Thursday, 6 December 2007

The Platform

I do love the overly dramatic at times. Nothing wrong with subtleties but I do love the dramatic, the over the top at times. Today I have returned to an old favourite. I have already blogged about this kind of scene. I can't but be a little carried away by the brutality of it. This is a kind of scene that you on the one hand may find too brutal but on the other can find quite exciting, depending on the mood you are in. At least that is how my mind works.

My body was trembling as I stepped out onto the platform and saw the sea of people around me. I heard the roar as the crowd spotted me. The screamed at me, they yelled at me, they waved and pointed at me. They didn't hate me. They wanted to see me. They were there for me. They had come to see me. They wanted to see me be punished. They didn't hate me but they loved seeing me being punished.

I felt powerless, weak and almost fainting as I saw him, the man. He was standing on the platform, waiting for me. The crowd had come for me but he was the king of this dais. He was the ruler.

He was strong, he was powerful, dressed in black boots, tight fitting trouser, a broad belt and a black mask. He was in disguise while I was not. He was the king and I was his subject. I stared at his naked chest, glistening and gleaming in the sun. I stared at his muscles, at his strength, the power in those muscles. I looked at him and saw that hideous strength that would subdue me, that would punish me. My knees were weak.

The devil of a man smiled as the guards took me to the centre of the platform and stood me in front of the pole, the pole the shamelessly pointed to the sky, the rough and rugged pole, the pole where I would be bound for my punishment.

The guards didn't waste any time. They started pulling at my clothes, ripping the fabric, yanking my dress from my shoulders, stripping me, baring me before the eyes of the hungry crowd. They stared at me and roared and cried out as my dress was torn from my shoulders, slid from my hips, leaving me naked before their eyes.

This was what they had come to see. They screamed as my body was bared before them and I shivered and held my breath as I became naked. I knew they could see me, I knew they beheld my body. Every movement, every breath I took was there for them to see. I was naked.

'Embrace your lover!' was the words I heard from the man. I saw a smile on his face and for a second I was comforted by that smile but soon my heart started pounding again, pounding with fear and anticipation.

My body was trembling as I stretched my arms out. The guards took them, pulled me forward, pressed my body against the dreaded pole, one arm on each side of the pole. My hands were tied, lashed together and then I was hoisted in the air. My arms stretched, my body tensed as I was pressed against the pole, its harsh surface scratching the softness of my breasts and belly, the smooth skin on my thighs and legs. My feet barely touched the ground. I was ready for my punishment.

The devil walked round the platform. I heard the creaking of the boards of the platform as he moved his heavy and powerful body. The crowd greeted him, they cheered him as he walk around the platform. He was the conductor, he was the ruler. He was the entertainer. He was the ruler and I was the ruled.

He held his whip so that I could see it and my heart stopped beating. I saw the strands of the whip, the knots, the leather that would soon touch me. My mind didn't want to understand that this was the poisonous snake that would be taken to my body, that would bite me and lash me. I almost fainted.

I waited. I knew that my punishment was coming. The crowd waited. They fell silent. They wanted this. They wanted to see the lash hit my tender skin, see my body tremble and move under its dance. They wanted to see hard and brutal against soft and vulnerable. That was their desire, that was their wish. I waited and held my breath.

The man waited. He wanted this moment. He wanted me to have this moment, the moment of waiting. The moment of fear, the moment of surrender.

I wasn't prepared for the sound, the hissing sound. And then the loud crack, the brutal and merciless crack of leather against skin. Then there was the pain, the excruciating pain that flowed through my body. The pain that was beyond belief, a pain that took me over, the hideous power of the lash that penetrated my soul and left me helpless.

Fear was meaningless. There was no arguments, no pleading, no thinking that could change what happened. The whip bit my skin and there was nothing else. I was crushed. There was only me and the lashes. I could go nowhere, I could do nothing. I could do nothing but scream and cry. And feel the brutal lashes hit my body. I was being punished.

Then it was over. I had been punished. I heard the crowd again. They were still screaming. My whipping was over. I hung in my bonds, my body limp, sweat covering my body, fire in my skin. I was defeated and helpless.

Then I felt the man, the devil, behind me, close behind me. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear.

'Girl, you are mine now.'

I knew he was right. He had defeated me and I was his, truly his. I belonged to him now. And I got it in my head that I had wanted this.


Ollie said...

Interesting to note how similar this scene was to the other one you linked to.

All the elements of helplessness and nakedness were there, along with the important presence of witnesses.

The only difference was the executioners final words to the victim. That confused me a little. Maybe this was not a judiciary whipping after all, but some private matter between them, played out in public

Paul said...

Janice, I think that I can understand this, especially the Dominant claiming possession.
I've never used a whip, nor actually known anyone who has been on the receiving end, I doubt that as a Dom I could do this, but then I'm not a sadist.
Janice you always engage my imagination.
Warm hugs,

Wystan Ephraim said...

Janice: A return to an archetype... Forgive a rant ...
This scene heats my own blood, and that of many a D or S. Why?
Submissives often tell me that the essence of their passion is to be SEEN. The public whipping post is a place where she is seen -- the center of attraction and attention, prurient, cruel, erotic, sympathetic -- what you will.
Then there is the theater: like an infernal tango, each step (being led, being watched, being stripped, & tied, the anticipation & the overwhelming reality) is prescribed, but still somehow ever new, exciting.
(Isn't it amazing -- that such a brutal artifact as the whipping post crosses cultural lines and spans centuries?
Finally, the submission (or the dominance, take your choice) is TOTAL. There is no escaping the lash, no avoiding the shrieks. The victim loses her identity, as you say... and enters a new reality.

Dave said...

I must say I'm not quite into these types of scenarios//doesn't intrigue me for some reason.


Dove said...

Dear Janice, Oh yes one of those recurring themes I mentioned on another blog. I too have that dread fascination with the whipping post. Will I endure, scream, fight, beg or surrender. Probably a bit of everything in its turn.

Those images of hard/soft, masked/naked, strength/weakness are always intriguing and exciting.

An interesting twist at the end that the punisher has the right to take her or makes the decision to do so.


Janice said...

Dear Ollie, It is the same scene really but I think my imagination is like that, returning to favourite scenes. Maybe the man just told her he had taken possession of her?

Dear Paul, I think we allow ourselves to fancy far harsher things in our fantasies than we ever would want in reality.

Dear Wystan, as always, you are spot on. I think your last paragraph sums it up, really.

Dear Dave, that is because you are so much nicer than the rest of us...giggles. Thanks for reading and commenting.

Dear Dove, the contrasts really drives it on, I think. That is what makes it attractive, at least in my twisted mind.

Thank you all for reading and commenting.



Abel1234 said...

Better late than never, as far as posting this comment goes...

This is a wonderful piece of writing: very original, very evocative. Really enjoyed it.

Abel (

Anonymous said...

Being completely naked in front of the crowd, totally helpless and humiliated... being whipped with no mercy, aware that your suffering is amusement for watchers. Yes, there are people who are made for this; and I am one of them. Maybe we need to pay for faults of our past lives...


Janice said...

Dear Abel, (however late) thank you for the compliment...and from a fellow writer.

Dear Tom, I guess it means that my story struck a chord, that is a great compliment. Thank you.



Anonymous said...

Dear Janice,

first of all congratulations on your stories: you are an excellent writer!
I personally think that the major factor in punishment is humiliation. Yes, the punishment must be painful, but without humiliation it would not achieve its peak. And nakedness is the main and most wonderful form of humiliation. Being naked (TOTALLY naked, without even socks or stockings) not for your choice, but because you are forced to, gives the person being disciplined that sense of helplessness that is necessary for the chastisement to have a real effect.
And, of course, the naked culprit (or the poor victim, if he or she is not a guilty person but someone unfairly punished) must be in front of as many people as possible, who should enjoy that show. Being naked in front of your torturer is, in a sense, "normal"; but being stripped to your birthday suit in public is an incommensurable humiliation. A woman with her vagina, bottom and breast exposed, or a man with his penis and bottom on display for everybody to see, must feel a sense of overwhelming abuse, a total loss of dignity. I completely agree with Tom: being whipped WITH NO MERCY, aware that your suffering is amusement for watchers, is simply sublime...
At last, I would like to spend a word on that great punishment tool that is the whip: an extremely simple "device", the same since millennia, even now in the computer age... has disciplined an innumerable number of naked and powerless bodies: thank you whip for your great job!


Janice said...

Dear Frank, thank you for your kind words. This is indeed a very iconic image, not only for me, as it seems. I think I agree with most of what you say and I have to say that you express yourself very well, almost in a poetic way. It is always good to know that your story has struck a chord, thank you for letting me know.



sixofthebest said...

Oh how I wish this drawing was of Sarah Palin. And she was given 25 hard lashes of the flogger's whip, on that bare bottom of hers.