EXTRACT FOR
Serving His Time
(Miranda Birch)

Down in the cellar, Roger was reaching the end of his tether. It had been a whole week since those bitches had kidnapped him, and since then he had been in hell. 



Stark naked but for the heavy iron tube locked on to his penis, viciously whipped at the whim of his cruel captors, fed on cold porridge once a day, he had spent all day every day of those seven long, long days toiling non-stop at utterly pointless tasks, before being locked in a tiny cell for a few hours to get some precious rest. 



Now he staggered along under the weight of yet another sack of sand and slung it on the growing heap at the far end. He was half blind with tears and sweat and he was panting hoarsely. The thought that this was going to go on day after day, week after week, month after month, with no end in sight, brought him to the brink of total despair. 



Back he went to fetch another heavy sack, straining to haul it up and place it over his shoulders. He simply could not go on much longer. Yet he dare not stop. Had not that sexy, curvy blonde warned him that his work rate was too low? She would surely thrash him yet again, if she was not satisfied with his efforts. 



The knowledge drove Roger on. He dumped the sack and actually hurried back for another. He uttered a moaning sob, then another.. The throbbing pain from the still-fresh weals across his backside were a constant reminder of the penalty for failure. He didn't want any more. They always thrashed him so hard. So hard! It was terrible! Did they realise with what savagery they treated him? he continued to sob in sheer desperation. 



The very futility of his task made things worse. When all the sacks had been moved from one end to the other, then what? He would have to start taking them back again. 



"Dear God, help me," he mumbled to himself, "get me out of here, somehow. I swear I'll never commit another crime as long as I live!" 



Another sack. Stumbling, groaning with effort. 



Then another... and another. 



He simply couldn't go on. Yet he dare not stop. 



Another sack was done! But this time, Roger, fear to stop though he might, simply fell on top of it as soon as he dropped it. He was half-senseless with exhaustion, his chest heaving painfully. He was so caught up in his own misery that he did not hear the click-clack of high heels approaching down the corridor. He did not hear the cellar door open. He did hear the louder click-clack of high heels on the bare stone flags as Natalie and Linda approached. 



He did not hear -- but suddenly he felt! Linda's switch whip-lashed across his left buttock, swiftly followed by Natalie's across his right. Two well-aimed strokes, laid on with full force. With a howl of pain he jerked up, half-erect. 



"Lying down on the job, eh, slave?" snarled Natalie. 



"I told you I wanted a higher work rate," said Linda, flexing her switch. she gave Roger another vicious cut with it across one flank. 



Roger threw up his arms appealingly. 



"Mercy... merceee... Miss... I just c-can't go on..." he whined. He began sobbing. 



"That's what you think," said Natalie. "Get your arse up slave and get it up high!" 



"N...no...no....I beg you, Miss..." 



"Get it up... now!" ordered Linda relentlessly. 



Roger burst into tears as he forced up his quivering hindquarters. 



"Oh God... no... noooo more." 



All this after he had toiled till he dropped! 



"Higher!" insisted Linda. 



With satisfaction she watched the terrified male further upthrust his quivering buttocks. How marvellous to make a man submissively offer his already welted backside to the whips of his owners! She looked at Natalie and smirked. Then her plaited switch fell first, lashing full-bloodedly across both buttock cheeks. A howling shriek rent the cellar and Roger writhed convulsively right over on to his back.