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The Sacred Feminine

The Sacred Feminine
Obedience Training
Getting Acquainted
Tested and Rewarded
Moving Day
Good Grooming
Learning To Serve
Training Continues
When The Bell Rings
The Evaluation
The Great Escape

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 Dominafuhrer

The New Recruit

The Story Of T

Arrival At The Institute


An Introduction

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




Chapter 12 - Punishment

A week had gone by since we returned from the so-called trial, and I was surprised that I heard no criticism—indeed, no comment of any kind—from Mistress Stella about my attempt to escape from her clutches. Also, she was not punishing me in any way. Life returned to normal. The usual routine was re-established…including Mistress Stella’s use of the little bell—she was childish in her gleeful enjoyment of this.

One morning my curiosity got the best of me. When I took Mistress Stella’s coffee to her bedroom, I said, “Mistress, I have a question.”

“Yes, Arch?”

“Mistress, I know you were very angry at me when you returned from your trip.”

Before I could ask my question she interrupted me. “You’re damn right I was angry! What did you expect? I came home and found you in jail after trying to escape from our lovely paradise!”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said sheepishly, hanging my head. “So why haven’t you punished me? It’s not that I’m asking you to, but I am curious.”

“That’s a ridiculous question, Arch. Your punishment is out of my hands. It has been prescribed by the court…and, if I may say so, you will find it more severe than any punishment I could give you.”

“Oh. I see,” was all the response I could come up with.

The very next morning, when I took Mistress her coffee, she said, “With regard to your punishment, Arch…I have some news for you.”

“Yes, Ma’am? What is it?”

“I have heard from Officer Spiteful, and I am to have you on the green by the courthouse at fifteen minutes before noon today. I’m afraid you’re going to leave there with a very sore ass.”

I breathed a sigh of apprehension. “Yes, Mistress,” was all I could say.

* * *

Mistress Stella and Mistress Cara took me to the courthouse green. In the center of the green was a structure like I had never seen. It was a wooden rack that sloped upward to a point that was waist high, then at a sharper angle—about forty-five degrees for another three feet or so. Above it was a sign, which said simply, “Runaway Slave.” Officer Spiteful was standing beside the rack holding a length of cane about four feet long and a quarter inch in diameter.

As soon as we arrived, Officer Spiteful, in an authoritative voice, instructed Mistresses Stella and Cara, “Strip him naked and strap him to the rack.”

Without saying a word, they set about to do as they were told. They both had very serious expressions on their faces, and I thought I notice tears in Mistress Stella’s eyes. They bent me over the rack, bound my arms tightly above my head, and, spreading my feet apart about two feet, strapped my legs firmly to the rack.

It was between ten and five minutes before the hour of noon. No one was saying anything. All were just standing around. A number of people were beginning to gather and stare at me on the rack. Most of them were women with their slaves—slaves like me, it appeared—on leashes. The slaves were kneeling in front of their mistresses facing me, and the women were talking softly to each other and nodding in my direction. I was embarrassed and humiliated to be seen like this. I closed my eyes and began to think about what was going to happen. I’m sure this won’t be too bad, I thought. I have been beaten pretty hard by Mistress Stella often enough. I’m sure this won’t be any worse than that, and it will all be over in no more than five minutes. I was convinced I could get through it by being stoic. I was determined to avoid further embarrassment by remaining silent—by not crying out.

A couple minutes before noon, Officer Spiteful stepped in front of the rack and faced the onlookers. “Your attention, please!” she called out. “You are about to witness the punishment of runaway slave, Arch, property of Mistress Stella Smith, as prescribed by the court. The court has decreed that he shall suffer twenty strokes of the cane.” Some in the crowd gasped. The officer continued, “I shall administer the required strokes in groups of five, starting exactly on the first tone of the clock on the courthouse tower, above. Between each group of five strokes of the cane there will be a rest period. Each rest period will be exactly 24 hours.”

I heard muffled cries of surprise from both Mistress Stella and Mistress Cara. I, myself, thought, oh shit. Four days of this humiliation! What a miserable bitch! I could hear the sound of the cane as Officer Spiteful warmed up, slashing it through the air—whooop, whooop, whooop. The crowd was deathly silent.

At exactly the instant of the first chime of the clock, the first blow came—BONG—WHOOPTHWAAAAACK.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH,” I screamed. My back arched and my head flew back, eyes wide. I had never felt anything so painful.

The second blow came before I could suck in a breath. It coincided with the second tone of the clock— BONG—WHOOPTHWAAAAACK.


The next three blows were timed exactly with the next three clock tones— BONG—WHOOPTHWAAAAACK.






As soon as the fifth stroke was delivered and before I had stopped screaming, Officer Spiteful turned to Mistress Stella and, handing her a tube of ointment, said, “Here. Apply this to his wounds to prevent infection, and have him here promptly at the same time tomorrow.” Then she marched off. The onlookers were motionless and silent. Some had tears in their eyes.

There were five great red welts criss-crossing my ass. They were bleeding at several places. I was moaning in pain and tears were running down my face. Mistress Stella and Mistress Cara released the bindings and lifted me gently to my feet. I couldn’t stand alone, so they placed my arms across their shoulders and helped me to the electric cart. They laid me gently on the back seat, and we drove home.

When we got home I could walk, with some difficulty, so the mistresses had me go directly to my bed and lie down on my belly. As carefully as they could, they cleaned the blood off my buttocks and applied the anti-infective ointment. They decided not to put on bandages, for fear they would stick to the wounds. As the pain subsided, I fell asleep. About seven o’clock that evening Mistress Stella came to see how I was doing, and with her help I slid off the bed and stood up. We walked slowly to the kitchen, where Alexis had some hot soup simmering on the stove. She prepared a bowl for me, which I ate—standing up, of course.

I don’t know whether Mistress Stella was being perverse or just trying to cheer us up, but after I finished the soup and stepped to the sink to wash the bowl, she suddenly tinkled her little bell. I rolled my eyes—not so she could see, of course—and dutifully walked over and stood in front of her. As soon as I did this, she smiled at me and rang the little bell again. Somewhat to my surprise, and to her obvious delight, my cock began to swell and rise. When it was fully erect and pointing at her, she leaned forward and kissed it tenderly. “That’s my Arch,” she purred. “Devoted to me no matter what.” Still smiling, she walked me back to my room and helped me lie, face down, on my bed again. It was not long before I fell asleep.

The next morning no one awakened me. When I awoke on my own, I had to pee desperately, so I slid off the bed onto my knees and stood up. Doing this was not as difficult this time as it had been last night. After I did what I needed to do at the toilet—I was glad I didn’t need to sit down—I walked to the kitchen. Both Mistress Stella and Mistress Cara were there. They stopped talking as soon as they saw me and greeted me pleasantly but with serious expressions on their faces. “Good morning, Arch. How are you feeling this morning?” they inquired.

“Good morning, Mistress Stella, Mistress Cara. I’m feeling better. Still a bit sore, of course. May I fix you ladies some breakfast?”

“We won’t make you do that, Arch…under the circumstances,” Mistress Stella said.

“I would like to do that for you very much,” I replied. “Under the circumstances it will keep my mind off…the circumstances.”

Both mistresses smiled mirthlessly. “In that case, please prepare some bacon and eggs for us,” they requested.

After the ladies had finished eating and I had cleaned up the dishes, Mistress Stella said in a very quiet voice, “Arch, I’m afraid it’s time to leave. I don’t know what Officer Spiteful might do, if we’re late.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied with a deep sigh.

We traveled to the courthouse green with me on my knees at the rear bench of the cart. We arrived exactly at quarter ‘til twelve. Officer Spiteful was there, as she had been the previous day. She said to Mistress Stella and Mistress Cara, “Good morning, ladies. You know what to do. Get him on the rack.”

Without replying to her, the mistresses walked me slowly to the rack and again strapped me firmly to it. I was very nervous. This time I was not telling myself anything about how stoic I could be. Tears were already forming in my eyes. Onlookers were gathering.

As she had done the day before, at two minutes ‘til twelve Officer Spiteful announced that they were about to witness the punishment of a runaway slave, again naming me and saying that I was the property of Mistress Stella.

I could not see the courthouse tower clock, but I knew it was very close to noon. I held my breath.





My screams were broken only by the necessity to suck in the next lung full of air to scream again.





Officer Spiteful was merciless.



The clock continued to intone the hour as I went limp on the rack, moaning loudly. I heard Officer Spiteful say to Mistress Stella, “Tomorrow…same time! Oh, yes…and no pain medication is to be given. Do you understand?” She marched off without awaiting an answer.

I could feel warm liquid—my own blood—running down the backs of my legs. Then I felt the mistresses hands as they released the straps that bound me. I was sobbing as they practically carried me to the electric cart and took me home. They cleaned me up, medicated my wounds, and put me to bed. I continued to moan softly until the pain subsided enough that I could fall asleep.

The next morning I managed to struggle to the toilet. It hurt to much to stand and walk, so I wasn’t able to prepare breakfast for anyone that day. I managed to lie back down on my bed, and I must have dozed a bit, because, the next thing I knew, Mistress Stella was gently shaking my shoulder, saying, “I’m so sorry, Arch, but it’s time to go again.”

“Oh god, Mistress, NO. Not again. I won’t be able to stand it.”

“I’m sorry, Arch,” she said, tugging gently on my arm.

“Please, Mistress, NO,” I begged.

“Come, Arch,” she said a little more forcefully.

Events went exactly as the previous day. It seemed the gallery of onlookers was a bit smaller, but I wasn’t sure. By that time, I really didn’t care much, anyway. Embarrassment and humiliation were the farthest from my mind. Again, exactly on the stroke of noon…











This time I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew I was face down on my bed and Mistress Stella was sitting beside me. My ass felt like it was on fire, and, in addition, I felt a strange sensation in my penis. I mumbled something, trying to ask what was happening, and Mistress Stella interrupted me. Lie still, Arch. We’ve had a doctor look at you, and she says that, no matter how bad it feels now, you will recover. She put a catheter in your bladder, so you won’t have to try to get up to go to the toilet. And we will give you liquids to drink through a straw whenever you wish. The doctor says you need to drink, so please don’t hesitate.” At that point, she gave me several sips of cool water, which I appreciated greatly.

The next day at eleven thirty, Mistress Stella and Mistress Cara came to get me to take me again to the courthouse green. I began to sob uncontrollably. “NO, Mistress, NO…NO…NO!” I begged. Ultimately, they had to carry me to the electric cart. I continued sobbing and begging.

Because of my resistance, we were a few minutes late arriving at the green. “You had better hurry!” was all I heard Officer Spiteful say to the mistresses. They were just beginning to strap me to the rack when Officer Spiteful made her usual announcement to the onlookers. Then I heard her cane whip the air—whoop, whoop, whoop. “We’re about to be late,” she warned as the mistresses continued to struggle to get me strapped down. Then I heard the first tone of the clock…


It wasn’t until the clock had chimed five times that the mistresses completed their task. Immediately, on the sixth tone…











When the last blow had been struck, Officer Spiteful turned to Mistress Stella and said, “Have him here again at noon tomorrow!”

“AT NOON TOMORROW?” Mistress Stella shouted. “That was twenty strokes! The sentence has been carried out!”

“No it hasn’t,” Officer Spiteful said. “The five strokes today were for the five initial chimes of the clock that were missed because you were late! You will be on time tomorrow, and the last five strokes of the sentence will be administered!” She put her fists on her hips and glared at Mistress.

After glaring back for a long period, Mistress Stella lowered her eyes and said, very quietly, “Yes, Officer.”

That night both mistresses and Alexis cared for me very tenderly, taking turns so that one of them was with me all night. The next day all three of them were crying and I was shaking with fear. I could do no more than mumble, “Oh no, not again…not again…not again,” as they carried me to the cart and drove to the courthouse. They were sobbing as they strapped me to the rack. Thank god, this is the last, I thought as I lay on the rack shaking. I hope I can survive it.

As before, at the appointed hour…











My screams stopped abruptly as I passed out.

When I awoke this time, I was in a hospital bed, and Mistress Stella was sitting beside me. It took me a couple minutes to get oriented, the I said, “Hello, Mistress.”

“Hello, Arch,” she said tenderly, smiling.

I began to remember what had happened, and, to my surprise, my ass was not hurting at all. This was, indeed, surprising, because it had been hurting—very intensely most of the time—for the last five days. “Where am I, Mistress…what’s happening?” I asked.

“You’re in the hospital, Arch. Your butt was injured enough that we had to have a doctor do some repair work on it. She had to trim away some of the most damaged tissue. But don’t worry. She is an excellent plastic surgeon, and she says the scars will be small and not very noticeable.”

“My butt doesn’t hurt at all, Mistress,” I said, not fully understanding what she had just told me.

“That’s because of the anesthetic she injected, I’m sure, my li’l slave. But I’m afraid it will hurt again for a while when the anesthetic wears off.”

She was right. It took about a month for my ass to heal fully.

* * *

That was five years ago. Since then I have not even thought of running away. My ass is completely healed and I can barely feel the scars when I run my hand over it. I am still Mistress Stella’s slave—a very dutiful one, if I may say so. Our relationship sometimes feels like we are husband and wife—not the usual husband and wife relationship, you must understand. I am completely subservient, and I do her bidding without question. Even yet, every now and then, she offers me as the entertainment at the monthly sessions we have in her dungeon in the basement. Mistress Luna still likes to assault my ass with her strap-on, and Mistress Aurora loves to turn my ass bright red—like her hair—with her leather paddle. Mistress Celeste loves to organize ejaculation competitions—flying cum contests she calls them. They take various forms—how far the slaves can shoot, or how high, or how much—what ever she dreams up. I don’t win these contests any more. Age takes it’s toll—but I don’t want to stop trying. In fact, I don’t find any of this objectionable, and nudity no longer humiliates me—actually, I rather like it. And, best of all, Mistress Stella still loves to get a rise out of me with her little bell, and to use ‘her phallus’, “for what it was designed for.”

The End

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