meanwhile, she’s swishing that long, brown leather bullwhip ominously around her pretty, blonde, garlanded head once again. I can’t bring myself to watch any more!
Can You?....
If you can... if you think you have the stomach for it... read on! I'll leave the slave, and the bullwhipstress, to describe the remainder of the punishment in their own words, and from their own perspectives:
The bullwhipee (name unknown – he’s just another, anonymous prisoner-slave)
How many is that? I've lost count! All is pain, from head to toe – for, even though the source of my pain is in my back and shoulders, it quickly spreads!
My beautiful whipper doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry to deliver her lashes? I suppose, in some ways, that's a good thing, for it gives me some time to absorb this unbelievable pain! And yet, a large part of me just wishes she would get on with it – would complete my punishment as quickly as humanly possible; so that I can get it over with, and perhaps start to recover.
I say ‘perhaps’, because I’m not convinced in my own mind that I can ever recover from this; I feel as though I am marked with pain for life; those gashes on my back run deep…
Swish…Swish…Crack!
Aiiiiieeeeeee!
Pain! Pain! Even more pain! How is this possible? How is so much pain possible in nature?
I have to admire the young woman standing several feet behind me – she is working wonders with her bullwhip! Creating pain never before experienced in the history of the earth – at least, never before experienced by me!
I gasp; I throb; I buckle in my bonds! My back dances a helpless jig designed to escape the pain; but it is a futile gesture, of course! There is no escape!
Oh, if only I could escape my bonds for just one second! I would surely crawl over to the boots of my female whipper and shower them in kisses – begging for her mercy; if there is any? But, even if there isn’t, her dusty boots deserve to be kissed and worshipped – for they are the boots of a young woman wielding absolute power over me!
Oh, her socks! If only I could, at the same time, kiss her socks inside her boots! Surely the feel of my quivering, respectful, penitent lips on her upper ankles would elicit some degree of compassion and mercy within her? I have had enough! I have learnt my lesson! Never again will I disrespect a superior mistress. The pain has taught me that!
I wonder if her socks would feel soft on my lips?...
Swish…Swish…Crack!
Aieeeeeeeeeeee!
Pain! Pain! Pain! Pain!
All is pain! Burning pain! Searing pain! Biting pain!
I even bite my bare armpit, in an effort to dissipate the pain!
Oh, if only I could be gagged with a rubber bit; something to bite on, and to stifle my unmanly screams! Even one of my beautiful, female whipper’s dirty, black bootsocks would be good – just something to grind and chew upon whilst I am having to endure such unbelievable pain.
Vaguely, out of the corner of my eye, or is it just in the back of my mind, I think I see my blonde whipper (I’m sorry, I don’t know her name – but, if I did, I would shout it out loud with humility and respect!) coil up her whip in both hands. Perhaps it’s all over! Was that the seven? Or, if it wasn’t, has she taken pity on me?
Oh praise! Oh bless you, sweet blonde mistress with the not-so-sweet bullwhip!
Swish…Swish…Swish…CRACK!
I cry – not audibly, for I no longer have the strength to cry out audibly; but internally. Such continuing pain is just not possible! Not possible… not possible… not possible…
Swish…Swish…Swish…CRACK!
PAIN… PAIN… PAIN… PAIN… PAIN… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain... pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain... pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain …pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… pain… collapse… collapse… collapse… collapse… collapse… collapse… in the dirt… in the dirt… in the dirt… in the dirt… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… boots… dusty, black boots… dusty, black boots… dusty, black boot-toes… dusty, black boot-toes… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss… kiss…kiss… must kiss… must kiss… must kiss… must kiss… must worship… must worship… must worship… must worship… must worship… respect… respect… respect… respect… respect… respect… female better… female better… female better… female better… sock… sock… sock… sock… sock… sock… black sock… black sock... black sock… black sock… soft, black sock-top… soft , black sock-top… soft, black sock-top… creased… creased… creased… creased… mercy… mercy… mercy…
The bullwhipper (miss Emma)
Ha! Ha! I am well pleased wiv myself!
This dirty prisoner-slave, whoever he is and whatever he’s done wrong, and that, has sure enuff learnt a lesson at the end of my brown leather bullwhip!
See how he grovels, though? See how he fawns at my feet, though? Kissin’ and lickin’ my dusty boots, and nosin’ up the dusty hems of my uniform trousers, and that, jus’ to get at my black sock-tops? Ha! Ha! He has been well and truly bullwhipped and humbled, innit though?
I’m ‘specially proud of that last stroke – an overlay, even though it was quick; it went right across his third stripe, and that! So he, like, actually only has six stripes on his bare back, and that? Six of the best, though! Ha! Ha! But his whole back is red though – it looks well sore, innit though?
Ha! Ha! I cain’t wait to get this wretch into his recovery cell, and then I’m gonna hump my boyfriend silly! Sure, I’ve gotta clean up the bullwhip first, and put it to bed, and that! But I’m feelin’ well horny now! Where’s my man? I need him, though! Ha! Ha! He’s gonna feel my softer side – not like this whipped fool, yeah? I’m jus’ gonna leave him to rot! Ha! Ha!
I kick his ugly face away, and that; his blubberin’ and grovellin’ over my boots is startin’ to annoy me, though! What does he expeck from me, and that? A medal, or somefing? Ha! Ha! I’m the one in line for a medal, though – a medal for deliverin’ one of the best whippin’s of the year, and that! Ha! Ha! People are already comin’ forwards to admire my handiwork, and that; to congratulate me, though; to shake my hand, though; and to kiss me admiringly on the cheek, though?
That’s because I have all the power, innit though? I hold the bullwhip!
Ha! Ha!
