Severe Whipping Stories

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Severe Whipping Stories
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Jack Sparrow and his crew finally reached Isla Cruces where the Dead Man's Chest was buried. There, they were reunited with Will, who had been told the location of Bootstrap. Unfortunately, the chest was guarding by Davy Jones worshipping cannibals led by Maccus, the first person to join Jones' crew and the one placed in charge of protecting his heart. Maccus was more than happy with the arrangement since it meant he had run over the island. The crew were quickly captured. Maccus notices Elizabeth's beauty and decided to keep her as a slave for what was called "raiding", while feeding the rest of the crew to the Kraken. Raiding was basically a polite word for rape. As a governor's daughter, Elizabeth would have been far too embarrassed to say the word rape. Maccus made her strip naked. Elizabeth was secured to the whipping frame, ready for her first lesson in slavery. She was now spreadeagled with her arms tied up and out to a beam above her, just high enough for her to have to stand on tip-toe, which made her back well stretched. One of the natives had kicked her legs apart and secured them. Elizabeth was left this bondage for a while. She could see the rest of the crew being into two wooden ball cages, one of the crew forced into one cage and the others in the rest. Maccus returned and announced Elizabeth's sentence. "Fifty lashes" Maccus swung his arm over his head and brought the whip down with a massive hiss and then a deep thud as it into Elizabeth's back. "One" Elizabeth's convulsed under the attack and she struggled to maintain her footing but the ropes were tied securely so her movement was limited to an involuntary spasm. Maccus swung back for the second lash. With a slight twist of his body as well this time, the whip crashed even harder against Elizabeth's back, landing with that smacking sound which only leather meeting human flesh produces. The trace of the first lash was now clearly visible as a pale coloured line straight across the broadest part of the back. The second lash mark started to emerge from the whiteness of her skin, a loud hiss and splat announced the delivery of a third. Each lash mark appeared parallel to the others, just half an inch apart ...leaving plenty of space for more! Which, indeed, Maccus continued to deliver. Two more thunder some lashes brought the first cry of agony from Elizabeth. After some further adjustment of his position, to perfect the weight transfer from his back foot forwards while swinging the whip, putting his whole body weight behind each lash, Maccud had found a steady rhythm. The second five strokes were delivered by Maccus with equal enthusiasm, leaving Elizabeth hanging in her bindings, quivering and groaning as each lash bit into her back. THWACK! "Ten" The next three strokes were delivered with similar ferocity. Another ten lashes and Elizabeth's spread-eagled back was perfectly decorated with twenty three perfectly parallel stripes. Elizabeth’s body was now constantly quivering, her chest heaving as if panting for breath, and a steady groan escaped from her mouth. Lash number twenty four flayed leather across human skin and elicited a strangulated scream. Elizabeth's body convulsed as if in spasm but the securing ropes prevented much movement. Maccus swung the whip back, ready for another snaking trajectory, hissing its way to impact across the soldiers just time. The next lash impacted a greater force and results in a devastating cut which Elizabeth thought would slice her in two. She let out an almighty roar of pain. So far the lash marks were quite distinctive as twenty six parallel lines coloured against the white skin. The twenty seventh stroke whistled through the air and landed with as much force as the others, quickly followed by a howl of pain from Elizabeth. "Twenty seven" The next three lashes flayed Elizabeth's quivering back. She was reduced to a low moaning whimper, reserving all of her remaining strength to deal with the pain which as wracking right through her body. Her back was now criss crossed with lash marks, drawing blood. By forty nine lashes, Elizabeth was deduced to a whimpering wreck. The final lash crashed right across the centre of her well marked back, forcing her one final scream. The fifty lash marks were evenly spread all over her back, from shoulders to waist. Maccus inspected the striped back. Elizabeth then saw one of the cages, the one that had one man inside, being lowered, followed by the other one. Then, the Kraken burst from the sea. Elizabeth couldn't make much out of what was going on. All she saw was the lower fall into the Kraken while the second climbed up the cliff. She knew most of the crew had made it but it appeared one of them had died. She thought it could be Jack, he was the one the Kraken was after. "Go after them" Maccus commanded the natives. Later, Will arrived leading some of the crew. Will and Maccus fought until Will shoved him off the ledge, though this would not have killed a member of Jones' crew. Will untied Elizabeth. Elizabeth was glad that she no longer wore those dresses and corsets, as it gave her time to redress before they escaped.
Vector and Chiren are the main villains. Nova wouldn't be mentioned until the ending. The problem with Vector was that because of how often Nova used his body, the character had very little agency of his own.

Instead of Zapan just happening to have a sword made from the same technology as Alita's berserker body, Alita finds it with her berserker body.

When Grewishka comes into the bar, he simply says he's working for Vector, no mention of Nova.

Take out the taking out her heart scene. It just doesn't translate well into film.

Instead of Chiren saving Hugo by attaching his head to Alita's heart, Alita is forced to kill Hugo. Hugo's death s
Ginny Weasley walked along the fourth floor corridor with a smile on her face, why was she smiling? Well you would be to if you were about to go on a date with Harry Potter. They had been dating for two months and now they were finally going on a proper date in Hogsmede. She only wished that they didn’t have to wear school uniform to Hogsmede, the robes and shirt were so baggy and didn’t help the girls show off their figures. She let out a sigh of frustration, she had really wanted to wear something more ‘fitting’. She giggled at the thought of wearing something like that in front of Harry, he would be so tongue tied. She
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Time seemed to pass with incredible slowness.
Telina closed her eyes, longing for a sleep that would not come.
This is not real, she thought. All a dream ...
...but the stark reality of this cell pressed upon her nerves. Things were harder to bear in the darkness, and her mind grew febrile with thoughts of escape. Little more than an elaborate cage, the holding cell was deathly dim with only a minimum of illumination from torchlight, barely enough to see beyond the bars and the ceiling high overhead. It was designed to exacerbate a captive’s feelings of helplessness, and this it achieved well. The walls confining her were as thick as her body...as if, she mused bitterly, they were afraid she might break through anything less massive with her bare hands.
Resting her head on the crook of her arm, Telina squirmed as she shifted her body across the hardwood cot. She knew well what was ahead of her, and thought the faster she got it over with, the better. She wondered how many of her slave forebears had lain here, bound for the whip, and when the lasher arrived, clamored to be the first to have it inflicted on them, to avoid waiting.
No—they would stop it. Lars could not do this. Not to her. Surely it was a trick to frighten her. Or he would realize his mistake, that she could not endure such punishment...
Naive though these hopes were, they helped stay the terrific strain of waiting. Waiting for it was the hardest part—a severe punishment in itself—to remind her no appeal of emotion or reason would turn the Prelate’s cool brain to release her. Watching whips in action proved more instructive than merely gazing at them, or listening to slaves or dungeon attendants describe them. Galt amply demonstrated just how fast Katanya’s courage disappeared under the sting of the lash...
She shuddered, feeling her eyes water in fear and shame. Despite her own peril, she passed much of the night mourning the brutal murder of her erstwhile comrade, agonized over Rhea’s loss, heard his voice: trust me, Telina. Seshians and Sokouri alike will celebrate our act of rebellion for years to come.
“ Yes,” she whispered with sudden elation, “oh, yes—they will.” She mumbled an earnest prayer, surely not the first time a Seshian voiced a benediction for a Sokouri’s departed soul...and in her grainy half-doze, felt warm sunslight gleamed upon her hair. She raised her head, to the dawn heralding the morning of her punishment.
Moments later an alarming clamor issued through the corridors.
She sat bolt upright in the cot, and understood the meaning of the low whistling sounds: bullhide whips herding slaves out of their cells. While they toiled in the fields and mines outside, here a thing worse than her worst nightmare would be realized.
Suddenly she wished the waiting would continue a little longer just as passionately as she had wished for it to end. Yet things would move fast from now on, leaving little time for thought or hope.
Straining to see outside, her eyes shifted anxiously across the bars to the jangling of keys, the clacking of footsteps growing slower as they approached. Two Imperial guards assumed positions outside the cell.
The brown-skinned one spoke though the faceplate of his helmet.
Telina sprang from the cot, her arms outstretched, her body bent, poised on high heels. Hearing a long key inserted into the lock, she backed up against the far wall of her cell, trapped. The skin of both thighs rubbed nervously together, the warm, trembling skin of her buttocks bitten by the chill of marble. With one savage twist, the two locking bars were withdrawn, a sound shockingly loud in the deathly silence. The imposing door screeched open.
Defiantly, she eyed the silhouettes of the approaching guards...and in dismay felt her girded loins hot and wet beneath her leather thong, her nipples thrust hard and erect beneath the holster, thicker and longer than ever. The pair seized her arms, wrenched her outside, and her determined expression collapsed altogether, her spirit crushed thoroughly as a tall black form entered the alcove, gliding in, as if floating.
Lars smoothed out the folds of a black muslin robe, lowering his dispassionate gaze.
Telina choked on her own breath as he stared unabashed at her sensational exposure, noting every muscle, every little piece of her body moving and trembling as she stood. She knew her movements were voluptuous, that facing whip torture she displayed a titillating show of grace and femininity.
“ Have you thought better of your predicament, my pet?” he asked with measured delicacy, a crazed, awful compassion in his eyes.
She felt her face twisting and crumpling but could not help it. Upon her strength of will and determination rested the fate of the entire nation of Seshia, all narrowing down to this heathen point of rebellion. She might speak now, and save herself much pain, or remain silent under the whips until she could bear no more...
“ You’ve been most difficult to tame, but I’m sure, given time...” he reflected, his tone more insistent, “...you will tell me what I need to know.”
She closed her eyes, carried by a wind of memory, his cruelty clear to her as never before: this man invaded her village. Took everyone captive, enslaved them, arrested her Sire, and unbidden, occupied her home. Held the lives of her brother and beloved as ransom. Forced the girls to excessive labor, her to long, hot days in the fields before his vain attempt to foist her into whoredom. Condemned her betrothal to Rolf as adultery, stripping it of all sanctity. When she remembered Trigor’s bludgeoned body on the tribunal floor, she let her fury consume her.
The cords on her neck stood out as she hawked back—and spit in his face.
Instantly the Prelate’s eyes glowed with indignant rage. He drew back his shoulder and slapped her full across the face with such viscous force it threw her whole body sideways. Telina flinched at the blow, her cheek throbbing with pain, and glared back at him, quivering in stunned silence as he addressed her guards.
“ Let the will of the people be carried out upon this sinful flesh.”
At this final intonation of her fate, Telina’s heart began pounding so hard it felt like it was going to explode. Dragged inexorably onward to the place of whip punishment, she bucked and thrashed in tear-filled hysteria, arms held tight. “I will tell you nothing! Nothing! ” she shrieked...
Her entire body nerveless and watery with terror. She smothered her sobs and found her legs again, assuming a timid pace on knees that threatened to buckle at every step. With head hung low, she grew conscious of her movements, of the brown-tanned body the exertions of slavery had earned her and served to accentuate: the studded belt defining the smallness of her waist, bare haunches swaying sensuously, large, round hips made agile by crop-driven slave labor...
She was keenly aware of the stares of her stalwart escorts, felt their eyes upon her thighs, thick, supple and shiny with sweat...her naked, silken skin a melting softness, making clean, curved lines across the length of floor...
More than once her body brushed against the firmness of muscle, and with lewd, intoxicating excitement she felt the growing, responsive moistness surge deep between her legs, blocked only by a tight strip of leather. She looked up to see huge tiquewood doors swing open, to the home of terror, the sanctum where all hope, all resistance to their will was extinguished.
She writhed and recoiled in horror, only to collapse again in the clutches of her guards, then felt herself lowered downward into the chamber, the insoles of her boots scuffing the sharply rising steps. Shafts of blinding sunslight shone through the upper rows of portholes, the air thick with a hot, misty reek of sweat and leather, of pain and fear. Her whole world spun wildly, and without realizing it she was on her feet, pulled past the barrier of steel grating with her escorts and through the barred door, forced to gaze incredulously ahead at the lintel-shaped whipping post.
Both men stood quietly, giving her plenty of time to study this hovering nightmare.
Overcome by the sheer power and expectancy of their intent, Telina felt her fingers clench and unclench. Large tears formed in her eyes as she stared in fear and without understanding at this ominous fixture—a huge, dark symbol of barbarity and pain where blood had dripped from countless victims’ backs. She had seen it before the night of the cellbreak, but from her position on the chamber floor it looked even larger, more sinister. She still could not quite believe that today, it was for her.
Her faceless guards gave her a few playful shoves of encouragement.
Shoulders bunched up, poised on boot heels straddled wide, Telina pulled back, trembling, her female breadth of hip giving wide stance upon the chamber floor, her ball-shaped breasts made high and taut by her need to stand so well...
...for in these last moments she was determined to maintain a modicum of poise and dignity. Weakly, she flung her arms upward and wrenched herself free, refusing the assistance of her guards...
( for some inane reason, picturing them as boys, not men )
...and on wobbling knees strode determinedly toward the massive frame, appalled at the sight of it but with head held high.
Her body weak, her chest heaving, she surrendered to the intense animal eroticism of the moment, hoping her arousal would ease the sting of the whips or at least lessen this unbearable humiliation. Her thighs, glossed with warm sweat, touched lightly under the tightness of her thong. Fully aware of the effect her boldness had on her escorts, she abandoned herself further, knew they were watching her...the tilt of her hips, the sway of her buttocks, the graceful rhythm of her long legs as they moved, all superbly feminine...
The walk seemed interminable. For long moments, weak and dizzy from fear, palms sweating, muscles throbbing, she stepped toward the dread whipping post yet not seeming to draw any nearer. Her eyes fixed on two iron rings bolted to the underside high off the floor, spaced a headsbreath apart. From them hung gleaming iron chains, connected to thick leather cuffs to embrace her wrists and forearms. Below the restraints she saw a short stepladder, no doubt to make up for her petite height.
The structure seemed enormous, overwhelming, seemed to loom over her, to dominate the world...and in spite of herself Telina lost her courage, fresh tears filling her eyes. She felt the men grasp her roughly by the arms, dragging her forward. “Please don’t,” she whispered, her voice trailing off into nothingness...
Her svelte body hoisted upon the top step, she could do nothing but watch the guards tighten six buckled straps around her forearms. Quivering gasps of panic welled tighter in her collared throat, her manacled limbs pulled so high above her head that even in her high heeled boots she had to stand very straight to relieve the pressure on her wrists. After checking the bindings that secured their prized victim, they kicked the stepladder out from under her.
Swinging, hanging full stretch by the wrists, Telina cried out in agony as she writhed and thrashed, tugging and twisting at the confining straps trying to free herself...
...but too weakened by struggle she soon gave up this useless attempt, the skin of her back and shoulders stretched irrevocably tight for the whip. Her long red nails dug deep into her palms, as tears of defeat flooded and shimmered in her eyes. Her breasts pulled in slow, quivering breaths, lifting the holster covering her bobbing breasts. She craned her neck back over her left shoulder, her eyes closed to angry slits as she saw the guards depart. She would face this first punishment session alone, with her lasher.
Shifting her gaze to the right, a long, high gasp of disbelief escaped her, sending her heart to flutter in her chest. Dozens of implements—for combat and punishment—either hung on the rack or lay on the table: staffs, scythes, garrotes, knives, swords, lariat ropes, braided nets bordered by small hooks. On the base of a stand, was placed a smoldering brazier with a poker thrust into it, glowing red-hot. Blood rushed hot to her cheeks, her suspended legs wobbling, tingling under her,
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