At the end of the street someone had put up a makeshift “finish” line, and there were several men standing there, wearing the same rag-tag uniforms like the brutes that brought my mother here...Than I saw something that made my heart skip a few beats...The full lenght of the street, on both sides, was lined with rows of people.They were standing there, in complete silence.They were all women, wearing traditional Middle-Eastern garments.And they were all carrying long, supple whipping canes.My mouth went dry looking at this menacing sight, the women’s silence adding to the uncanny atmosphere, but at the same time my hard cock was leaking pre-cum...The camera went back to my mother.She was standing in the middle of the sun-baked road, not a stitch on her, her hands tightly handcuffed before her round belly, and with the bag still over her head.I could see her legs trembling, and her big, saggy udder-like breasts were heaving up and down, probably from fear and the lack of oxygen under. But I know that you will soon be shouting and begging me to get the cane to stop and that just makes me even wetter.”With that, she took a deep breath and plunged two fingers deep inside her now wet pussy.The cane cracked across my defenceless buttocks for six agonizing times, and yes, I writhed, and I squirmed, and I shouted, and begged, much to her absolute delight. The pain was more than I could bear. What had I done?A short delay, and then the second set of six were duly delivered, one stroke every ten seconds. The overall pain was beginning to overwhelm my senses. This wasn’t fun! I started to beg for them to ease off, to give me a chance to recover.The third set of six strokes were duly delivered. I was screaming, and there in front of me was Miss Dean masturbating. I could smell her juices. Again a short break before the final set of six. At least I knew what was coming. I knew the intensity of pain I had to endure. Finally, the twenty-fourth stroke hit home, just as hard as.
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