The champagne was the best. Moet et Chandon; Julia's favourite, but then Julia always had the best of everything. She always made sure of that. It was as good as any wedding reception Geoffrey had ever attended, and there were perhaps fifty people seated around the horseshoe arrangement of tables longingly eyeing their expensive flutes and eagerly awaiting the toasts so they could sample the straw coloured bubbly. The multi-tiered cake was resplendent at the head of the table in the centre of the horseshoe and directly in front of Geoffrey. It was his reception, his occasion. But there was no bride. Not surprising, really, as this was not exactly a wedding reception.

Every now and again during her long experience Julia was wont to have an idea and to do something about it. She never did things by halves. And when she first came to know about Geoffrey, one of her ideas - this idea - was conceived. Geoffrey was a novice at the time of this particular conception, indeed he still was in at least one important way, being a virgin and all that.

Although Julia did talk with the club members herself, despite her being effectively on a separate social stratum, most of what she originally knew about Geoffrey had been learned from others. For example, that he was very shy about his interest in SM, didn't mix easily with the others and was not experienced in the scene. But what gave her a particular fellow feeling for this callow youth was that he appeared to be a rubber fetishist. Not just an ordinary common or garden rubber fetishist but a connoisseur of the rubber-lined macintosh material which she herself loved so dearly. Geoffrey fascinated her and she had decided to find out more.

Today's ceremony was, she supposed, the club's answer to a conventional wedding reception. Society places strange obligations on its members and the wedding reception forms a good example. It celebrates the fact that, for all their lives so far, a couple are expected to be ignorant of certain matters and yet, after the wedding service and celebration, they are under a moral obligation to perform the physical business with celerity and some expertise. It is, in fact, a celebration of the imminent loss of virginity. This reception was also celebrating the imminent loss if virginity, albeit of a slightly different type.

Food - excellent food - was being consumed in quantities. The toast to Geoffrey was drunk, flutes refilled, the Moet flowing freely. Julia was not present for the meal, not for most of it anyway, although she would flit through the hall from time to time in her lovely swishing golden cape. She was in organising mode and it was best not to be in her way at these times. At all times, really. Her fascination with the case of young Geoffrey deepened after she had sought him out and had a heart-to-heat chat one day. He had just about bared his soul to her and she began probing deeper as she learnt of his fascination with whipping; heavy, severe whipping, once in widespread use as a form of corporal punishment. It was something he had never experienced, and was both fascinated and terrified by it.

Julia discovered that he had recently emerged from a short and unsuccessful marriage, unsuccessful because his bride had discovered that she had a hymen which needed surgical intervention to penetrate, and the subsequent soreness which she felt and the associated frustration which he experienced took away all the magic and it was very clear they would never be able to satisfy each other. But, even as they agreed that parting would be best for both of them, Geoffrey started remembering odd things he had read about or been told in his early years about judicial floggings and also, although he didn't make the association at the time, remembering the fashion for the once commonplace rubber-lined macintoshes, of which his mother and sister possessed several. He remembered feeling their smooth, cool linings and holding them against his face, wondering what they would feel like worn over his bare skin. He hardly dared imagine. As these memories came flooding back it was as if they were in compensation, in recompense, for the frustration he had experienced during the short union. His sexual interests had turned a corner; were developing now along different lines. It was some time before this all became clear to him, time during which he experienced great confusion and uncertainty.

But now it was time to cut the cake, time for speeches, always a risky moment when guests are apt to drop off. Listen for the snores. But this was not the end of the celebrations, on the contrary. This time things were to happen in a different order. What was next was not a church service, although it was modelled on one. It was purely secular but there were no vows. These had already been made. So the guests were not quite as drunk as is usual at this stage in a wedding reception; they must stay sober and awake for what was to follow. What you might call The Consummation.

After her earlier chat with Geoffrey, Julia had made sure that one or two of the wiser and more experienced club members took him under their respective wings and made him feel comfortable. They also found out more details of his innermost fears and desires, something Julia needed for her Great Concept. Geoffrey was only too eager to describe, in as much graphic detail as he could imagine, what his driving ambition was. It dominated his whole existence, he rarely thought of anything else, the desire was so overpowering. The whipping. The corporal punishments of times gone by; not the pussyfootings, the ticklings, the gentle stroking by soft leather thongs so beloved of the clubs and Dominatrices he had heard and read about, but heavy strokes given across his naked back by a savage leather or rubber whip wielded by a powerful executioner, preferably female. No warm-ups. Straight into the heavy punishment. No mercy. He could never stand it, he knew that; he knew he would scream in agony and his shouts for mercy would be ignored. But he also knew that, because it was beyond his capability to bear, he would have difficulty in persuading anyone that he really meant it when he asked for it. Even if he did find someone, he doubted very much that he'd be able to submit willingly to being strapped to the whipping frame knowing what was to follow. He could imagine the fear - or could he? How can you imagine fear that intense? And yet, in the middle ages, fear was a very real feature of the punishments, and the prisoner would never go willingly to the frame. He had to be overpowered and taken by force, considerable force. Geoffrey had to feel The Fear. This was all part of the experience he craved. He knew that, at some point in the proceedings, it was inevitable that he would change his mind and chicken out of the whole thing. He also had some small clue as to how devastating this would be to his mental health, to have chickened out of the experience of a lifetime, an experience he knew he couldn't live without. He would never be able to forgive himself for backing out, never.

All this was duly fed back to Julia who had then given her instructions to one of the seniors who had listened with great sympathy to Geoffrey's philosophical impasse. Under the great Mistress's instructions, he basically offered to make it all happen for Geoffrey. If Geoff wanted, the club would arrange for there to be a celebration in his honour as a complete virgin to the whip, then he would be taken, by force if necessary, stripped to the waist, strapped to a whipping frame and flogged mercilessly exactly as would have been the case in the mediaeval flogging he craved. There would be much ceremony and ritual. No less an executioner than Julia herself would administer the strokes, and if Geoffrey thought she'd go soft on him being a woman, then he didn't know Julia. She was as merciless as any man, much more so in fact. But Geoffrey must realise that this was a very serious matter and that he must be absolutely sure that he understood what he was agreeing to. Once his agreement had been given it could not be retracted. It would happen, force and all, as necessary. He must also realise that force would be necessary as he would certainly and without doubt try to chicken out long before he was strapped to the frame. He would not be allowed to back out, scream as much and struggle as much as he might. The flogging would happen.

It was nearly time for the service. This was held in an adjoining hall, large and echoing. Seats were arranged like pews in a church, guests were gradually taking their places. An electronic keyboard and large loudspeakers provided soft organ music as the congregation filed in. At the front of the hall a tall structure of some sort, a kind of altar, was covered in voluminous gold drapery.

Geoffrey had worried for days about the offer and the decision he had to make. He had sleepless nights. He'd really known the answer all along in his subconscious; it would not let him decide to miss an opportunity of realising such an intensely anticipated desire, whatever the consequences. It was the consequences which gave the sleepless nights. He knew he couldn't refuse but he couldn't begin to imagine just what terror and physical suffering he would be subjecting himself to if he agreed. As he agonised over the inevitable decision he realised that the terror had already begun. The decision had made itself.

Thus it was that, as the others were leaving the reception for the service, Geoffrey, the "bridegroom", the virgin, was taken to an anteroom by four hefty women all dressed in black leather. Their appearances were frightening enough in themselves without everything else. But, so far, Geoffrey was still in control of himself. He went willingly. He agreed to change into a black rubber-lined Macintosh and a pair of trousers in the same material; the only other clothes he was permitted being soft shoes and socks. The smooth exciting feel of the rubber against his skin offset, to some extent, the awesome appearance of the leather clad foursome who could clearly have him for breakfast if he so much as thought of struggling.

"Put your arms out together at the front" commanded one of them. As he did so, he felt the handcuffs clip round his wrists and he began to see how much these people meant business and how it was all beginning to feel. This was something new, something he'd never experienced before, not being able to use his hands properly. It was not as he expected to feel, he had never been restrained before in his life, the loss of control and the restriction was totally new to him. The loss of freedom - they were in control of him now and he found that he might just be unable to control events. Quite suddenly the scale of the situation in which he found himself had expanded far beyond his earlier vision of what would happen. He was almost helpless now, he felt impotent, he felt himself being submerged in something which, he now realised, he didn't understand. This was not what he'd thought it would be like, this was not what he wanted. He wanted out now, he'd had enough, thanks. Must get out of this. But there wasn't much he could do just then - he'd be on the lookout for his chance. Plenty of time yet; the thought comforted him a little.

The 'church' fell silent and expectant. Then the organ struck up with a loud processional and the small group of five appeared at the back and proceeded slowly up the isle. The handcuffed, macintoshed figure was flanked by two female leather-clad guards with the other two guards to the rear. The handcuffed figure was becoming increasingly reluctant as the procession neared the front and he could sometimes be heard calling out in protest above the crashing chords of the organ. As he approached the kneeling mat which had been placed at the top of the isle, a little way in front of the 'altar', he had to be dragged and pushed roughly down onto the kneeling pad to the command "Kneel!" from one of the leather-clads. He was held in place by heavy hands on his upper arms and shoulders as he struggled. He was beginning to panic now; how was he to escape? What might happen if he failed was unthinkable, surely they wouldn't, they couldn't. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. But he knew Julia . . .

The music subsided, leaving the exposed despondent moaning of the prisoner clearly audible. The hoped for chance to escape had not yet occurred and Geoffrey could see no way out at the moment, but he was not yet strapped into anything so there was still a chance. He must not miss it. But he'd never felt like this ever before - terror, despair, despondency, panic. He was trapped, and very much in public in front of practically all the club members. The steel of the handcuffs was cutting into his wrists, but he hardly noticed.

One of the club elders stood up. He addressed the congregation. He welcomed them all to the inauguration of their new member Geoffrey into the club and into the unique experience of The Whip. Geoffrey continued to moan and struggle. The Preacher extolled the delights of whipping, the long pedigree of the club, and finally introduced the club Mistress, Julia, as executioner at this very special celebration.

Julia emerged regally from the side and took up centre stage between Geoffrey and the altar. She swished and crackled across in her dazzling satin rubber-lined cape; her trademark. She looked out over the assembled congregation as they all listened in awe to the wordless moans from the kneeling, struggling, wretched prisoner. After a few moments, she addressed the gathering.

"It is my pleasure this evening to introduce our new member Geoffrey to the agonising experience of the whip. It is rare indeed for us to have a serious formal celebration of this type, but it is nevertheless decreed in our Constitution that, should such an occasion arise, the formal punishment shall be administered using our most severe instrument of flagellation. That will be my pleasure and duty tonight. I can assure the prisoner that this will be an experience he will never forget."

Geoffrey stared at her, petrified. She addressed him direct. "Prisoner Geoffrey, the Constitution decrees that you shall suffer punishment by whipping. The instrument of punishment shall be the five-foot, tapered solid rubber whip, the most severe whip we possess. It is my duty this evening to apply this to your bare back. It is also my duty to decide on the number of strokes I shall give you. I have taken into account your lack of experience in this discipline, your relative youth and your sincerity in desiring this punishment."

At these last words Geoffrey moaned and struggled violently. Desiring this punishment? What was she saying? How could she possibly think he wanted this let alone what might follow? With a catch in his voice he screamed "No! No! No!" and tore ineffectively at the handcuffs.

"Quiet!" Julia spat the word. "I have the discretion to increase the punishment if you misbehave - don't tempt me." She paused. Geoffrey became silent. "That's better. The number of strokes I have decided you shall receive is One Hundred" Geoffrey moaned loudly and again struggled violently. "Make him ready".

Julia swished away. Two junior attendants approached the altar and began to remove the draped sheet. As it fell away a tall, narrow, heavy metal pyramid structure was revealed. At the top was a pulley with a rope passing over it, at the base, where the width spread to about four feet, were heavy leather ankle straps. The attendants removed the cover and stepped aside.

Geoffrey regarded the frame and freaked out. Strong hands lifted the screaming youth to his feet and all four leatherclads went to work on him. Between them they held his handcuffed wrists out in front of him, unfastened the macintosh he was wearing and began to remove it by lifting it over his head. Then lifting it forward they pulled the sleeves as far down his arms and towards his wrists as the handcuffs would permit, gathering them up close to the cuffs. Then a pair of stout leather wrist straps were fastened round his wrists as close as possible to the handcuffs, trapping the gathered mac sleeves between the straps and the cuffs. By means of two steel clips on the rope attached to the whipping triangle, they clipped the rope to the wrist straps. This effectively fastened the two wrists together as well as to the rope and allowed the handcuffs to be removed. This let the macintosh sleeves slip over Geoffrey's struggling hands, releasing the mac altogether. During this procedure the prisoner had been moaning and struggling continuously as in a blind panic, but the leatherclads proceeded calmly and efficiently as though nothing in the least unusual was happening.

Geoffrey helplessly saw the inevitable approaching - as the rope was pulled over the pulley he could not resist as his wrists were pulled upwards to the top of the triangle, pulling his body against the frame. How could this be happening? What was he doing here? This was unreal. He felt the strong hands at his ankles, strapping them firmly, three feet apart, to the triangle. He was in place, there was never anything he could have done to stop it. This was the fear, the terror, the panic. He was stretched out, he could not move anything more than an inch or two. Not just helpless but immobile now, exposed, vulnerable, wide open to quite unimaginable happenings. The cool air bathed his naked back, reminding him even more of his vulnerability, as though he were just standing there and inviting them to do their worst. All he had to do was to turn away and leave. That was all. It was normally such a simple movement. But only God could help him now.

He turned his head and found himself looking straight at Julia, in her golden cape. Her eyes were fixed on his as she slowly started to remove the swishing cloak. As it opened it revealed, not the smooth naked body which she normally kept under it, but a glistening black leather outfit with full cut trousers and a vest which hugged her sensuous figure leaving her bare arms unencumbered by sleeves. The cape was spirited away by an attendant. Geoffrey watched in horror as she unfastened the belt she was wearing, but instead of a belt he saw that she was uncoiling the dreaded five foot rubber whip. This was his first sight of it, about an inch in diameter at the handle end, tapering to about a quarter of an inch at the tip and looking very heavy. A fearsome looking weapon indeed. He could not take his eyes off it. He felt his exposed back crawling.

A brilliant spotlight came on and illuminated the pair of them; the stars of the entertainment which was about to begin. At the same time the rest of the hall lights dimmed, leaving the tableau at the front in brilliant relief.

Julia held the whip and looked at Geoffrey. They eyed each other for several seconds.

"Prepare yourself to receive one hundred strokes".

The organ struck up and triple-forte chords echoed powerfully round the hall as it started playing the special anthem which was used on the very rare occasions when these ceremonial whippings were carried out. Julia raised her right arm, lifted the whip high into the air with a circular motion. Geoffrey could see the extent of the sheer physical effort she was putting into it. Continuing in the curved path she pulled the lash downwards with all her strength and it landed across Geoffrey's naked back with a crack which could be heard above the organ. Geoffrey was rigid with the exploding agony and his screams filled the hall, the organist doing his unsuccessful best to drown them out.

A leatherclad was standing by, keeping the tally. "One", she counted, but nobody heard. A mark was entered on a clipboard. A thin red line crossed the writhing naked back.

Julia was not inclined to show mercy. She never had been and no one expected that she ever would. She knew that the last thing Geoffrey wanted was for the next stroke to land on the same piece of flesh which had been left stinging unbearably by the first stroke. So she aimed very carefully at that same red line and positioned for the second stroke. Maximise the pain. Geoffrey was watching her like a hawk and saw the lash approaching. It was as though it was in slow motion, curling round the top of the curve and coming down straight at his already tender stripe, the pain from which was still agony. He knew where it would land. "This can't happen" he sobbed to himself "It just can't. Surely God cannot let it happen - perhaps God will let me die before it strikes. Please...

God didn't oblige. The stroke fell and crack number two was heard through the hall. Geoffrey was writhing in agony and screaming loud sobs as the thin red line opened up and blood started trickling from it.

"Two". Another mark went on the clipboard.

Geoffrey simply couldn't believe what was happening. He tore at the straps with the superhuman strength which can only come from the blind panic arising from indescribable agony of the most extreme kind. The straps held; his panic soared, his sobbing screams crescendoed. But the strokes continued to fall; Julia knew her stuff. She had studied the physics of whipping and had even submitted herself to the lash for the experience, although, of course, never to anything remotely approaching this severity. She had not enjoyed it at the time either, but it had stood her in amazingly good stead for the punishments she had herself administered, and was administering now. Hence she knew that it was merciful to leave reasonable recovery time between strokes so she left very little; it was merciful to allow the whip to stop its motion as it hit the bare flesh so she kept the motion going to drag the lash across the skin in a deep furrow; it was merciful to scatter the strokes so one did not fall on the same spot as the preceding one so she aimed pairs of strokes on the same strip of burningly tender flesh; it was slightly less painful after the skin had broken so, after the second or third stroke on a strip of skin, she moved to open another cut on the next two or three strokes. These skills were now second nature to her and she was practising them all this evening for the benefit of this unfortunate screaming prisoner. Her skills, her strength, the savage whip - all serving to make Geoffrey's experience every bit as severe as, probably more severe than, any judicial punishment in the middle ages.

Eight, nine, ten; there was quite a bit of blood now and Geoffrey's back was a mess. But it was time for a break. Time for Julia to step back and enjoy her moment, enjoy the heaving, writhing figure on the triangle, enjoy the wails and sobs. The organ quietened. This was not to be rushed. Yes, the strokes had been given rapidly in order to maximise the agony but it was not going to be over quickly. Ten out of a hundred; ninety to go. Nine more batches of ten. Time between the batches for the prisoner to contemplate the next onslaught, for Julia to enjoy the fruits of what she had been planning for so long, for the congregation to fix the scene in their minds to take away and replay countless times in their minds' eyes.

The organ crashed its chords again and the next ten strokes were given. More blood; more screams; still eighty to go. Another break. How long could it last? Whilst Julia was in her own personal heaven, Geoffrey was in the deepest possible depths of his personal hell, hoping against hope that he could die, well worth that sacrifice to miss even one of Julia's celebrated whipstrokes. He didn't die. Even the oblivion of passing out was denied to him although most would have succumbed by now. He remained fully conscious.

So proceeded the ceremony until, at long last, the final stroke had been given. Geoffrey hung, still just conscious, limply in the straps, his back long since a mass of red pulp, red streaks down the rubber-lined trousers and red stains on the whip which Julia was holding as she surveyed, for the last, long, moment, the results of her handiwork. She felt wonderful. But, alas, all good things must end and it was time to move on.

The organ started a familiar tune and the congregation sang heartily a hymn of thanksgiving for the ceremony they had just witnessed and for God's great gift of The Whip as an instrument of punishment to the Human race. During the singing the four leatherclads carefully took Geoffrey down from the triangle and slowly lowered him face downwards onto a stretcher where he lay motionless, half conscious, still sobbing quietly to himself, his body twitching. They waited for the hymn to end. Then they lifted the stretcher into the carrying position and took up station at the head of the central aisle, waiting. Julia took her place at the head of the group, once again in her golden cape and holding the coiled, now red-tipped, rubber whip in her right hand. The congregation stood.

Crashing chords again from the organ as the processional music began and the stretcher started, very slowly, its journey down the aisle. The spotlight followed the procession, glistening off the pulp which was once a human back, off Julia's swirling golden cape and off the black leather of the stretcher bearers. Worshipers crowded to the ends of their rows for a good look at the cortege, some no doubt wishing it could be themselves on the triangle and on the stretcher, others, perhaps, not so sure but all deeply affected by the ceremony.

The cortege reached the end of the hall and left through the rear door which closed behind them with an air of finality. The organ finished the processional, paused and then started, pianissimo, the voluntary which signalled the end of the service. Slowly, in a silence only broken by the soft music, the congregation began to drift away. Some of them didn't speak again for a long time.

* * *

It was late evening when Geoffrey reached the private hospital in the hospital's own ambulance. The hospital, apart from its normal work in the private sector, had a special unit devoted to cases of this kind. It was to his own private room that Geoffrey was brought. He had passed out several times in the ambulance but was conscious now, having his wounds dressed. It was not the hospital's policy to give heavy sedation or pain relief to these cases, after all, this was part of the experience, but they did ensure that the patient remained conscious and this sometimes, as in this case, meant giving a measure of analgesia whilst the cleanup and dressing of the wounds was carried out.

He spent a few heavily bandaged but relatively comfortable days in his private room, equipped as it was with radio, two hundred TV channels, video and a computer with Internet access. A visiting attendant brought him library books at his request and he enjoyed excellent food and, later, as his medication routine permitted, a glass or two of wine in the evenings. As soon as it was reasonably possible, his bandages were removed and he could sit up and allow cool air to circulate round his back, helping the tender but well granulated area to heal over. He could sleep on his side or face downwards in reasonable comfort. Early one evening a nurse informed him that he could now spend a little time in what she termed the recovery room, and led him down the corridor in his pyjama trousers. There were no other patients in that wing and the staff knew perfectly well about Geoffrey's condition; he was not unduly concerned about exhibiting his rapidly healing wounds. They arrived at the recovery room. The nurse opened the door, motioned to Geoffrey to go in, then closed the door behind him.

Geoffrey's heart almost stopped. In front of him was the usual bed, its top sheet folded right back to the foot. The glistening white surface looked a little strange but he had no time to study this because his attention was riveted to the familiar golden caped figure sitting in a chair by the bedhead. He couldn't take it in at first.


She smiled at him. "Lie down", she invited in a friendly voice. "Come on, on the bed. Lie down". He stared at her, and started feeling his way onto the bed, never taking his eyes off her. But something was not right - the bed - what was it? It felt cold and slithery and he suddenly realised that the white sheet on which he was about to lie was rubberised. He now stared at the dull smooth surface. "Come on, on your back, lie down". Suddenly he felt himself the victim of a powerful erection and was embarrassed to notice that Julia was watching this too, it being very obvious from the large bulge in his pyjama trousers. Slowly he climbed onto the bed, feeling the cool rubber against his feet and hands. He didn't lie down; all that rubber against his tender back, he wasn't sure he could do it and stay sane. Julia looked on in amusement as he hesitated and just sat there. Then she stood up and gave him a sharp backward push. He fell against the soft coolness. He could hardly contain his erection which was now the tallest feature of the figure on the bed. She looked on, smiling, as he lay there, electrified by the experience.

"Give me your hand". She lifted a wrist and raised it above his head. Digging down beneath the pillow she uncovered a hidden leather strap, which she fastened round his wrist and buckled up. "Now the other." This was not the first time Geoffrey had been under her control with his wrists strapped above his head. He could still see her with the whip in her hand as she had mercilessly torn his back apart only days earlier and wondered, with sudden terror, what was in store for him this time. What did she have under that cape of hers? Another whip? The same whip? Her hands were approaching his waist; they alighted on the tie cord holding up his trousers. With a gentle pull, she unfastened it. Then, moving to his feet, she slowly pulled at the trousers so they slid down, exposing him little by little to more of the rubber sheet and he trembled violently as he felt the creeping smoothness against his flesh, quite unable to stop it. The trousers removed, Julia uncovered more straps and secured his ankles, wide apart, to the foot of the bed, leaving his erection totally exposed and uncontrollable; its fullness amazing even Geoffrey himself. He was helpless again in her close presence, exposed, vulnerable and unable to move in the straps. She stood and looked on, smiling in satisfaction at what she saw. This was another of her delightful moments to savour and she did so, taking her time, delighted at his discomfiture and excited herself at the sight of so much rubberised material against so much nakedness. But, of course, she hadn't finished. Oh, no, not Julia.

Reaching down to the bedfoot she lifted up the top sheet and light coverlet which were folded down there. The swishing and crackling as she did so made Geoffrey aware, in no uncertain manner, that the top sheet was just as rubberised as the bottom and that it was coming his way. It floated down towards him as Julia brought it up and seemed to envelop him all at once, covering everything with its slitheryness, particularly noticeable against the tip of his throbbing erection. Julia folded it so that it reached up to his chin and tucked it round him. Then, with great deliberation, she produced a pair of black rubber gloves from inside the cape and proceeded to pull them on her strong slender hands, slowly, little by little, in front of his eyes. When she was satisfied they were comfortable she unfolded the top sheet from his chin and lifted it so that it covered his face, filling his nostrils with the pungent odour he found so exciting in small quantities. But this was overpowering, far too much for him. He struggled to free his arms and to pull the sheet from his face, but was quite helpless. The more he struggled, the more closely the sheet settled against his face. He felt as if he was suffocating, unable to move, completely bathed in the slithery sheets, unable to see for the cloying rubber over his eyes, overpowered by the odour and at the mercy of one of the most merciless people he had ever met. What would happen now? He was supposed, after all, to be in hospital, he suddenly remembered. An incongruous thought in the circumstances.

He felt a slight disturbance of the top sheet, then a rubber glove was at his waist. It slithered round to his belly and he felt a second against his thigh. The hand on his thigh pressed firmly, as if steadying itself, as the first one slowly crawled down his belly towards the hardest erection he had ever experienced. At times, the hand hardly seemed to move, then it would slither down just a little and pause again. After what seemed an eternity, the hand reached his tender parts, grasping at his testicles, squeezing, pulling, gently at first, then harder and harder as it was joined by the second hand and they both worked energetically together. Finally they grabbed his shaft, bending it sharply downwards and causing him to scream out in both pain and surprise. He felt his foreskin rammed tightly back and the sharp movements began. He had always thought of masturbation as being a fairly gentle business, never imagining just how violent and painful it could be if inflicted by someone else, but then he had never experienced Julia's methods before. He was screaming again but Julia persisted; she was certainly not going to stop. But, eventually and delayed only a few minutes by the agonising pain, the climax came and exploded within him with such force that he actually passed out again with her hands still working on him.

As he drifted back into consciousness he felt more relaxed than he could ever remember, as if floating on the rubber sheet, still feeling Julia's hands, now very gently massaging his tender parts, hardly aware that he was still strapped to his bed. He was ready to abandon himself to a deep sleep, but that was not to be. Not yet. Julia withdrew her hands and folded the top sheet back so they could once again see each other. He could breathe again, realising as he took deep lungfuls of the clear fresh air, that he had really been breathing perfectly well all the time but had just been panicked by the sheet over his face. Slowly the black rubber gloves came off as Julia stood smiling at Geoffrey as he lay there breathing slowly and deeply. "You will probably not see me here again. You will return to this room each evening at six for treatment until I decide that you are ready for release. Medically you are ready now but I'm certainly not ready to let you go yet. A nurse will bring you here each evening and tuck you up between these sheets with the help of the wrist and ankle straps and cover you completely with the top sheet. You will remain in place for two hours each evening, during which period either a nurse or myself will come and give you the treatment. You will not be able to see who it is and you will not be spoken to. Later, at the end of the two hours, the nurse will untie you and return you to your room.

"You will find, when you have had a number of the treatments, that they take longer each time to reach a conclusion. Don't let this concern you. I am well experienced in the technique and have trained all the nurses well. We can continue without stopping as long as is needed, all night if that's what it takes. We know exactly what we're doing, be sure of that."

Julia undid the buckles and unstrapped him. Replacing his pyjama trousers he was taken, unsteadily, back to his room. On the wall a bold new notice read "Treatment Room 1800 hrs Daily" - he was not going to be allowed to forget. He lay on his bed looking at it, contemplating his unknown remaining time in the hospital. His life had certainly changed; things would never be the same again. What would happen when he left hospital? After all he had gone through, was there anything at all left which could fail to be an anticlimax to all this? Surely not.

But Julia was working on it . . .


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Back to the Stories Page


An Introduction
Julia's Way
The Long Way
A Wee Drop
Club Night
The Welcome

The Stories of Yvonne Sinclair

Alice And Anna
On The Beach
The Bisley Boy
Silk Stockings On A Ladder
A Merry Ferry Christmas
Stella and Fanny

The Sacred Feminine

The Sacred Feminine

The Dominafuhrer

The New Recruit

The Story Of T

Arrival At The Institute

VO Stories

Miss Malcahy's Detention
Nine and a Half Hours

The Weight Loss

I Sign A Contract

The Convict

The Convict


A Caning By Miss Spiteful
Always On The Bare
A Visit To Greenwich
At My Lady's Pleasure
Ball Shackle Story
I Met Claire In A Coffee Shop
Judicial Bastinado
Kevin's Poem
Long Weekend
Long Weekend Conclusion
My Visit
Robin's Electrical Torture
Shoeshine Boy
Slave To The Cane
The Basement
The Colony
The Escape Artist
The Huntress Caning
The Language School
The Worm's View
Webb Encounters

The Bossy Bank Women

A Judicial Punishment

The Valkyrie

Episode 1


The Vision
The Agreement
First Blood