First Lady

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~Subject: FIRST LADY'S STATE PUNISHMENT (f b&d)
~Date: 15 Nov 1994 03:05:33 GMT
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

THE FIRST LADY'S STATE PUNISHMENT
By Dave Caracappa

The occasion is a formal reception for the English Ambassador: a cocktail hour, to be followed by dinner, and then entertainment. It is the first State reception for the handsome young President and his beautiful wife. As the guests enter the reception room, the first lady, dressed in an elegant ivory strapless floor length gown, is standing in the center of the room with her hands clasped behind her back. At the beginning of the reception, the President stands next to her and shakes hands with the guests as they enter, while she makes conversation with them. When the guests have all arrived, the President begins to circulate through the crowd. Throughout the reception, however, the first lady never moves from her location, nor does she change her position or even turn to face a different direction. The guests all must make their way to the center of the room to talk with her.

A more curious visitor might notice that the first lady's hands remain clasped behind her back because of a thin ivory leather strap holding her crossed wrists together. Only a select few know why she remains standing in one place and facing in one direction: she is impaled on a steel pole, topped with a hard plastic dildo tilted at a slight angle. It took only a few minutes of preparation an hour or so before the guests were to arrive to place her as she is. The pole was inserted into a hole in the floor, and lowered a little way into the floor. Then the first lady, tossing her head like a pony, was escorted into the reception room by her Secret Service man. She was already in her gown, leather wristlet and stiletto high heels, but also wore a black hood locked on over her head, as she always did when escorted by the Secret Service. It was known that she hated the hood. When one of the maids lifted her skirt and petticoats, all in the room could see that her pudenda was completely bare: no panties; only her bush of curly auburn hair and nude-colored thigh-high stockings held up by a garterbelt. While the maid held her skirt up, the butler raised the pole up, spread her legs, gently parted her nether lips with two fingers, and slowly inserted the dildo into her vagina. He raised the pole until her legs were straight, together and hugging the pole, then tightened the set screw in the floor fitting with an allen wrench. Then the maid released her skirt, and arranged the folds so that they hung straight and pretty. The first lady stood there, hooded, for the final hour of preparations. More than once did she feel a hand on her breasts, her bottom, or her mons; and once even got a spank on her bottom which elicited a little yelp.

As with all things in the White House, the pole was made to the order of the new President. Careful measurements had been taken of the first lady to determine the exact length and width of the dildo, and the exact angle necessary for the dildo to tilt from the vertical to allow the first lady to stand upright, in her heels, while impaled, without undue discomfort. Several fittings, each including an hour or so of standing in heels had been made to ensure accuracy. A few minutes before the guests were to arrive, the hood was unlocked and removed by her Secret Service agent, and the beautician repaired the damage to her make up and hair caused by the hood.

Throughout the cocktail hour, guests made small talk with the first lady, and gave drinks to her as one might give a drink to a toddler: by placing their glass at her lips, and tilting it up. The drink would have spilled on her gown if she had refused to drink, so she drank. One young man brought over a strawberry, which he fed to her a bite at a time. A little of the juice dribbled down her chin and into her cleavage, but he graciously and very thoroughly dabbed it away with a cocktail napkin, but other than that, no food was delivered to her. She once politely tried to refuse a drink, but the profferer ignored her protests, and raised the glass to her lips anyway. She drank. By dinner time, she was a little tipsy. After all the guests had departed to the dining hall, the butler loosened the set screw, lowered the pole, and, without loosening her hands, escorted the first lady into the dining room. He then seated her to the right of the President, and fastened her into her seat by a leather belt which buckled in front around her lap. She was hand fed by the President on one hand, and the English Ambassador on the other. At one point, a drop of soup dropped on her bodice, and the Ambassador, attempting to blot it up, exposed one of her breasts, which remained exposed for the remainder of dinner. She also was fed many glasses of wine. By the time the entree was served, she was quite drunk. Some cream sauce from the Stroganoff dribbled out of her mouth and onto her gown, and the President exposed her other breast when blotting it up. When she started to babble drunkenly, the President signaled the butler, who fitted her with a beautifully tooled ivory leather head harness in which was a big red ball gag. She passed the remainder of dinner drooling onto her exposed breasts and mewling through the gag.

After dinner, all the guests retired to the performance hall. Only when all the guests had left the dining room was the first lady released from her chair by the butler, who, without removing her gag, covering her exposed breasts, or releasing her pinioned hands, escorted her, staggering, though back halls of the White House to the entrance to the backstage area of the performance hall. The main curtain was drawn when they entered. He delivered her to center stage, where he fastened her over a whipping bench in the middle of the stage. The whipping bench looked like an oversized sawhorse with a well padded horizontal bar. The butler lifted her up, and placed her face down over the whipping bench with her waist atop the padded horizontal bar. He spread her legs apart and enclosed her ankles in a set of ankle cuffs attached to the set of legs on one side of the padded bar. Then he released her arms, pulled them down on the other side of the whipping bench, spread her arms to either side, and enclosed her wrists in a set of wrist cuffs attached to the legs of the whipping bench on the other side of the padded bar. Then he walked to the wings. The whipping bench, too, had been fitted specifically for the first lady at the request of the President. The wrist and ankle cuffs stretched her across the padded bar to the utmost, allowing only her wrists and ankles a modicum of motion, but holding the rest of her motionless. When mounted on the bench, her wrists and ankles were held about a foot off the ground. She could touch the ground with neither her toes or fingers.

In the meantime, on the other side of the curtain, the President climbed the stairs to the stage and announced that the first lady had embarrassed the English Ambassador, the United States, him, and herself by drinking too much at the cocktail party, by spilling food over herself at dinner, and by behaving abominably, becoming drunk and babbing drunkenly at dinner. This was to be punished. Because the English Ambassador was the one most insulted, he was asked to the stage to administer the punishment. The curtain opened to reveal the first lady bent over the whipping bench. The English Ambassador mounted to the stage to the polite applause of the audience. Once on stage, he took off his coat, and rolled up his right sleeve. At the same time, the butler brought out a fagot of birch switches from the wings and took the Ambassador's coat from him. The Ambassador selected one of the birch switches, and, with a stern countenance, swished it experimentally around the air like a swordsman in old movies. In the meantime, the butler raised the first lady's skirts, exposing her bottom and legs, released her stockings from the garters and pulled them down to her pinioned ankles. Her breasts, still exposed, hung down below her bent torso. Then the butler bowed respectfully to the Ambassador and retreated into the wings. The Ambassador was told that because the injury had been done to him, he was to continue until he alone was satisfied that the injury he suffered had been fully compensated.

The Ambassador initially stood to the left side of the first lady, and, with all the strength he had in his bared right arm, brought the switch down on her bottom. The first lady jumped and shrieked in pain through her gag. A red line was immediately and clearly visible to all in the audience. After a few seconds elapsed, the Ambassador switched her again, just above the first welt. With an almost measured tempo the Ambassador switched the first lady with the birch switches. When she wasn't screaming at a blow, she was wailing or sobbing in pain. The Ambassador switched her on her bottom, on the backs of her thighs, on the back of her knees, and on her calves. Sometimes across both legs, sometimes only on one leg. He moved from her left side, to her right, and switched her backhand. He stood directly in back of her and whipped downward, leaving vertical marks. And he made one, and only one upstroke between her legs, which expended its energy on her pouting nether lips, and nicked her clitoris. The scream from that one blow exceeded all others. He also switched her shoulders and arms. Nor were her breasts neglected. Each received several strokes, some landing directly on her nipples. He switched her with all the twigs in the faggot, until they were broken or frayed beyond further use. The first lady was striped red on her shoulders and arms, all over her bottom, and down her thighs to her ankles, with isolated stripes on her breasts. When the Ambassador finished, the audience broke into a roar of applause, and the President bounded up the stairs and, with a big smile, shook his hand enthusiastically.

After the punishment was completed, the first lady was left, still bound and gagged over the whipping bench, on stage. The guests were invited up on stage after the chastisement was complete. Through the haze of pain and alcohol the first lady could feel the hands of most of the guests rubbing her burning behind, and cupping her breasts, and heard one matronly lady tell her she should be ashamed of herself. One curious finger even sought her maimed slit. She remained stretched over the whipping bench long after the guests had left, while the staff was cleaning up. She soon slipped into a pain and alcohol induced stupor. The cleaning staff had close looks and feels of the well striped first butt. After the staff had finshed their work and left, only the butler remained. He finally released her from the whipping bench, but only after making a most complete exploration of the first lady's bottom, pubis and breasts. It took fierce pinching of her nipples, and a bucket of filthy, greasy water from the kitchen over her head, to rouse her from her drunken stupor. He did nothing, however, but release the clip holding her left wrist fetter together, then left to go to bed himself.

The fetter was a hospital type, and didn't release by itself. In addition, the first lady was a little disoriented from the pain and the alcohol. It took her a while to figure out how to unclasp the fetter. When she finally was able to release her left wrist, the first thing she did was pull the bodice of her gown back up over her breasts, and push the skirt back down over her legs. But she knew as soon as she did it that it had been a mistake. The fitted bra cups abraided her striped breasts, and the starched petticoats, which she hadn't noticed before, did the same to the raw skin from her waist to her ankles. She pulled her bodice back down again to relieve the pain on her breasts, but could no longer reach her skirt. Her left hand gently rubbed the welted skin of her breasts to try to comfort the stinging. The second thing she did was fiddle with the three buckles holding her in the head harness and gag with her left hand. In her drunken haze, she couldn't undo them with one hand. So she contorted her body to bring her left hand to her right wrist and release that cuff. Then, before straightening out, she attacked the buckles on her head harness with both hands. When her fumbling, drunken fingers finally undid those buckles, she spit out the foul-tasting, and now smelly rubber ball, sodden with her stale saliva and the mucous which was running from her nose, and had been running since she had begun sobbing during her whipping. When she had done that, she straightened up, and tried to stand. But her ankles had been fastened to the legs of the whipping bench so that her feet didn't touch the ground. When she tried to stand, her feet were held above the ground and she collapsed backwards to a sitting position, crushing her bruised bottom into her abrasive petticoats, and she screamed again in pain. Only by lying on her back could she find any relief. She realized that she could reach her ankle cuffs while remaining on her back by twisting her body sideways. She finally contorted her body to reach and unlock both her ankle cuffs and she was free.

She unbuckled and kicked off her heels, pulled the stockings off her ankles, and gathered her skirt up aroung her waist to protect her red bottom and legs from chafing. The performance hall was dark and had only emergency lights were burning. She had to find her own way back to her quarters. She longed for a black hood, and a nice strong Secret Service agent as she awkwardly crawled up the long marble stairs barefoot, with her breasts exposed, and holding her skirts around her waist, to her chamber.

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