A discipline class, part two

The first part of our training was really simple. We all knew what a “Jumping Jack” was: the simple two-step routine of jumping, the first jump with the legs apart, and the second one with the feet close together; while the hands were clapped above your head on the first jump, and touching the thighs on the second. But as simple as it was, as exhaustive this little exercise became when Gerda told us to keep these up - and that the first girl to stop would get her first flogging. As we started jumping, she walked between us, and showed us the whip she was going to use - a flogger which looked devious, with long leather straps, knotted every few inches, dangling from a handle. I shivered thinking about this mean motherfucker lashing out at my poor little butt - twenty times, as she said with a smirk. The other girls must have felt something similar, and the smell of sweat filled the room quickly as we kept on jumping.

The first five minutes were easy; the next five were a serious challenge; and after that it became a true hell. The muscles of thighs and arms started protesting, and the lungs were working at top capacity. Of course we weren’t wearing any bras, and the jumps made our breasts hop frantically against our chest, which became quite painful after a while.

Yet it wasn’t just the sight of that whip that helped me keep it up - I also knew that I needed to learn this, it was about one of the DASHA letters and I’d never stand a chance of making it to the Palace if I didn’t master each one of them. I felt how my mind was struggling to keep control of my body, which just wanted to give up. Sweat was gushing from all my pores, and arranging into small cascades down my skin. I needed to close my eyes when one of them ran there. As the fatigue grew, I knew it would be a losing fight - I’d have to give up at some point. But I needed to fight it anyway. I wanted to be successful, right? Just ten more. And after those were done, another ten, and another.

My force was fading, and the protests of my body grew louder and louder. My mind was losing its grasp on my limbs, and they would give in any minute now. Just five more. Just three more. I was going to fail, and it felt horrible.

Then there was a loud bang, as Emily slumped to the floor. I had made it - I wouldn’t be the first after all! Gerda gestured the others to stop jumping, and stepped up to Emily. As she bent over her broken body, she hissed: “A loser, eh? Shame on you! You earned every stroke of my whip, you miserable failure! Get up, now!”

Emily had a hard time doing just that, but at least she got to her knees, which was enough for Gerda to grab her elbow and drag her to a piece of furniture, which was designed for this specific purpose. It resembled a half-pipe with a diameter of a meter, coated in black leather. She threw Emily’s body across it face down, so her ass was right at the top of it, and her torso and legs draped down on either side. Emily didn’t resist. Gerda beckoned us to stand around them as she started administering the punishment. She raised her arm for the first lash, and the flogger came down across the full width of the poor girl’s ass. She struck at full force, not holding back in the slightest, and it raised a prolonged wail from her victim. Undeterred, Gerda raised her arm again for the next blow - then again, and again, and again. Emily’s wails went up and pitch and down in volume, and by the eighth stroke turned into silent sobs. We watched in silence, and all that could be heard was the whiz of the leather straps through the air, just before the loud crackle of the actual hit, covering her tender flesh with a wide variety of sharp red weals, and the panting of the other girls as they recuperated from the exercise.

The ordeal seemed to last forever, yet suddenly it was over. Gerda stepped back from the crushed and

Inert ass spread out across the halfpipe, and looked around the other girls.

“There you go,” she said, “so you have some idea of what you’re trying to keep away from!”

No one responded, we just looked in horror at the cruel example right in front of our eyes. Some of the welts already started to turn purple. And Gerda had said we would ALL be familiar with her whips before the morning was done… I shivered.

She didn’t really give us room to contemplate that, but rushed us into the next exercise right away. She collected Emily’s body from the pipe; there would be no respite for her.

We were told to get down on some bunk mattresses now, and as we lied down, she passed around a vibrator to each of us. We were told to hold and press it anywhere within the area confined by our asshole, outer labia, and clit. Again, the first girl to fail would be punished; but this time, failure wasn’t determined by stopping the stimulation, but by having an O. I thought about what Sylvia had told me earlier. This was a vital skill in this place - being able to endure intense stimulation, without allowing yourself the release of orgasm. I had never been exposed to as vibrator before, though I knew it was a common tool in hornification.

I brought it to my pussy, and immediately recognized the bittersweet temptation of it. The buzz of the circular head electrified my crotch, and immediately grabbed my hand to lead me to that place . The sensation was marvellous. Just as Sylvia had shown me, it could lead me straight to the O - and this thing would do that even faster than Sylvia had. But I wasn’t supposed to go there - I was welcome to take the journey, heck I was encouraged to, yet the destination was forbidden. Now even more so than before - getting there would inevitably subdue me to the whip which Gerda had picked now. It looked even worse than Emily’s - a crop made of bamboo, just flexible enough to produce a nasty bite, but not enough to allow any sort of flap, and more than a meter long. As the sensation of the vibrator rang out throughout my body, Gerda pushed it under my nose to remind me of the consequences of letting go. It scared the crap out of me, which was probably exactly what she intended; but when I released some of the pressure of the vibrator head on my pussy, Gerda immediately bent over me, putting her face just two inches from hers, and snapped at me: “Don’t. Just don’t. Keep the pressure on.”

It was worse than the jumping Jacks, much worse. The vibration evoked a natural drive to arousal which seemed completely impossible to control in any way. I joined in the moaning choir with the other girls, who had a similar experience, as we were all submerging into some sticky goo of uncontrollable lust. Gerda’s image, moving between us with her horrendous cane, became hazy and vague. The little voice in my head which wanted to take control (“Don’t go there! Keep it down! Relax! Stay off!”) was thin and shaky in the approving choir of carnality of my senses. I was quickly losing my bearings, adrift on the maelstrom, dragged along, straight to my fall.

I think it took less than a minute. When I tried to remove the vibrator from my pussy again in a last resort to avoid my release, Gerda’s hand took it from me and pushed it right back, not allowing any cheating. The orgasm exploded inside me - and when it did, it blended with the miserable recognition of my failure into an even greater magnitude of sensation. It shook my foundation right in the sharp awareness of my ineptitude and weakness, of the bitter realization that I would never make it to the Palace anyway, that my life was wasted and that all of my efforts so far had been in vain, simply because I couldn’t control the wild urge to take the fall of the O.

I took the caning in a haze of regret and disappointment, and it almost felt righteous, like doing penance for an unforgivable sin. I hardly even felt the pain at the time, absorbed as I was in my spiral of depressed thoughts, completely failing to come to terms with failure, and the cane was the only possible source of solace.

When I rejoined the world again, I was all alone. As the muffled stupor was gradually diminishing, the biting afterpain in my butt emerged underneath. I reached down, and traced the weals with my fingertips. _I deserve each one of those, I’m useless, a mere cunt driven by primal desires, unfit for the sophistication of channeling them, controlling them, unfit for transcendence, _I thought. I rolled into a ball and started weeping.