A VISIT TO PP3

BY NAP

[ part 5 ]

Note: This story is a fantasy for adults only. The author utterly condemns any form of actual abuse – physical, sexual, psychological and emotional – to any person of any age.

 

When I awoke the next morning, I switched on the cameras to view my sleeping beauties in the cells in the basement. One reason why I was sure they would be sleeping was that each night Julie gave the girls an effective, though non-addictive, sedative before they went to their cells. This ensured they would sleep the night through regardless of whatever physical or emotional trauma they may have suffered through the day. Thus, they always awoke refreshed and physically ready to take on the trials of the new day. Sure enough, when the cameras scanned the individual, soundproofed cells they showed each nude little girl slumbering sweetly on her lightly padded shelf, unencumbered by bedclothes. I was pleased to see that neither Ophelie, whom I had spanked the previous evening, nor Ellerie, who had been given a sound slippering, were marked on their bottoms

I left the girls and clicked to the cameras in Julie’s annexe room and saw her dressed in her uniform ready for a new day. The previous evening had been one of mixed fortunes for my sixteen-year-old aide. She had certainly had plenty of pleasure, but there had been some humiliation and pain as well. Nonetheless, she was smart, bright and looked eager for action. I buzzed her to attend to me and watched her leave the annexe; a few moments later, she was with me in reality. I told her to make me a cup of tea and then to awaken the girls in the usual way. She eagerly obeyed, and as I sipped my tea, I watched her on screen as she went from cell to cell, pulled each girl from her sweetly innocent dreams and wakened the child to the reality of day by putting her across her knees for a sound spanking.

After that, the morning progressed much as the day before, except that I felt the need for some intellectual stimulation and arranged for Ophelie, my cerebral French ten-year-old, to play me at chess on the terrace. As I expected she was an expert and forced me to concentrate totally. By the end of our two-hour session of play, she had a small lead in pieces whereas I believed I had a slight benefit in position so we were evenly matched.

However, just as with the other three girls, my thoughts now turned more to Ophelie’s body than her brains. I decided that rather than wait until the evening to take my pleasure in the girls, I would take advantage of the hundreds of acres of wonderfully landscaped parkland at my disposal and gratify my desires al fresco. Accordingly, I told Julie to organise the girls, to prepare a hamper of light delicacies for me, and to decide on a pleasant, peaceful spot for a picnic. My young assistant attended to these duties with her usual efficiency, and early in the afternoon we packed the four girls into the lower layer of constricting cages and, with Julie diving, we set off.

We hummed along tracks us and then set off across country with the wire grill cages rattling behind us and squeals coming from the cramped girls as their small nude bodies bounced painfully up and down and from side to side. However, I noted that Ellerie, the beautiful Californian eleven-year-old, was rather less complaining than she had been before I had soundly slippered her for whingeing. Clearly, she had learnt her lesson.

Eventually, Julie pulled up at a charming spot: a sunny, grassy bank beside a clear, slow moving stream with trees, shrubs and wild flowers all around. I commended Julie on her choice and told her to take the girls out of their cages and to put them through some vigorous physical jerks to loosen up their cramped muscles and stiffened limbs. Soon the four little girls were leaping, bending, squatting and stretching to the brisk commands of the athletic teenager. Once they had worked up a good sweat, I told Julie take then to the river for a swim. Naturally, my intelligent assistant understood that to supervise them, she should swim too, and quickly stripped. I saw that there remained the faded marks of the weals from her caning of the night before. Once Julie had undressed, she led the girls onto a wooden jetty that stuck out over the stream, and they jumped or dived into the water. All were good swimmers, although Julie and Ellerie were exceptionally proficient. I was amused to see them splashing about almost as if they were a gang of kids enjoying themselves on a family picnic. I took off my own clothes and dived in after them, playfully ducking the girls and swimming between their legs etc. Eventually though, I wanted some more satisfying – to me – fun and games and ordered them all from the water. We clambered out and the girls stood dripping on the riverbank awaiting further commands.

I sent the girls off with instructions that they should gather thin, twiggy switches suitable to make light birches. The four children looked understandably dispirited at this command, but knew better than to plead for leniency. Julie distributed small penknives from the collection of useful items in the lockers behind the seats of the cart, and the four girls went to the trees and set to work. I was sure none of them would be so foolish as to try to escape as not only was this ultimately impossible within the enclosed park, but also any attempt would lead to extremely severe punishment.

The girls collected the whippy sticks and under Julie’s instruction began to bind them into implements of discipline. You must understand that these were not to be the heavy bundles of rods used for offenders in the prisons and boarding schools of Victorian England, but light, bunches of swishy twiggy stems that would sting atrociously and temporarily mark the skin, but would not cut, bruise or cause other lasting harm. Once these were made and passed Julie’s critical inspection, I told her to label each with a ribbon of a different colour to identify its maker. Thus, Chantou’s ribbon was yellow, Ophelie’s orange, Anastasia’s blue, and Ellerie’s green.

This completed, I told Julie to tie each child to one of the straight and slender birch trees that were in a rough line. She did so, looping the rope that bound their wrists behind the trunk and doing the same with their ankles so that their feet were pulled painfully either side of the base of the trunk with the result that their legs were pulled apart. Then, on my instructions, she took from the lockers four, one litre plastic bottles, each with a plastic tube and a looped cord in its lid. She hooked a cord over each girl’s neck so that the bottle rested on her chest, and placed a tube in every child’s mouth. The bottles were filled with a deliberately unpleasant tasting liquid that also contained a diuretic, so that the pressure on their young bladders would be twofold. These preparations competed I ordered the girls to drink.

“Swallow it all to the last drop,” I told them sternly, and watched with amusement as the grimacing girls pursed their lips grimly sucked the foul tasting brew up the tubes and down into their stomachs. Soon I heard the squeaky squawk of dry sucking straws as the last dregs were emptied.

In response to a nod from me, Julie removed the empty bottles from the girls’ necks and replaced them with others. Pulling faces of disgust and apprehension, the girls struggled to empty these too. I smiled as I saw their little bellies distend with weight of liquid as they sucked and swallowed valiantly. When the last drop was inside them, I said, “Now we’ll wait and see how long it is before one of you has to piss, because the first one to do so will be beaten with her own birch.” I looked on with great amusement at the expressions of alarm that filed the children’s faces as they understood the fearful anguish that awaited them, for not only would they have to withstand the pressure of a near-bursting bladder, but also the nervous tension of anticipation of the painful consequence should they fail to control themselves. As for me, I lounged in the cushioned folding seat we had brought for my comfortable repose and waited for the young bodies’ natural systems inexorably to process the fluid.

After a while, I saw signs that the girls’ kidneys were doing their work and had passed on the liquid, now in the form of urine, to their bladders, which were being relentlessly filled. The girls began to fidget fretfully as they felt the pressure. I wondered who would be first to be forced to desperate relief. Some girls, I knew, could contain a large quantity of urine, whereas others needed to pee quite often. Then the recent days’ outburst of sexual activity may have sensitised the urinary tracts of some of the girls making their need to pee more obviously urgent. Lastly, there was the question of the individual will to resist the body’s needs.

The little girls started to squirm against the tree trunks as the membranous walls of their bladders began to stretch with the weight. I thought that Chantou might have the strongest determination, although as the youngest she might have the smallest bladder and Ellerie, as the biggest child, the largest. But to balance this I knew Ellerie was unable to suffer much discomfort. Anastasia was skinny and her tummy looked particularly swollen in consequence. As for Ophelie, her brown eyes looked panic-stricken behind her spectacles. All the girls were soon showing signs of distress as they wriggled helplessly. Eventually, one of my quartet would be forced to void her bladder.

The four little girls sweated as their suffering increased and raised their blood pressure, which dilated their blood vessels and heated their small bodies. At least the moisture that was forced from their pores would not seep into their distended bladders, but that was a small mercy for the tormented girls as they struggled desperately to avoid being the first leak. I could see them becoming ever more agitated with each passing moment as their bladders swelled under the relentlessly expanding volume of urine. As time passed and their distress worsened, I narrowed the candidates down to two – Anastasia and Ophelie who were clearly undergoing an even more extreme torture than Ellerie or Chantou. It was now just a question as to which of the two would be first to lose control.

A dribble of urine seeped from Ophelie and ran down her inner thigh. A second later, the dam broke and a torrent of piss gushed from her in an arching stream. A second or two after that, as the other three realised they no longer needed to suffer, there was a collective “Ahh” of relief as they too emptied their bursting bladders. I watched with amusement as the four curving jets splashed onto the grass a little distance in front of them. The four fountains continued for some time, such had been the build up of pressure, but eventually they slowed and the arcs of urine collapsed into mere trickles that fell in front of the girls’ trees.

But if there had been relief for three of the girls, for the fourth member of my quartet the emptying of her bladder meant only the start of a new torture. Ophelie had lost the contest and now had to suffer the forfeit. I signalled to Julie who untied the French child from her tree. There was a fallen tree trunk conveniently lying nearby. Julie bent Ophelie across this and tired her hands to a handily placed branch, but left her legs free. The little girl was now perfectly positioned for a beating. I took up the birch with the orange ribbons and approached my victim who made half stifled moans of apprehension.

Ophelie had a very cute bum – not large, but plumply rounded in a typical ten-year-old manner. I thought it could withstand a severe birching without coming to any great harm. Pain, of course was a different matter. I raised the little bundle of swishy sticks and brought it firmly down across the French child’s creamy cheeks. A network of tiny red lines sprang up upon the skin. Ophelie jumped but made no sound. I swished her bottom again with a similar result. I smiled. I was in no hurry. The art of birching a girl is not to use too much force, which simply breaks the sticks, but to take one’s time and allow the natural springiness of the bundle to do the work for you. I knew that what Ophelie was now experiencing only as a discomfort, would gradually grow into an almost unendurable agony. I continued my work. The pattern of little weals spread and the colour deepened. Ophelie was moving about and making more noise now as the cumulative effect of my blows began to work on her body. My smile broadened. Things would become a lot worse for her yet!

Things were becoming worse for Ophelie. Each new swat from my birch multiplied the effect on her bottom. Soon she was crying and yelling loudly. Her legs, left free when she was tied across the tree trunk, waved and kicked behind her. I continued to birch her relentlessly. The marks from the switches had combined to make a striated blend of hot red colour. Ophelie screamed now, and her legs kicked more wildly. I attacked the backs of her threshing thighs, reddening them like her smarting buttocks. No doubt, the tips of the twigs curled around her legs to her inner thighs and flicked between them to catch her most sensitive part of all. Certainly, she was screeching as if being roasted on a spit in hell. But I showed her no mercy. I whipped on until only my own urgent need for sexual release made me pause.

I signalled to Julie who correctly interpreted my desires. She fetched over the jar of Vaseline and applied it between Ophelie’s crimson bottom cheeks. She thoroughly greased the little French girl’s bum hole poking one – two – three – and even four slender fingers up into the child’s anus to ensure it was thoroughly stretched and lubricated. Then she turned her attention to my own straining cock. Here she had to take care lest her greasing might masturbate me into premature ejaculation before I had impaled my proper target. However, Julie’s task was completed without mishap and she moved around the trunk to where Ophelie’s bawling head was bent. Julie leaned forwards to put her hands on the child’s little buttocks and pull them apart to open them for my entry so all I had to do was manoeuvre the slippery head of my cock against the lubricated orifice and force my way in.

I slid inside Ophelie’s arse remarkably easily even though once there the ring of muscle that should have kept closed her sphincter gripped me like a vice. I screwed up my face with pain, but I was determined to abuse this passageway for my pleasure. I eased my way deeper. My cock was like a rod of iron and could withstand the clenching pressure. Waves of delight washed over me. I moved as much as I could inside the child’s hot little bum. It was easier now as her hole was forcibly enlarged, encircling my cock like a fat, round O. To think that only a couple of hours earlier the clever little kid had been absorbed in contemplating her bishop’s next move. Now her attention was concentrated on being jammed between my body and the rough tree trunk while my bishop repeatedly rammed her well-whipped bum. Ah, the vicissitudes of a young girl’s life!

Suddenly, I came; shooting spunk into her bowel in long, hot spurts.

My cock, so long and strong, slackened, and slipped from the greasy hole. My little victim wept from the combined effects of birching and buggery. I stood upright and stretched, my desires sated for the time being. I was hot and sweaty from my exertions. I went to the jetty, dived into the cool stream and swam lazily up and down. Ophelie remained stretched over the bumpy bark of the tree.

When I was sufficiently relaxed, I clambered out of the water and onto the bank. I rubbed myself dry on a huge soft towel held out by my attentive assistant. I sat in my luxuriously cushioned chair while Julie poured me a glass of Chablis from a bottle kept cool in the chill box. My comfort attended to, I told Julie to release Ophelie and to tie her back to her tree alongside the others. Understandably, the little French girl was still crying loudly as this was done. I saw that imprinted on her tummy was the pattern of the tree’s bark to go with the marking of her bottom from the birch rods. As her sore buttocks were pressed back against the trunk, she burst into fresh wails of misery.

I sipped the crisp, dry wine and wondered what to do next. My four captives looked back at me anxiously. Every so often one or other of them would squirt piss over the ground as the diuretic drink continued to work its way through their urinary systems and they no longer had need to control themselves.

When Ophelie’s tears finally ran dry, I told Julie to untie Ellerie. This considerably scared the Californian, but for the moment, all she had to do was kneel in front of Ophelie and kiss and lick the little French girl to orgasm. Ellerie, whose hands were tied behind her back, got to work with commendable enthusiasm, but not much skill. Although Ophelie’s vulva had been repeatedly soaked by her own urine Ellerie recklessly thrust her face between Ophelie’s thighs and slobbered randomly over her genitals. Yet despite this inept effort, she soon began to have an effect on my French intellectual who began to gasp, groan and grind her sore bottom against the tree. Hm, did she have some deep masochistic desires, I wondered. Or, perhaps more likely, was she becoming conditioned to respond to any sexual situation for fear of something worse? Whatever it was, it seemed to be working as Ophelie began to shake and sob as she climaxed.

But the American’s tour of duty was not over yet. I told Julie to transfer her to Chantou and perform oral sex on her. The nine-year-old Cambodian seemed harder to please and remained unmoved by Ellerie’s increasingly desperate efforts. I had no doubt that had the girls’ positions been reversed, Chantou would soon have had Ellerie exploding like a rocket on Guy Fawkes Day. I wondered whether to warm Ellerie’s bottom – or perhaps Chantou’s – by way of encouragement. But I was comfortable and relaxed and decided to leave them to it, and eventually Chantou grunted and shuddered as she came.

The by now weary and jaw-aching Ellerie was moved on to Anastasia, but she had an easier task with the hot little Russian who was immediately responding to Ellerie’s lips and tongue, and began to cum within a minute or two of Ellerie’s oral activity.

I could see that Julie had become sexually highly charged from all the activity and I decided that she too might gain such satisfaction as could be found from Ellerie’s clumsy endeavours, so I told my teenage assistant to lie on her back, bend her legs at the knees and open her thighs wide. Rather red-faced, she obeyed, her bushy cunt lips opening as a consequence. Then I told Ellerie to get her head down and do the business. Poor Julie! I think she found the Californian’s fumbling tongue more frustrating than stimulating, but Ellerie blundered on until some sort of satisfaction was achieved.

I was now alone in not having experienced the dubious benefits of Ellerie’s sweet little mouth, and my cock had by now become aroused enough to raise its head and take an interest. I set my chair lower so that my knob would be at a level with the American’s face when she knelt between my outstretched legs, which position she now took up. She bent her head and took my stiff member between her pretty lips and got to work as best she could. However, perhaps because of her own aching jaws, inexperience, or the fact that I was not yet fully restored after buggering Ophelie, I found her gauche gobbling not ultimately satisfying, though it was generally rather pleasant in the same way as a massage or warm bath is pleasant. So, after some time, I took hold of a handy hank of Ellerie’s abundant hair and yanked her away from my cock. She squealed as her head was pulled abruptly backwards and my cock slipped from her slurping lips.

“You useless brat,” I snarled, as if I was really angry, and just to reinforce the idea I slapped her face hard, which made her yell again. “You shall be punished,” I told her sternly and her beautiful eyes opened wide with fear.

I called Julie over and we got to work on the girl. Her wrists were tied together above her head and she was laid on her back with the head towards the tree to which she had earlier been tied. The remaining length of rope from her wrists was looped around the trunk and back to her hands. The end of a second piece of rope was tied to one ankle and then I tipped both of her legs back over her head while Julie took the ankle rope around the trunk and tied the free end to Ellerie’s other ankle.

I looked at the American with satisfaction. She lay on her back as unable to move as an overturned turtle. Her plump bum was tilted upwards, with its puckered hole obvious. Between her solidly rounded upturned thighs, her puffy cunt gaped slightly. It was a helpless, humiliating and increasingly painful position to be in – excellent! Lastly, just to increase Ellerie’s torment, I placed the birch with the green ribbon just beyond her bottom so that she could see it between the V of her legs and contemplate her impending fate.

In the meantime, I had another project in mind. While I had been placing Ellerie in position, I had noticed an arrangement of branches on one of the other trees that inspired me to do something with one of my two girls who had so far escaped lightly – the question was, which one?

Chantou, I decided, and accordingly I told Julie to untie the round-faced Cambodian from her tree. The pale-brown-skinned child looked worried, as well she might, as she was released. Following my instructions, Julie tied Chantou’s wrists together with one end of a long rope and then threw the other over the higher of two branches that stuck out from a tree more or less right-angled to the trunk, parallel with each other and separated by about six feet. I held the free end of the rope while the nude teenager climbed up into the tree and on to the lower branch. Now I hauled on my end of the rope, hoisting the little Asian girl up towards where Julie was waiting. The normally stoical child squeaked with alarm as her feet left the ground and she dangled in mid-air by her wrists. I continued to pull until Chantou was alongside Julie, who pulled the Cambodian over until she sat astride the branch. Julie leaned forward and reached below the branch to strap Chantou’s ankles together. Julie then supported Chantou while I pulled on the rope until the little girl’s arms were fully extended above her. Lastly, I tied the loose end to a low branch of a nearby tree and Julie clambered down.

So there was Chantou sitting astride a branch, which may not have been too uncomfortable to begin with, but as her weight pressed her tender crotch and buttocks against the knobbly unyielding wood it would become agonising. She could, of course relieve the pressure by pulling on the rope that bound her wrists to the branch above her head, but eventually the strain on the muscles of her arms would force her to sit again and the vicious cycle of torture would begin all over again.

I now turned my attention back to the remaining two girls tied to their trees. Ophelie, I was content to leave where she was. Since she had been soundly birched, she would be very uncomfortable with her sore bottom pressed against the tree trunk. But I believed Anastasia was getting off much more lightly than the other girls and I considered a suitable position of torment for her. Accordingly, I told Julie to release the little Russian, but then to retie her now facing the tree with her arms stretched high up the trunk and bound around it by her wrists. Julie then pulled Anastasia’s feet round to the other side of the trunk and tied them there. Anastasia was now in as tormented position as her companions. Because of the angle of her legs to her body, she could not support herself properly on her feet, but half hung from her trussed arms. Her thighs were stretched widely by the trunk. Her breasts were pressed close to the bark, but, as she pushed down her feet, her bottom was bent outwards at an acute angle. It was a horrible position to be in, but just to add to her anguish I placed her birch under her, handle end to the ground, so that the prickly, tickly tips of the twigs pressed irritatingly against the sensitive area of her groin and provided a constant reminder of what she yet had to look forward to.

I sat down on my comfortable seat and surveyed my four little girls. Chantou was tied between the branches of her tree, alternately attempting to relieve her stressed muscles and pressed groin. Ophelie was trying to ease her sorely beaten bum away from her tree trunk. Anastasia was just beginning to go through the misery of her own position and Ellerie was on her back suffering physical and emotional torture. I considered the situation excellent.

Thoroughly contented, I sat back and nibbled a tiny smoked salmon sandwich and sipped my Chablis.