|by Christophorus Volkov|
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 29 Oct 2017
The sun shined brightly down upon the hood of the rented Chevy Camaro as the smell of the open country wafted into Zander’s nostrils.
After a full two years in Los Angeles, Zander was driving the back roads on his way to his aunt’s home in rural Iowa for a family reunion. Sometime back along his path, he’d made the wrong turn, and he was following the GPS instructions for getting back to the main road.
Tired from the flight, Zander nodded off and fell asleep for just a moment with the Camaro on cruise control. When he looked up, he was startled to see a T intersection right in front of him. There was no time to brake. The Camaro left the road airborne going about 50 miles per hour as it ramped off the shoulder. The Chevy blew through the double-headed arrow road sign and hit a fence, thankfully between two of the fence posts. The car penetrated through the wooden timbers of the fence like they were matchsticks. Finally, deep in the cornfield, the Camaro roared to a stop.
Zander opened his eyes. He just knew he’d been injured. He looked down at his body, and, miraculously, he was pretty much unscathed. The broken windshield had taken a beating, but the safety glass had held. Zander looked in the rearview mirror, and he could see he had sustained a small cut somehow over his right eye. It bled a little.
He opened the door, and he stood up. His right ankle was a little sore, but, save the cut, he wasn’t injured at all. The road sign laid by the road all bent to hell. The fence was blasted, and he figured he’d gone about 15 rows into the field.
Zander put his hands on his knees and bent over for a moment to gather himself. He was lucky to be alive.
Zander was one of the biggest online stars in the world with millions of people watching his vlogs daily. Once he knew he was ok, he wished he had vlogged the entire experience. It would have made a great clickbait thumbnail. After all, he had over 10 million subscribers to feed. At the age of 22, he had conquered the internet world and was making the transition to mainstream film and television.
Never without a trusty connection to the outside world, Zander felt suddenly alone. He wanted to get footage of all this for later. He went to grab his camera, but he remembered he had sent the camera ahead to his aunt’s.
My phone! I could use that! thought Zander and he dove back into the car to look for it. Unlike
him, it didn’t survive the crash. The dashboard took care of it when he left the roadway.
He was alone, in the middle of nowhere and without a phone. None of these three things were normal to the young star.
Zander looked up into the hot sun. It was a warm July afternoon in the Midwest. The humidity was climbing, and the air temperature was rising. The black jeans and the black hoodie he was wearing were not the best wardrobe choice for the situation he found himself in at the moment.
The tall, blonde-haired superstar peeled off the hoodie (part of his own brand-name clothes line), and was now left in his white undershirt. He slipped off his shoes and took off the jeans leaving him in a pair of basketball shorts he had chosen to wear underneath.
After sliding his shoes back on and neatly placing his hoodie and jeans on the passenger seat, Zander flopped back down in the driver’s seat of the car. He tried to start the engine. Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. He was stranded.
Zander slammed the door to the car, and he leaned against the door trying to figure out what to do.
Hold it right there! Yur on private property.
The blonde-haired star looked toward the voice, and a short, stocky balding man stood about 10 feet away holding a rifle. It was pointed right between Zander’s eyes. Next to him was a towering dark-haired man about the same age as Zander. He had a muscled, hulking body.
Take it easy, sir. I can explain.
You don’t need to explain. I can see what happened.
No, this was an accident, sir.
I don’t care if you was an alien sent down from Bumfuckistunia. You’re under arrest.
Sir, if I could just use a phone, I can make this all up to you. I can pay you.
We ain’t got no phones here. This is Willeyville, and it’s my sovrain nation.
That’s right. I got my rights, boy. I don’t recognize no government here. I am the government.
I am Phinneas Willey, Jr. I’m the President, the Judge and the Congress in this here 52 acres of land.
The man made a gesture, and the tall twentysomething moved forward toward Zander.
Be careful, sir. I will defend myself, said Zander. Back in Hollywood, Zander excelled in
his fight training and stunt classes. None of his friends wanted to mess with the young superstar.
It didn’t faze the muscular man. He kept advancing. Zander, forced to defend himself, felt his fight or flight instinct kick in. With all his might he bowed back and swung his fist at the gigantic man. It landed on the man’s chin. Like a fly on a windshield, the man shook it off and grabbed Zander. He headbutted him, and Zander fell back across the hood of the car, unconscious.
Zander opened his eyes and they slowly focused. He was in a set of makeshift stocks. His head and wrists were put through the holes of the stocks. His ankles were fastened to the supports. It quickly became clear that he was not going anywhere as the stocks were padlocked together trapping Zander in between them. He looked around, and, from what he could see, he determined he was in a barn. A few feet away were some horses. The floor was covered in hay.
Straight ahead, a whip, a paddle and a leather strap hung on the wall behind a makeshift lectern.
From behind, Zander heard footsteps. It was his captors returning to check on him.
Oh, I see you’re awake, said Phinneas. He was still carrying the rifle. Next to him, the giant
So, before Harold knocked you cold, you said you was gonna make it up to us.
Yeah, if I could just call my manager, he could wire you the money to your bank account.
I’m sorry, son. We don’t trust no big banks here. We deal in cash currency only, but your high
fallutin’ money ain’t no good here anyways. Here, we take it out of your ass.
Your hearing get damaged in that wreck, boy? I said we take it out of your ASS.
Suddenly, it came to Zander what those three implements hanging on the wall ahead were for, and it was his ass.
By the power vested in me by my late father, Phinneas Willey, Sr., I find you guilty of destroyin’
our property. Harold, make him ready for the punishment.
Harold wasted no time. With one hefty pull, the seam in Zander’s basketball shorts and boxers gave away and his bare, smooth ass was exposed. The rip took care of the seam all the way around so Zander’s cock and balls hung low and defenseless between his spread legs.
Now, this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it’s gonna hurt us, said Phinneas.
pretty good at this, so this will hopefully go by fast.
Zander looked ahead, and Harold was grabbing the whip. Harold looked at Phinneas and asked,
Well, he destroyed our fence. Let’s go 10 for that. Then, he destroyed about 10 rows of corn.
I’d say 20 is fair, don’t you?
With no warning, Harold pulled back and snapped the whip across Zander’s bare ass.
Harold went back to work.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
Zander gritted his teeth.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
The pain built. Zander felt his knees start to buckle.
That’s only 11 boy. Nine more to go. Then we move to the paddle.
That’s right. It’s 20 with each tool.
Ahh man! Zander closed his eyes. The next ones came in quick succession.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
Eight more went by in a flash. He could feel the pain pulsate throughout his body.
The last one caught his perineum right between his asshole and balls.
That’s rare. Harold, you missed.
Harold just chuckled as he walked up to hang the whip back on the nail. He grabbed the paddle.
Zander’s ass was crisscrossed by the marks from the whip.
Time for ten with the paddle, announced Phinneas, as if there were an audience other than
the horses in the barn.
No rest for the weary. Harold pulled the paddle back and delivered a crushing blow.
THUMP! The paddle thundered across Zander’s seat. He could feel his asshole pucker with every sickening
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Zander was straining against the restraints.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
His ass began to turn purple from the pounding from the paddle.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
That’s 20 of those. Time for the strap.
Harold put the paddle back on the nail, and he grabbed he strap. He wasted no time getting back to work.
Surveying Zander’s ass, it was a mess of whip marks and paddle marks. The pristine smooth skin had been turned dark red to purple. The final assault was coming.
The first hit with the strap was low and caught Zander across the upper hamstrings. It also slapped his exposed balls. With no cock to break the hit, it was a direct smack across the genitals. Zander felt a deep throbbing pain migrating from his crotch into his stomach.
AH! OH! You hit my balls, dude. COUGH...COUGH!
Zander continued to cough and snort as Harold went right back to the business of delivering his final 19 blows.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Harold pulled back extra far for the 20th and final one.
Literally, Zander saw red in his eyes as tears started to flow. He had never been in so much pain
in his life.
OH MY GAW...(he breathed in through his teeth) HAAAOOOWW! His ass was a deep reddish
purple now from 58 hard blows from three implements. One lone whip weal marked the spot where Zander had
taken a shot in the perineum. The other strap mark was across the hamstrings.
Phinneas and Harold left the barn, and it was just Zander and the horses. Exhausted, Zander nodded off in the stocks.
ARE YOU OK, SIR?
Are you ok?
It was an Iowa State Police Trooper. He was standing next to the crashed Camaro.
Are you ok? Your crash assistance system sent us here.
Zander realized that he had really been knocked out since the crash.
Yeah, I think I’m ok.
You have a cut on your head. Just hang tight. Let me get you an ambulance.
The trooper walked off back toward his cruiser. Zander looked down and realized the black hoodie and jeans he had worn on the flight were neatly folded in the passenger seat where he had left them in his dream.
He reached around underneath his body and realized that his shorts were ripped open, and his ass was throbbing.