Flagellissimo

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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Flagellissimo
[Alpenhorn 2019]

Time: 1894, winter.

Location: A boarding school. In an isolated mountain region.

Cast: [age and appearance may be supplied by the reader]
Ryuu - schoolboy (flagelland)
Misaki - schoolgirl (flagellor)
Matron - elderly woman

[Matron]
What I have to put up with. There are always more letters to be written. My arthritis is acting up. The room is cold. But at least this habit we wear is warm enough.

One of the pupils is back again for punishment. Look at him: his uniform is rumpled; his shirt tail is not completely tucked in; his hair is out of control; one of his knee-socks has slid down; even his fly is half-open.

The boy waits. I keep writing.

[Ryuu]
I stand before Matron’s desk. I wait. I keep still. The quill goes: dip scratch scratch scratch dip scratch scratch scratch dip scratch scratch scratch.

Finally she puts the pen away and blots the page.

She looks up. “Ryuu?” she says.

“Yes, Matron,” I answer.

“So, you are back again?”

“Yes, Matron.”

She sighs. She frowns and shakes her head. She takes a burning candle from the desk and—using her cane—walks to the overhead water tank. She reaches up and lights the heater with the candle.

In an hour or two I will be showering. But—despite the heater—I know the water will not really be hot, merely lukewarm.

There is no shower stall. Just a grating in the floor beneath the water tank. No walls; no curtains; no privacy. After my flagellation, I will have to stand there in full view. (The observation bench is empty now. I hope it will still be empty then.) The shower will wash away the body fluids. ‘Blood, sweat, and tears,’ as the saying goes. I have prepared myself—unlike last time—so there should be no piss or shit. Barf? I hope not: That would be so undignified! Jizz? No, please: That would be doubly embarrassing.

[Matron]
I hand Ryuu the candle, saying “Light the room.” He walks around the room, lighting all the wall lamps. What good is a bleeding, naked boy if it is too dark to see him? I change my spectacles to the best ones for that distance.

I go out and ask the novice in the reception area to fetch Misaki, who will be the flagellor. I check that the notice for those interested in attending has been posted.

[Ryuu]
After kindling all the lamps, I return the candle and bow to Matron.

The flagellosculum takes up most of the room. It is a complicated machine made up of metal rods, with plenty of joints and hinges, wheels and pulleys, levers and pedals. There is a grating under it, also for washing away body fluids.

The flagellor has not yet arrived. Matron does not wait for him. “Go ahead and start,” she says. “You know how to prepare.” She is right: I have received this discipline before.

I breathe deeply. I take off my clothes. All of them. I fold them neatly and place them on the shelf—where they will be not be soiled by my body fluids. The room seems cold. I shiver.

I try not to let Matron see my privates. I cover myself with my hands. I stand there and wait. The floor is cold for bare feet. I stand first on one foot, then on the other. Still I wait.

“You will stay here?” I ask. The last time, she left the room.

“Yes, I shall. You knew that there could be observers.” I may have known it; and feared it; but still it makes my stomach sink.

What can I do? There is no avoiding it. During the flogging she will certainly see everything and more. I take another deep breath. No more worrying. I climb up onto the scaffold.

[Matron]
I watch Ryuu as he moves about the device: his skin-tones—his lithe musculature—cuts and bruises—the concentration shown in his young face—his unkept hair—even brief glimpses of matako and chinko.

He eases his bare back onto the rod that will support it. “Aah! Cold!” he says.

I answer him. “That’s true. Iron rods, you know.” There is a newer model flagellosculum with leather covering so it’s not as cold. I have recommended it to the Board of Governors, but they never like to spend money.

Ryuu methodically puts all his limbs into their assigned places on the trellis. The flagellosculum is designed so that his body will be spread out; all the most sensitive parts will be available for punishment: from his ears to the soles of his feet and everything in between.

[Ryuu]
I lean my head back onto its bar. When the restraints are in place, they will go above my ears and across my forehead. I am looking at the ceiling, but the restraints are not yet fastened, so I can raise my head and look down to see Matron watching.

I stretch my arms out to the side; my elbows bend up around their own bars; I grasp the hand-holds.

So far I have kept my legs together as much as possible to preserve my modesty. No more. Each leg goes to the side, the knees bend down around their bars, then the ankles go inside their own bars, toes facing outward. My bare chinko is now exposed, cold and lonely. I close my eyes—I do not want to know whether Matron is looking at it.

[Matron]
The flagellor has still not arrived. I wonder why not. I fill the time with small talk.

“Did you participate in the big snowball fight yesterday?” I ask the naked spread-eagle boy. “That looked like fun for you youngsters.”

“Yes. Our side lost, but it was fun,” he answers. His eyes are closed tight.

Silence seems awkward—more so because of how exposed he is. I go on: “How are the marks in your studies?”

“Okay.” Now he raises his head and looks at me while we talk.

“Have you reached a B average?” I know that is what he has been trying for.

“No.” Ryuu is still shivering. “But I hope to this term.”

“That would be good for you.” I say. “And your parents would be happy.”

Again, awkward silence. I am still surprised by how nicely this rack shows off all the intimacies of Ryuu’s body.

Finally, Misaki arrives. Look at her uniform: not rumpled at all, everything perfect. She is a pretty girl about the same age as Ryuu. I chose her today according to Ryuu’s psychological profile to be maximally humiliating to him—much worse than last time.

[Ryuu]
A girl comes in and bows to Matron. But I am hanging here naked! Should I move a hand out of position to cover my poor little chinko? I do not do it. But I hope she leaves without looking at me.

“Please pardon me,” the girl says to Matron. “I was in chemistry class and it was not safe to stop in the middle of the experiment.”

Matron bows in return. “Misaki! Thank you for coming.”

With a jolt I realize: She is the flagellor. She will administer the pain. Last time, it was done by one of the schoolmasters. I sometimes have this nightmare: me, naked, punished by a young girl. And now here it is, it will really happen.

Matron and the girl turn to look at me. I am spread out on the rack, totally exposed to their gaze. Matron seeing me naked was unpleasant; but this girl seeing me naked is much worse.

“Commence,” Matron says.

[Misaki]
First, I latch all the restraints in place on the machine. Now the boy can barely move. He won’t get out until I release him.

I look him in the eyes. “Good morning, Ryuu,” I say. “My name is Misaki.”

“Umm...Good morning, Misaki,” he replies nervously.

“You forgot this,” I say. It is the mouthguard. I put it into his mouth and he bites down—it is to prevent biting his tongue or lip during flagellation.

I impudently look down at his chinko, comically widening my eyes and making a big grin. He is already panting, and I haven’t even touched him yet.

[Ryuu]
Misaki cranks one of the control wheels on the machine. The framework moves until I am face down at about her waist height.

“A flagellor should always plan carefully,” she says. Is she addressing me, or herself?

She touches one of my ears. I flinch. She says, “Here, I can just flick with my fingernail.” She doesn’t do it yet, but I know it will come in due time, and it will be painful.

“For your back,” she says, “the flail.” She holds it down in front of me where I can see it: nine leather thongs with a handle. Then she gently moves her hand along my naked back. It tickles now, but later it won’t. Later, when she uses that lash on my back, it will hurt—a lot.

“Nice buns,” she says. She runs her hands over them. “They will also be scourged by the flail.”

“The backs of your legs, your calves.” She also tickles them with her fingers.

“The soles of your feet. I could use the flail again.” I feel the light touch of her fingers. “But I think not. I have a wooden club.”

Last time, there was no preparation like this. Back then, the flagellation was administered by one of the schoolmasters. He sweet-talked me out of my clothes; he showed me how to install myself into the flagellosculum; and he immediately started the beating.

[Misaki]
I show the wooden club to Ryuu. He hisses when he sees it.

“While you are still this side up, let me check your matako.” The flagellosculum is holding Ryuu’s legs apart; so of course his matako is available: a little tender opening there between his buns. I lightly run my finger across it. (Flagellation is about pain, not sex, so there is no penetration. I will not be torturing Ryuu's prostate today.)

“O Ryuu,” I taunt, “what can I use here? What can punish a matako? I know: I have a willow switch. That will be just the right size. But painful.”

I hold the switch to show him. In response I get another hiss.

.

My finger is still lightly touching his matako, so I feel Ryuu clench the muscles. I lick my lips as I anticipate what the switch will do there!

“Now let me turn you over to your other side,” I say to Ryuu, “and plan how to scourge it.”

I crank the control wheels, turning him around until he is vertical. Then I pump the foot-pedal moving him up until his crotch is at eye level.

Ryuu is clenching the hand-holds. Today I will not work on his fingers or toes; there is enough to fill an hour without that.

“Thighs: the flail; arms: the switch,” I announce. For now I just touch. Soon I will administer hurt.

“Nipples.” I reach up and tweak them. “The switch, I think.”

“The switch will take care of your ribs, too.” I run my hands over them. The boy is still shivering.

“Stomach,” I say, caressing. “I will use the wooden club. Aha: the solar plexus would be about here!” I poke with my finger. Ryuu will be struggling to breathe when my club strikes him there!

Slowly my fingers on his stomach move down, down, down—to his chinko.

“Ooh, Ryuu!” I exclaim with mock excitement. “What a nice chinko you have!” It is perfectly stiff by now. I finger it a bit: from the base to the tip and back. I do this intending to demean and degrade him—to demonstrate that I have complete control of his body!

“Here, the underside of your chinko,” I touch with two fingers, “my willow switch will love to punish it.” (There is no penetration allowed, so I cannot go inside Ryuu’s chinko, much as I would like to.) Again, with my two fingers, I can feel the boy clenching the muscles.

Next I contemplate Ryuu’s balls. The plump scrotum is tight—perhaps from the cold, or perhaps from my attention. I caress lightly with my finger.

“In case you may want to have children someday,” I say, “we have to be careful.” I hold the small wooden mallet up where he can see it. “We will use this hammer. I have the special training; I can give you the maximum pain without permanent damage!”

Ryuu’s wide eyes are rapidly moving back and forth.

“And now, Ryuu, we are ready!” For a few more seconds as he squirms I admire his erect chinko. It deserves admiration!

[Matron]
“Misaki, just a moment,” I say. “Turn the victim to face this way.”

“Yes, Matron, of course,” Misaki answers. She cranks the control wheels.

When he has been turned, Ryuu can see that there are now ten pupils on the bench watching. He groans. He is on exhibit, mother-naked and utterly exposed.

I see the first tears of the day. But certainly not the last.

Misaki is displaying him as a traditional work of art. A seibutsugaku. From top to bottom we see: Ryuu’s tearful face, his long bare torso, his swelling chinko, his smallish scrotum, and finally his clenched matako. I wonder how many of the kids here this morning are capable of appreciating seibutsugaku. But what a talent we have in Misaki!

“Flagelland,” I address him, “meet your voyeurs.”

[Ryuu]
I had vainly hoped there would be no audience. But look at this.

Each of the kids stands up, bows to me, gives his (or her) name and age. Some of them I have met already. Others I have not.

I know my tears are flowing. I know my chinko is throbbing. All these kids can see everything. Misaki has already touched me everywhere. Soon she will hurt me everywhere.

Matron says, “Flagellor, please begin.”

At last the pain starts. The waiting, the anticipation, the slow preparation, the nakedness, and the voyeurs: these all make it more intense. Of course, with an expert like Misaki, it is so much more than anything I can do to myself.

I was happy to be admitted to this school. Now, I can ask for flagellation every semester! I am trying to bring my marks up to a B average. If I do that, then I will be permitted to come as often as once a month.

[Matron]
The pupils here on the bench are devoted to voyeurism. If their marks are high enough, they are allowed to come as spectators. And of course Misaki is a straight-A student. She has special training as a flagellor for boys. (Our flagellors for girls must have different training—more gynecological.)

Ryuu’s parents were happy to send him here to us. Before, when he had tried to hurt himself, things did not always turn out well. Here, we can provide all the pain he wants, but safely.

The kids on the bench watch attentively; and so do I. Observing humiliation and torture—what better way is there to spend a dull winter morning?

(End of File)