Punishment 120

 

 

                             PUNISHMENT 120 – Part 13, rain delay

 

Della Domina looked out of the big bay window of her luxury suite at Punishment Park and cursed. The clouds were scudding across the Arizona sky and they were bringing rain. The TV forecast had spoken of “torrential downpours across most of the West”.

 

She feared that there would be a “rain delay” in the filming of Jason’s torments. And then she brightened up. There was always fun to be had at Punishment Park, “rain delay” or not!

 

Pulling on a black leather jacket, which she left unbuttoned so it showed her glorious breasts bouncing beneath, and a tiny, micro-miniskirt, also in black leather, she slipped on gleaming black high heels and walked from the suite to the breakfast room. Karla was nowhere to be seen. Outside, it was pouring.

 

In the large room, populated by scores of guards, Della waited in the queue for service, chose a Denver omelette, fries, some toast, marmalade and a large pot of coffee, then walked to where Priscilla sat with one of her officers.

 

“It’s not looking good for filming, today,” announced Priscilla, as Della joined the pair. Then, when Della was settled, said: “Della, meet Mistress Helga, who’s my officer in charge of the training center.”

 

Della nodded to the statuesque, light-haired beauty, with improbably large tits, and big biceps.

 

“Hi, Della, love that show, but tell me, why don’t you film inside in one of the torture chambers on a day like this?” she asked the blonde presenter.

 

“Good question, Helga,” said Della, forking into her large omelette. “But it’s one of the things that I think has made P-120 so popular, in that it always takes place out in the open-air – the heat of the sun, the  sweat on the slave, and it’s great lighting for filming.

 

“In fact, we’d only shoot inside if it rained for a week. We’ve already got two more series of P-120 ‘in the can’ as it were, so we can afford to wait out the weather.”

 

Priscilla lit a cigarette and sucked on her mug of coffee. “Still, it’s an  ill wind, as they say,” she said. “Remember last night I said I must take you for a tour of our training facility at some stage?”

 

Della nodded.

 

“Well, how about I leave you with Helga and she can show you around the place. How many sluts you got in training at the moment, Helga?” asked the camp commandant.

 

“Oh, I think there’s four undergoing basic training,” said the busty bitch. “Including someone who I think Della here met last night – Simpson.

 

“He’s being introduced to the delights he can expect to endure by the lovely Sadie this morning. And this afternoon. And this evening.”

 

Della smiled. “You keep ‘em  pretty busy, eh?”

 

Helga nodded, lighting up a cigarette of her own. “Keep their minds occupied right from the get-go, Della,” she said. “That way they have to concentrate on what they’re being taught. Exhausts them, they sleep like babies.”

 

“And cry like babies?” laughed Della.

 

Helga grinned. “Shit yes, there’s loads of tears during training!”

 

Priscilla stood, said “Paper work calls” and departed leaving Della with Helga.

 

The light-haired beauty, who looked to be in her 40s, was wearing a black leather bustier which bunched her extra-large breasts into glorious uplift. The garment was cut across her hips and revealed a shaved snatch with just a small “landing strip” of light brown hair on her mons.

 

Her strong thighs were bare, her boots coming only to knee height.

 

“How long you been Priscilla’s officer in charge of training,” asked Della, lighting a cigarette and pouring herself another mug of coffee.

 

“Since we started here for Sex Sinema,” said the woman. “I used to run a dominatrix trainee center in Berlin, and when I saw the advert in the vid paper, I applied right away.”

 

“You been domming long?” asked Della.

 

“Most of my adult life,” said Helga, who spoke good American but with a slight German accent. “I started in Munich, moved to old New York, and then back to Berlin. I’m 48 now and I’ll soon have enough to retire with some cocksluts to Hawaii. I love that climate.”

 

“How big’s the training facility?” asked Della, sucking on her cigarette.

 

“It has an inner compound and then six wings leading off it,” said Helga, “we’ll head there as soon as you’ve finished your coffee.”

 

“Tell me about the six wings,” said Della.

 

“For six disciplines,” said Helga. “One wing is for ponyboy training, that’s quite large. Another is for flogging, a third is for cock and ball torture, and another for piss punishments. And the fifth wing, is for bondage and the sixth and final for electro torture, which can, of course, also be applied in the bondage and C&BT wings, but we like to split the disciplines up.

 

“Each wing has about 10 cells where we train ‘em. That’s in case we get an unexpectedly large intake. Luckily, right now we’re very quiet, so you can watch four slaves going through their education.”

 

Della stubbed out her cigarette and finished her coffee. “Sounds like fun,” she said, “lead the way.”

 

The pair marched across the large yard where Jason had suffered his first three days of torture, but was now enjoying a “day of rest”, to a group of buildings several hundred yards from the main complex.

 

Inside, the training boss ushered Della into her office, pulled down a five-foot long, single-tailed leather lash from a hook behind her desk, and moved outside.

 

“Piss wing first, I think,” she said, and opened a door which read “Piss Punishment Training Center”.

 

Passing several cells, Helga and Della finally reached one where a naked white cockslut was seated on a leather settle. Standing in front of him was a busty, black beauty, possibly 30, possibly younger, thought Della. She was wearing a military-style peaked cap and boots, but otherwise was naked.

 

“Now try it again, pigfucker,” snapped the trainer, as Della and her guide entered the cell.

 

The black bird looked at her boss, but Helga nodded to her. “Ignore us, Dolita, carry on.”

 

The woman smiled and handed the naked male a large glass containing a yellow liquid.

 

“Now, not so fuckin’ fast, pigfuckin’ shit,” said the trainer. “It’s glorious urine, lovely nectar, a gift from a trainer to her fuckin’ useless piss-drinking slut. So treat it with respect, like a fine wine.”

 

The slave sucked some of the urine down, then swirled it in his mouth, before swallowing it, a grimace on his face.

 

The grimace earned him a vicious slap across his face. “Pigfuckin’ cunt,” snapped Dolita, “it’s my nectar, you fuckin’ appreciate it!”

 

The man tried again, sucking down more urine, swirling it around in his mouth and then swallowing. This time he put a big smile on his face.

 

“See, pigfucker?” asked the trainer. “That’s the way to do it.”

 

“How’s he coming along, Dolly?” asked Helga.

 

“Not bad, ma’am,” said the black trainer. “He’s got a lot to learn, but he’s getting there. Just getting him used to the lovely taste, and he’ll soon be a suitable subject for one of those Sex Sinema piss programs.

 

“I’m gonna take him into the piss worship cell next, care to accompany us?”

 

Helga smiled. “I’m sure that will be fun. Tell us about this cunt.”

 

Dolita looked at the cockslut, snapped “Drink it all down, now, pigfucker” and as the slave obeyed her command, she flicked open an electronic gizmo in her hand.

 

“Name’s Marcus, he’s 56, which is pretty old for us, and he’s from Des Moines, Iowa. He’s been sent to us by a court out there for bestiality – fucking a pig, or something like that. Filthy pervert.”

 

Della nodded her comprehension now of the trainer’s line in humiliating patter. “Now I see why all the ‘pigfucker’ stuff,” she smiled to Helga.

 

Helga smiled back. “Sure, it’s used to serve as a constant reminder to the cunt as to what got him sentenced here.”

 

Then the training officer boss walked over to the seated slave and snapped: “On your feet, pigfucker!”

 

The man stood, looking warily at the statuesque beauty. Helga cupped his balls and looked at his tiny prick. “Fuckin’ cunt,” she said, “he’d be useless for the P-120 punishment, Della. Still, if anyone can make him into a good piss slave, Dolita can.”

 

Dolita was at the door. “Come on pigfucker, time for worship,” she snapped, and from a hook by the cell door, she took her grabber and fixed the slave’s balls into it, then pushed him out into the corridor.

 

Della and Helga followed Dolita to a cell a doors down the corridor, then halted him by the simple method of shouting “Halt” and squeezing the grabber’s handle so that the slave got an agonising constriction in his nuts.

 

“Open the door, pigfucker,” commanded the trainer, and Marcus did so.

 

Inside was a smallish cell, with a refrigerator in one corner. Dolita left the “pigfucker” standing to attention in the middle of the room, then produced a sort of soda siphon from the ‘fridge.

 

Della saw with interest that the container held row upon row of siphon, and she also noted that each one contained dark, yellow liquid.

 

Helga and Della sat on two metal chairs against one wall and watched as the trainer handed the siphon to her slave.

 

“OK, pigfucker, you know the way it works,” she told the crestfallen-looking cockslut.

 

And then she snapped “One, pigfucker!”

 

The slave stepped forward and sprayed cool urine all over the trainer’s lovely large left breast, then bent and started to suck and lick the glistening globe, until he had cleaned it of piss.

 

“Three!” snapped the officer, who was standing, fists on hips, feet about two feet apart, in front of the trainee slave.

 

This time the naked slut walked behind his mistress-cum-trainer and knelt behind her lush buttocks. His target this time was her left buttock. When it had been liberally sprayed with a fine film of gleaming piss, he bent to lick the liquid from the trainer’s buttock.

 

“Seven!” came the next command, and this time the woman’s back left thigh was sprayed, from the bottom of the buttock cheek, down to the back of the black beauty’s knee.

 

“She’s delaying calling a nine until the piss has warmed up a bit,” whispered Helga, by way of explanation.

 

“Nine?” asked Della, and then it dawned on her. “Oh, her pussy, right?”

 

Helga grinned. “You’ve got it. OK, time marches on, let’s take a look into the bondage wing, it’s the next one over.”

 

And with a cheerful “Keep up the good work, Dolly”, the training officer led Della from the piss chamber.

 

Outside, back at the entrance to the urine wing, Helga turned left to another corridor, with the title “Bondage Block” on the door.

 

“All our trainees undergo strict bondage, of course,” she told Della, “but we later weed out the experts at such strictures and they appear in programs such Bound for Pleasure and Bootcamp Bondage, but not everyone is great.

 

“We mainly look for the slaves with great bodies, and great cocks, for the bondage stuff.”

 

“In other words, I get the dregs?” joked Della.

 

“Fuck no,” said Helga, with a grin. “Your slaves have to be the toughest, I’d say, but there’s not so much going on in the bondage porn things, you tie ‘em up and that’s it, pretty much, so the body has to look good.”

 

They had walked past several cells, but finally Helga found what she was looking for, and opened a door to a large, high-ceiling torture chamber.

 

Inside, the pair found two trainers working on one slave.

 

Helga announced their visitor. “Della Domina, meet trainers Pam and Sam – as in Pamela and Samantha,” she said, introducing two cute-looking, pert-breasted and naked-but-for-boots blondes.

 

“These girls are both 21, and are both looking forward to playing a role in one of your flogging shows,” said Helga, who added a totally needless “Hint, hint” as she nudged Della’s arm.

 

“Hi girls,” laughed the TV superstar. “Wow, what a specimen!”

 

Della’s attention had been drawn to the slave under bondge in the large room. A light-chocolate colored black man, with straightened hair, he had beautiful muscles, which gleamed in the cell’s harsh lighting.

 

“Who’s this, Sam?” Helga asked.

 

“This is Ambrose, from Old San Diego,” said the superbly-built young dominatrix. “He’s 23, and when that thing is really angry it’s just shy of 10 and a half inches.”

 

And with that, the girl rang a metal torture wheel in her right hand, down the uncut cock shaft. The man winced, but said nothing.

 

Della admired the bondage position the cockslut had been placed in.

 

He was on his knees, but his legs from the knees down had been savagely drawn up behind him so his calves almost brushed the backs of his thighs. His ankles were bound by leather straps around his thighs.

 

The muscles stood out in the stringent bondage, as did those on his magnificent upper chest and back. His wrists were drawn back behind him, strapped together and then tied down to a hook behind the bondage bench on which he knelt.

 

High above the slave, was a large metal tank, and descending from it, a long clear plastic tube, which was in his mouth. A leather strap went around his cheeks to the back of his neck to hold it firmly in place.

 

“As you can see,” said Helga, “this is very old-fashioned bondage. There are wonderful techno machines around now, which other sex channels use for their bondage stuff, but we prefer the older, tried-and-true versions.

 

“We find a certain charm in the stocks, pillories, racks and flogging frames of days gone by.”

 

“And this cockslut?” asked Della. “What will his speciality turn out to be?”

 

“Hard to tell,” said Sam, running the torture wheel along his ebony upper thighs, causing little spots of blood to rise to the surface of the marvellously marbled flesh. “He could be good at bondage, but something tells me he could be a 120er.”

 

“I hope so,” said Della, firmly, “he’s very pretty.”

 

Helga smiled. “You will, of course, have noticed that it’s not just bondage. We like to keep the slave’s mind occupied on other things during his confinement – torture wheels, like Sam’s using, mild floggings. Oh, and urine, of course.”

 

Sam laughed. “You may have noticed Mistress Della that he’s looking a little apprehensive. That’s because the buzzer hasn’t gone for, oh, about 20 minutes.”

 

And as the lovely 21-year-old spoke a loud buzz came from on top of the metal tank above the slave’s head, and then a stream of yellow piss started to run down the tubing to his mouth.

 

“It’s totally randomly generated,” explained Pam. “Sometimes the slave gets a drink every 15 minutes, sometimes every five. And the flows differ in duration too – this looks like a 20 seconds one, yep, it’s just stopped now. Twenty seconds.”

 

Della watched as the man’s throat muscles worked away to suck down the urine from his tube. “And always 20 seconds?” she asked.

 

“Fuck no,” Pam laughed. “It’s 20, or 30 – and the longest flow is 40. Trainees sometimes have a job to gulp down one that long!”

 

“Right,” said Helga. “He looks lovely. I want a full report on how he’s coming along, girls. Something tells me this cunt could become one of Della’s Punishment 120 subjects!”

 

Outside in the corridor, Helga told Della that the only other wings in use were the C&BT one, and the ponyboy section.

 

“We’ll look in at C&BT first, then take a break before the ponyboy area,” she said. “I’m leaving the best till last.”

 

“Why is the ponyboy area the best?” asked the lovely TV domme.

 

“Because that’s where Sadie’s starting work on Simpson!” the German dominatrix, turned training officer, told her.

 

“Come on, let’s see someone getting some black and blue balls!”

 

Down the C&BT wing, Helga peered into several cells before she found the one occupied by the trainer and slave.

 

Stepping inside, Della saw that a strong-looking young man, with dark brown hair falling to his shoulders, was strapped into what she could only presume was C&BT pillory.

 

 

It consisted of two broad beams of brightly polished timber. At one end, the pieces were connected by bright brass hinges. On the outsides, the slave’s wrists were immobilised in sturdy leather straps. His feet were spread wide in a chrome spreader bar.

 

But it was his genital area, of course, which caught the lovely domina’s attention.

 

In the center of the beams an aperture had been cut which allowed the person strapped to the pillory to thrust his cock and balls through. Then he had to suffer the indignity of holding the beam up, using his wrists pressed against the ends of the implement.

 

“This, of course, can also be used with the slave lying on his back, or squatting, or kneeling, but the cockslut is usually started out as you see him now,” said Helga, “in the standing position. It is, naturally strenuous, but not as bad for him as the squat or half-squat. That’s diabolical, I’m informed.”

 

Then she smiled at the bronzed, naked woman who was standing in front of the slave. The woman, in her early 30s, Della reckoned, was almost breastless, but she had a hairy thatch at her mons and a short-cropped head of brown hair.

 

The trainer was obviously a body builder, her muscles glinted and gleamed in the light, and she looked almost mannish – except, of course, for her pussy.

 

“Calista, this is Della Domina,” said Helga, by way of instruction. “And this cunt is?”

 

Calista smiled and Della saw she was actually rather pretty. “This is Dominic,” she said. “He’s just in from Cleveland New City, and he’s 25. Nice body, cock only so-so, but it’s seven inches or just over when I sit on his face.”

 

“It sure as hell ain’t seven now,” smiled Helga, looking at his little weiner, lying on his brown ball sac.

 

“This is why!” laughed Calista, taking the balls in one hand and squeezing.

 

Dominic the cockslut bellowed, and tried to take a step back, but Calista gripped his scrotum in a tight grip and prevented him from moving.

 

“Yaaargh, no more, mistress, pleeeeease!” the slut pleaded.

 

“OK, Dom, I’ll go easy on you, you big wuss,” laughed his trainer.

 

By “go easy” the trainer-torturer meant replacing her agonising grip with a run along his upper cock shaft and then across the bunched balls with a spiked torture wheel. More sobs.

 

Helga watched with interest. “What’s he gonna be good at, Callie?” she asked her co-worker.

 

“Too early to say,” said the bodybuilder. “But judging by his rather strong shoulders and thighs, I’d say he could make a good ponyboy,” she said.

 

“Right,” said Helga, “and speaking of ponyboys we’re off there next. Have fun, Dom,” she added, throwing a playful punch at the slut’s balls, and adding to his pain, but not by too much.

 

Out in the corridor, Helga turned to Della and before the TV presenter could say a word, the lovely training boss stepped into the blonde’s arms and kissed her full on the mouth.

 

“But before we see how Simpson’s getting on with Sadie, I want to take a detour to my office. Come on.”

 

In a couple of minutes they were in the well-appointed training center office, and Helga walked through the room with her desk, a couch and several easy chairs, into what appeared to be a sort of cell.

 

Shutting the door behind her, Helga nodded to the only item of furniture in the room and asked Della: “Well, what do you think?”

 

Della looked at the bed. It was large, very large, and she saw that on its gleaming, black rubber sheet, were four rubberised loops. After she had taken them in, she saw that Helga had removed her busier, revealing sensationally firm breasts, with dark brown, hard-looking nipples. She then kicked off her boots.

 

 

“It’s nice,” said Della. “Is it for torture?”

 

“Depends on who’s in here,” said Helga. “And since it’s you and not a cockslut, I guess it’s for sex.”

 

Then the lovely Germanic training officer leant down and tested the strength of one of the ankle straps.

 

Looking at Della with a wicked grin, she asked: “OK, who goes first?”

 

To be continued.