You can read more of my stuff here.

You can read Part 1 here.

Beatrice

It was a disgusting act of disgrace, and Beatrice could only grit her teeth, but she simply would not and could not forget that. Her colleagues from the fire department wanted to say goodbye to her, and that meant disgracing her in an even worse way than the stupid boy defending his stupid fire-starting girl.

"There's no point in arguing! Drop your pants so we might finish with your dishonor!"

 Beatrice hated Robertson's orders, as well as the murmurs of the rest of the team that gathered around her as if she wanted to run away and embarrass herself in an even worse way than they wanted to expose her to.

For the second time in a day, she unbuttoned her pants and lowered them in a single motion, just like her large panties.

Robertson whistled at the sight of her crotch and unbuckled the belt from his trousers. She thought he didn't find her attractive, but he wanted her to remember his imitation of a lustful look.

"Bend over the table." She gladly obeyed his command, complete with a slap on her ass. "You didn't like the original show and will hate this even more. Each of us will kiss you goodbye. Three, four, five times. Your ass may not be pretty, but it's going to serve as a drum for this belt."

The stripe of the leather began to make terrible music. At first, it consisted of slapping against reddish skin, and later, Beatrice's low whistle to compensate for the loud sobbing joined it. She didn't want to let the wailing happen, but that didn't change the fact that they gave her exactly what Robertson had promised.

SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPP!!

Most of the time, she got the maximum number of five strokes on her bare. Only rarely did anyone take pity and let the strap land on her ass only three or four times. Some of them would often use their fireman's hand to slap it on a growing red spot. Tears welled up in her eyes, but even if she cried through the waterfalls, it wouldn't be enough to extinguish the heat that rose from the rear to her head, fueling the grave humiliation into which the taunts of her now former colleagues jumped like logs.

It didn't help that she had to leave the fire station with pants and panties down to her knees.

It was even worse after the sentence. 

The court ordered her to report to Grand Penanace, but since she had just lost her job, she had to go to Grand Charity, too. She still reached her door composed. Inside, she took every step heavier and hurt whenever she looked around. She considered it childish, but painful memories were also brought to her by the fountain spring, gushing up to the ceiling, decorated with a phoenix.

She felt sick when she looked at the leaflets declaring "Become a hero of the nation!" under the picture of several public service professionals, including firefighters. She wasn't sure she was supposed to be pleased that she sat down with a numbered note in her hand among only ten people. She felt like a member of the pathetic band of losers. After a short series of callings, directing people into eight rooms, she found herself in the office of a shorter guy with a grizzled mustache.

"Jesus, you're one of those girls from the news!" He tapped his fingers on the table so close that he almost hit her knuckles.

"Everyone knows your faces now. Although more because of the opposite end of the body." The man smacked and looked at the files on his computer. "Thanks to a tarnished reputation, it is obvious that you could be comfortable working somewhere where people will recognize you at first glance. That's why you might want to hear some job offers abroad."

Especially far away from here and from floozies that can destroy the house with a toaster. "That sounds like a reasonable action," Beatrice agreed. "If such offers are worthy of my dignity. I was the second strongest member of the brigade, and I was guaranteed to have the fastest reactions."

"You must have known how to use your hands," the clerk agreed.

 "However, I do not intend to travel to Europe. Not even to South America."

The clerk nodded. "Of course. Even a strong woman does not want to leave the comfort of civilization. However, I have something extraordinarily lucrative for you here. The National Bank of Quebec manager wants to expand his security team to improve the protection of his residences across the Disunited States and Post-Canada. So, if you're willing to take a clearance..."

"Yes, I am. Anything so I can look at myself in the mirror again!"

"Excellent. The only problem is that you are not the first to apply for the position. Fortunately, we can arrange a job interview for you tomorrow. Of course, it might be interesting if you apply to one of our programs?"

"What does it concern?"

"It may not even be necessary, but your signature will guarantee more unemployment benefits in exchange for receiving mild corporal punishment at the end of each week you don't find a job. I think it might suit someone like you. In addition, we will even help you with a recommendation as a bonus."

Beatrice was more bothered by the humiliation of her recent experience and had to admit that she wanted to be motivated. But most of all, she hoped that it would not be necessary.

"When you say mild corporal punishment..."

"We mainly use switches and floggers. When it comes to position, you can choose from our collection."

He bent down in one of his drawers and pulled out the photographs he spread in front of her. There were men and women of different ages, all naked while submitting to their reprimandings. Beatrice could imagine someone chosing to lie on their stomach on the bench or be chained to a pole but hanging by their arms or legs? Victims were mostly not visible in the face. The image focused on scars, stripes-covered backs, and buttocks. But one middle-aged woman had her face visible from the side view, her mouth open in an unmistakable scream.

"I need any support," Beatrice agreed, even though her hand was shaking when she signed and her sore ass, marked by only her hand and belt, lamented.

Alexandra 

"Hey, ash-flower, could you set this place on fire with your boobs?" Unfortunately, after the disaster I caused, I no longer had my own home, and my uncle didn't want to accommodate me either, so I had to live right in the helot home of the Grand Penance, where men and women were not separated.

Ignoring the vagabonds from the other cells, I locked myself in mine. There was only a bed, a bucket like the ones in old prisons, and a closet for personal belongings. And, of course, an orange helot uniform with a white stripe for the shifts. Together with the things I was wearing, I put the damned slavery mark in the closet and hid from the world under a blanket, even though it was only seven. I knew I would have to try for a long time to fall asleep.

The white wall was as vapid as my future.  I lost my apartment, as I lost my fiancé, and I was afraid of seeing him again. Since my assistant position was recently eliminated, I have been waiting for a new one, and the penalty has complicated it.

I was ashamed, but all I had left was my pretty face and a hot figure.

I fell asleep several times. Only for about half an hour the first time and only for the fifth time did I fall into a rest in which there was no room for the heat of the flames or the lecherous remarks of the men. In the morning, I was rested but still had to force myself to let go of the duvet.

It was just as hard for me to put on my uniform, but the guys from the helot unit still looked at me as if I was completely naked. We rode on a wide truck deck, from which a tall cage rose into the air, the meaning of which, of course, was to remind us of our status. We sat there on small pieces of foam. I saw a couple of eighteen or so old boys, some of whom were still making fun of their surroundings, while others looked like they would say goodbye to last night's dinner soon. The older black guy whispered something intimate to an even older white woman, whom he seemed to know well, even exchanging with what looked like small statues of foxes. A girl about my age tried to converse with me, not understanding why I was the saddest soul of the two dozen unwilling servants of the state. Possibly a homeless woman without a TV. She could teach me the principles of life on the street.

The hardest was the presence of Beatrice, and I'm not just saying this as a comment on her shape. When she saw me, she forced two people to reseat so she wouldn't have to stare at her face.

 I would have loved to help her, but I couldn't help myself either. I couldn't answer the talkative girl or look through the bars on the Grand York streets. I little died inside as we stopped, and I finally looked around. Most of all, I saw countless still cars.

"We have a meeting of two corporate dynasties here," Flynn, our group's overseer, told us. He was a short fellow but more than ready to swing his baton and tease us with his sarcastic eyes to torment any petty criminal or anyone assigned to them because of their bad luck. The pretty girls were probably doubly unlucky.

"I'm talking about Pelletiers and Lynch-Metzens," he continued his speech. "They have come to divide their spheres of influence in the market, and soon they want to confirm it at a magical soireé. Today, however, they are warming up their butts in the conference hall and need help from the pariahs. And I don't mean myself. I just brought them the pariahs."

It was easy to divide the buckets of water and pieces of cloth. It was more difficult for us with the cars themselves. The overseer finally told us that we were only involved in three medium-sized squares to improve.

"A sleek design for a sleek design," Flynn commented on me while I was trying to wash off the white infamy out of blue Casa Ultra. Unfortunately, one has to bend a lot.

"Your ass and legs might be a distraction," Flynn snapped lewdly.

I wanted to leave it unanswered. I wished to work off my punishment by pretending it was a wasted time that never happened. But the guys around prevented me from doing so, it didn't matter to me anymore who it was.

"Then find the biggest pig here so they don't distract you!" I yelled at Flynn, but I swear I wasn't looking at anyone in particular at the time, not intentionally. But my head was turned in the direction that someone might think I was talking about a nearby worker... Beatrice.

My acquaintance, an angry giantess, first fully immersed her hand in her bucket of water and then slowly pulled it out, clutching a soapy rag, like someone holding a hand grenade.

Beatrice might have shoved it down my throat, but Flynn pushed us away. No one around was working at that moment, everyone stopped to see how our wrestling – fat versus skinny — turned out. A passer-by was also stiff on the spot, an Asian woman in a tight black suit with her back exposed.

Flynn pulled a rag out of my mouth and slapped me immediately.

 "Whoever obstructs the execution of the sentence must receive a well-deserved additional punishment!"

However, he uttered his harsh words with the utmost satisfaction. He broke me at the waist and unbuttoned my pants with a swift grab. It reminded me of something and I wanted to get out of the way, but his strong hand on my back warned me not to try anything. Flynn pulled my uniform pants down to my knees with a few clumsy movements, and the panties soon followed. 

My ass shuddered at the thought of the near future.

The Overseer pushed me to him so my lap rested on his knee. I looked back and saw that he had undressed a little too. He took off his massive brown-to-black boot, which protects a person from the cold in increasingly inclement weather. 

It's going to warm us both up tonight.

Flynn pressed me roughly on the shoulder to make my elbows touch the car's hood. I figured that my ass, "decorated" with scars and bruises, must look even fuller, and other helots were quickly moving so that they could see well. I couldn't plug my ears, and I wasn't spared of the quiet sarcasm around me, so I closed my eyes, determined not to open them until it was over.

SMACK!!

"OOOWWWARGHHH!”

The sole kissed both my cheeks, and I howled like a dog. Dozens of earlier injuries from battles with Beatrice and Quentin began to burn me again and made me cry. I tried to flinch, but I guess I only made things worse. 

THUD! THUD!

He aimed the next two strokes at my thighs. I didn't have as many injuries from the last time there, but Flynn employed much fiercer strength. I was sure that I would avoid any sitting in following weeks.

 Then Flynn turned his attention back to my ass, but even though I'd seen relief in it a moment ago, it suddenly became a new, escalating agony. My whimpering must have been adding strength to Flynn's swing, but I couldn't help myself. Each stroke made me scream more, which made him a little happier.

When he got to the fourteenth stroke, he did nothing for a while, but I didn't dare to hope. Rightfully. He bent me all over the car’s hood and I felt his fingers scratching me on both cheeks. The bastard opened them and in no time I felt something, probably the toe of his shoe, kicking me into my asshole.

"WAAAAAA!" I cried so much I must have been heard beyond the Arctic Circle. When Flynn finally let me go, I was out of the balance. I hesitantly walked away from the car, not wanting anyone else to see me half-naked. I only took another step, but that was enough to bump into someone. I quickly opened my eyes full of tears. It was that elegant Asian woman.

"Sorry, I didn't see you!"

"Don't apologize!" The lady may have been a little startled, but she looked at me as if she had found spilled pearls while walking in the city. "You're the self-arsonist whose punishment never ends!"

"I hope it ends soon," I whispered, pulling on my pants and panties again, even though the fabric was already something like a touch of Satan's thumb to me.

She shook my hand. "Yuka Lynch-Metzen. Nice to meet you. Are you currently employed?" She asked the question very quietly, indeed.

"Unfortunately, I have no prospects at the moment."

"My husband would need a new masseuse. When you can..." She bent down to my ear and whispered. "Go to the Solitude Hotel. Tell the receptionist: "From the ashes did not rise a phoenix, but a dove."

 Yuka found her car and drove off with it. Flynn stared at me blankly. He had the shoe back on, but he was probably hesitant whether to be happy about my punishment or angry about my contact.

"This group is causing a lot of problems," he sputtered. "I can't force you to do more work, but after the shift is over, you'll all stay on the track back for two hours."

"I have to leave!" shouted Beatrice. "I have a job interview!"

"Your morale is more important than your job," grumbled the overseer. "So be glad for this lesson, otherwise I'd thrash you like your friend."

I couldn't sit down with the others on the truck deck, and couldn't look into anyone's eyes. But I also couldn't forget Beatrice. If Yuka can help me, she can help her as well.

Beatrice

"Yes, ma'am. Unfortunately, it's the end of the week, and you definitely want your benefits," said the clerk sadly but also a little mischievously. "It is necessary to undergo an incentive punishment, just as you agreed." 

At least half of those benefits would go to pay for the hitman, Beatrice thought as she followed the guy into the back soundproof room. Apart from a stern-looking woman in uniform, there were only a few wooden pieces of furniture. The officer ordered her to undress and fold her dress on the short bench.

It's already a progress. It will be the least humiliating beating. Beatrice, however, doubted it a little when she saw a security camera on the ceiling.

The officer bound her hands with handcuffs with a longer chain, which she connected to an iron ring hanging on the pole. She stood at Beatrice's side when she unbuckled a long flogger from her waist.

"You chose five strokes over the back and five strokes over the buttocks." As if she had to remind Beatrice of her naivety. 

"ONE!" The woman shouted, but her ugly voice was followed by a much worse sound of the flogger slashing the air and then setting Beatrice's back into the fire of pain.

"Ugh." She resisted the desire to yell loudly, but she knew she would not be able to avoid it in the end. She just needed to keep her pride.

"TWO!" Beatrice expected to get the full number of strokes between her shoulders first before the bailiff moved lower, but this burning stroke was aimed at her ass. Beatrice jumped up and tried to free herself from her steel bracelets, but, unfortunately, her strength was not enough.

"THREE!" The pain in her back was incomparable to anything she'd experienced in the last few days. She clung to the pole and clenched her bottom.

"FOUR!" Although she did not doubt that her ass was bleeding in places, it began to make it more pleasant for her to enjoy the simple pressure that the wood of the pole was exerting on her pussy in the middle.

"FIVE!" Even the pain at the top was a little more bearable, even pleasant, when she was discreetly rubbing herself by the subtle movements up and down. She began to look forward to both even and odd strokes.

Alexandra

Solitude looked more like a vampire's castle than a hotel. The Gothic building, however, was lit from more sources than I thought physically possible. I guess I understand that there were people bothered by today and wanted to move to the Old World and the Old Times.

The receptionist may not have known who I was, but she was visibly disgusted when she saw my clothes, which certainly didn't come from the most expensive stores of the Grand York.

"I'm going to see Mrs. Lynch-Metzen."

The receptionist snickered but quickly turned serious. I told her the agreed password, and she had to use a special card to send me to the highest floor. When I came out of the elevator, I saw that instead of an entire wall, there was glass through which one could look at the city.

But I was sick of the city. I was only interested in the world behind the door. I knocked. The bell buzzed.

"Come in."

I walked inside and found myself in a small apartment, but incredibly colorful on the walls. Greek mythology met the Indian one in scenes related to the greatest earthly joys of mortals. There lay pink and purple pillows on the floor, from the kitchenette to the jacuzzi.

I haven't seen Yuka yet. "I wanted to explain that I've never massaged anyone," I started uncertainly, and took a few more steps. "However, I suppose you haven't been entirely honest about what you want from me."

"I couldn't talk about that outside." Yuka came out from behind the screen by the wall. She was wearing nothing at all, except for a steel collar. "You may be surprised, but I'm grateful for a rich husband. I have to accommodate him." She winked at me. "I want you to be nice to my nephew. He returns from Europe to get married. And we want to put him to a special test."

 I blushed. "In that case, I have even more right to ask you for something..."