Chapter Text
Jack had been enjoying his morning until it happened. His morning route was long finished, there was the whole day until his evening route, and he was lounging lazily in the park with a few of his friends. Jack was lying in the grass under a tree, a luxury allowed as this was the wilder part of the park and the park attendant did not care who trampled it nor even often surveyed it. He was much too occupied keeping people off the made up parts of the park or out of the fountains, especially on a warm day like this. A lot of people were at the park, though not many were in their corner. Frank was leaning against the tree, carving at a stick without much purpose or thought while Billy paced about in circles. The young omega had a poetic bent and liked to move while he thought out new lines. He wasn’t so much reciting poetry, though, as complaining at every turn.
“They should do something about all these bugs,” he’d grumble as he pushed through a cloud of gnats.
“Parks got bugs,” Frank pointed out languidly, studying his ‘work’ which was really just something to do with his hands. He’d likely discard the stick at the end, no matter how it turned out, but at the moment it wasn’t turning into anything except a thinner stick.
“It needn’t have this many bugs,” Billy disagreed. “And it’s a park, not the deep woods! Why are they letting all this stinging nettle grow?”
“Good for the bees, I suppose,” Jack suggested, eyes half closed and absently swatting at the sting of a mosquito. Something buzzed nearby, a bee perhaps, but Jack didn’t pay it any mind. In his experience, the way to handle stinging insects was to ignore them; swat at them and they got riled, trap them and they got mad, but let them be and most of the time they’d let you be in return.
“Like we want bees!” Billy said, who really wasn’t suited at all to nature. It was just as well he lived in the city, as he could barely handle the park. He only even came because he thought it was the kind of thing poets did. “And you should care more about nettles, Jack. You’re lying right next to a huge patch. And it’s the kind that hurts like fuck and goes on stinging for hours if you get into it.”
Jack was less concerned over that dire proclamation than at laughing at Frank telling off the young omega for such crude language. Anyway, nettles were only really a danger to bare skin; as long as he watched where he put his hands when he got up he’d be fine.
“It ain’t proper for omegas to swear,” Frank insisted, among a string of other admonishments. Frank was a beta himself, and half the reason he was even there was because he didn’t think it proper for two young omegas to be left alone in the park. Jack thought it ridiculous and old-fashioned but didn’t mind the company. Billy probably rather did mind in that moment, to judge by his expression, but then he eyed the way Frank was now swishing his half-carved stick, which might not resemble art but did make a very passible switch. And both omegas knew Frank well enough to know he’d use it if he felt an omega needed reminding of their place. Jack still heard Billy mumbling swears, but quietly and turned away from Frank.
Jack was smiling, not laughing but just content, when he felt the tickle along his inner thigh.
He was out in the natural part of the park and he’d already felt a few tickles; insects, grass. It was natural to swat at whatever it was and he did so without even fully registering the intent, jerking his leg instinctively as he did.
The sudden agonizing pain broke him out of his stupor with a shout and he sat up, thankfully avoiding the patch of nettle that Billy had so helpfully pointed out. His friends turned and stared.
“Something stung me,” he explained, in what was a remarkably calm voice considering the serious hot poker of pain that still radiated from his thigh. He’d been stung before, but never on a place so sensitive and it just seemed to go on and on, for a moment it’d lessen before flaring up again almost as bad as the first sting.
“See, bees are awful!” Billy exclaimed, while Frank more helpfully put down his carving and stood up.
“Let me see,” he said, in the same tone a father might have with their young son. Normally Jack didn’t really mind when non-omegas got all paternal or maternal with him, even if many of his mates thought it demeaning. But the tone also said Frank wouldn’t let this go, and as high up on his thigh as the sting was, there was no way to show it except by lowering his trousers. Quite aside from the indecency (and Jack could get in trouble for that if the park attendant caught them, unlikely though that was) Jack was particularly shy about being seen undressed. He didn’t even let his omega friends see him in his pants, never mind that most omegas shared heats together (when they couldn’t get an alpha) and considered it natural. Jack spent his heats alone, sticking his fingers up his vagina for relief because he was too embarrassed to buy an implement or even to make one. People didn’t really consider it sex if omegas did it together, but Jack was a complete virgin by any definition of the word and he wasn’t about to start letting someone have a peak now, even if they didn’t mean it sexually.
“I’m fine,” Jack said quickly.
“If it’s a bee, you have to get the stinger out,” Billy put in, trying to look concerned and helpful but Jack could see him grinning behind Frank.
“I’m fine,” he growled more firmly, and tried moving his legs to prove it. Which rather did the opposite when the second sting came. Only whatever it was had crawled even higher, and it wasn’t at his thigh. The stinger plunged into the omega’s vulva. Where exactly, Jack could not say, because if he had thought the thigh overly sensitive, it was nothing compared to the agony of a sting to his mound, and the pain was so sudden and so intense that all he really understood was that it was his groin, and that it hurt.
He shrieked so loud that birds took flight from the tree, then danced up while hunching over at the same time, cupping at the place that hurt. This was a mistake, as it agitated the creature even more and a second later there was another sting, and then another, and then a fourth, all in extremely quick succession and every last one to his poor vulva. If he had had balls, like a beta or alpha male, those would probably have got the brunt of it. As it was, the insect (as it must be) first stung his labia, twice, then, Jack’s squirming only driving it in deeper, managed to plunge its stinger into the edge of his vagina, like some horrific miniature dick. It stung at his hole again and again before Jack’s agitated movements had it moving, still stinging all the while it climbed. It stung into the space between his inner folds and finally, and perhaps most horrifically, as if guided by some cruel and perverse instinct to do its worst, though more likely due to the natural curves of the body, it made its way up and it stung directly on Jack’s unprotected clit.
Jack could not even scream anymore, the agony so complete he felt on the verge of passing out. Instead, he acted on an understandable instinct; the insect must have crawled up his trousers and into his knickers and the only and obvious way to make it stop was to remove them. Within seconds of the discovery, half mad from agony and not fully aware of his own actions, he was struggling to get clothes off that were not particularly designed to come off easily. He had to throw off his jacket so he could get at his suspenders, and all the while he hopped about, the wasp, for it must be a wasp, bees don’t keep stinging and stinging, was still agitated and still showing it to the best of its ability. It stung a second time right on the clit, and again, and again, some half dozen times before it finally went further up, and stung yet again, now on his dick which, like most male omegas, hung limply over the clit. And then Jack’s pants were at his ankles and he (and everyone else in the area) could finally see the perpetrator of all that fuss. It was a wasp, a large and angry looking one.
“Damn,” said Billy who’d come over to stare, and Frank didn’t even scold him for language. Both men just stood there and watched as the wasp, free from the confines of Jack’s clothing, didn’t fly away but turned about, then plunged a wicked looking stinger directly into the head of Jack’s little cock, not once, but several times in rapid succession.
Jack didn’t scream because he’d never fully stopped screaming, but he did finally manage to swat it way, half sobbing as agonized tears ran down his face. It had managed to sting him no less than twenty times, though many of the stings were so close together they were never certain of this; only that it was way more than ten but probably less than thirty. At any rate, counting the stings would prove difficult because this was not the end of Jack’s bad luck and stings were not the only injury he would face.
He swatted away the wasp, but, unfortunately, he also tried to move away, still moving on instinct, and his own clothes, pooled as they were at his ankles, tripped him up. He twisted and fell. And he landed, bare skinned, directly in that large patch of stinging nettles Billy had warned him over.
Rather unfortunately, the bare skin in question was his arse, thighs, and mound.
Billy was not wrong about those nettles being a particularly nasty specimen; the sting was very different from the wasp stings but to such sensitive areas it was horrifically intense and all over, all at once. For one moment, it felt like falling onto ice, then in the next the ice burned. Jack let out another shriek, having somewhat gotten his breath back during the very brief moment of escaping the wasp before falling into the fire, so to speak, and had the very unfortunate instinct of rolling away from the nettles, seeing as his legs were still wrapped up in clothes and not useful for getting him to his feet. The patch, as Billy had said, was a large one, and instead of rolling out of it, he rolled further into it and only succeeded in exposing the front half of his body to the very sensation his back half had just experienced.
At this point, his groin radiating a sick agony, and every bare inch of skin now on fire, he just lay helplessly in the nettles and started sobbing. He was sure nothing could get worse.
He was wrong.
“Here, I’ll get you out of there,” Billy offered, and, perhaps not realizing what would happen or perhaps finally revealing a level of sadism Jack had never noticed in him before, Billy ‘helped’ by grabbing Jack’s ankles and dragging him through the nettles. Whether Billy intended it or not, the result in forcing Jack along the ground that way was that the plants rubbed not only at the parts exposed, but caught at the fork of his legs and soon nettle leaves were forced deep between the folds of his labia, coating every last inch of his vulva and thighs with their cruel sting. In addition his shirt, loosened in his stripping, rode up until his chest, which had been protected, was now exposed all the way up past his nipples.
Jack, naturally, squirmed, trying to escape or righten himself, managing to go from his front again to his back, which again was the worst thing he could have done because now his back was exposed, and the fork of his legs still caught them at his vulva, but also up his crack and against his anus.
He kept squirming anyway because it was impossible to be dragged through a bed of nettles and not try to escape the feeling of stinging fire as more and more nettles were forced harshly into very sensitive areas. And all the while, the multiple wasp stings to sensitive areas radiated agony.
“Idiot,” Frank told Billy, and he was old fashioned enough to believe Billy was an idiot rather than a sadist, as Jack now suspected. “You took him the long way through. Here, let me take him.”
And Jack was finally lifted free of the nettles and settled in the grass, though a few nettles came with him, stuck in his folds and up his crack. Jack sobbed quietly, mostly naked and in more pain than he thought possible. He tried to hold his hands to the worst of it, at his groin, both because it hurt and because he was with it enough to recognize he was exposing himself out in public, but Frank batted his hands away saying “Let me see,” and then didn’t protest when Billy helpfully grabbed Jack’s hands to force him to comply.
Having another man examine his most private places had Jack blushing bright red in humiliation, and he tried to squirm away again, actually preferring to writhe in pain over this, especially since Frank had no way to stop the pain, but the two men didn’t seem to care what Jack wanted and held him in place. Frank parted Jack’s legs and Jack was too weak to stop him as he felt the man’s hands gently probe first his dick, then between his folds. He was pulling the nettles away, for all the good it did the sting. Even if they managed to wash away the nettle fibers, experience said the pain would go on for hours still. If not days.
“The wasp got you good, didn’t it?” Frank murmured, “Already swelling.” His touching the stings brought the pain anew, and then he actually pushed his finger at Jack’s vagina, then inside it. He had to press hard; the stings at his opening were already swelling to a point that made it difficult. Even worse, some of the stinging nettle still caught between his folds moved with the finger, over the stings and inside him.
“Stop,” Jack tried to beg, tried to close his legs again, feeling a mixture of intense agony as the finger, and nettle, pressed passed swollen and sensitive places where the wasp had stung and humiliation at another man’s finger burrowing into such an intimate location. No one listened.
“Got to make sure it didn’t get you any deeper,” Frank insisted, as if he couldn’t have just asked. As if he weren’t making it go deeper with his actions.
“Stop,” Jack sobbed out again, because he had a man touching him where he barely allowed himself to touch. And because it hurt blazingly with every probe. Frank just calmly went in deeper and deeper, large and intrusive, calm and paternal, as if he weren’t molesting Jack. Then Frank suddenly paused, an odd look coming over his face, as if having his finger sunk into Jack’s tight heat had revealed something.
“You’ve never been with anyone?” he said, not exactly a question, or not one for Jack, because a moment later Frank shook his own head and said, “Of course you haven’t, a good omega like you.”
Then he pulled his finger out and sat back. For one long moment, he just looked down at where Jack lay, open and exposed, Billy still holding his wrists and half leaning on him to stop him escaping. Jack turned his face to look away, hiding in the only way he could. He tried to stop sobbing, trembling, to get himself under control so he could get dressed and they could leave and he could bathe his enflamed body. Take medicine to dull the pain. Put the horrible morning behind him. He knew it’d be ages yet before the pain was nothing but a memory, but at least he could get away from this moment. He couldn’t relax, though, not when he was in this much pain, not knowing that two men could see his private parts, not when he had no control.
Finally, Billy did let go of his wrists and when Jack turned to look, Frank had taken a few steps and wasn’t looking at him anymore. Shaking, still crying, Jack started the slow but necessary process of redressing. His clothes, still at his ankles, were full of nettles and by necessity he had to shake them out first. That meant taking them all the way off before they could go on.
He was standing in the grass in his bare feet, his shirt pulled down as far as he could make it to at least give himself some decency, and shaking out his knickers, trying not to touch the nettles that doubtless still had some sting left in them, when things got even worse.
“Oy, what do you think you’re doing?!” a voice called. “This is a public park!”
The park attendant had come where he never comes, drawn from Jack’s own screams likely. And it was a punishable offense to be uncovered in the park. Granted, Jack had a rather good excuse as far as excuses go…but the attendant was known for being unreasonable and quick to abuse his power.
“I…there was a wasp…” Jack started to explain, his voice coming out in gasps because he was still shaking and still crying. He pulled at the bottom of his shirt, self-conscious and wanting to be anywhere else.
“Sorry, sir,” Frank put in, beta to beta, and he explained, how Jack had come to be in such a state. “So he’ll get his clothes on and we’ll get him home.”
“Rules are rules,” the park attendant answered, no pity in his gaze. In fact, there was something hungry in his look as his eyes raked up and down Jack’s body, taking in the clearly enflamed skin on his legs and the way his shirt only barely hid that Jack’s bottom was entirely bare. “Uncovering your genitals comes with a fine of five pounds…” all three made a dismayed noise at that. Five pounds was around half a month’s paycheck. The three of them together didn’t have five pounds saved up, and that was assuming the other two even agreed to help. From the smirk on the park attendant’s face, he well knew they didn’t have the means to pay off that kind of fine as he continued with the alternative. “…or you can accept punitive correction. For this kind of sordid crime, you get a minimum of half an hour on display in the pillory and five hits with the implement of my choice.”
Jack felt his bad day could never end. He was in pain and he already felt vulnerable and on display without literally being left on display. And five hits would only add to his pain even if the attendant chose to use something light and forgiving to hit with. Which Jack doubted. He’d probably hit him with the heaviest thing he had at hand and aim for where it would hurt the worst; right over his severely stung groin.
To Jack’s horror, neither Billy nor Frank made an effort to come to Jack’s aid or to suggest pooling to pay the fine with their mates. Between all of them, they’d have been able to manage five pounds. But Frank just nodded, as if he thought the park attendant perfectly right and said, “I guess, rules are rules. Sorry, Jack.” And Billy was openly smirking, as if he were looking forward to seeing Jack hurt and humiliated. How had Jack never noticed that about Billy before? Sure, he had a dark sense of humor and teased to no end, past the point of fun a time or two, but to actively root for a friend to be hurt?
“Please,” Jack tried to speak up for himself, “I didn’t mean to…I don’t even like…I…”
“Which will it be, the fine or the punishment?”
Jack was tempted to say fine, even knowing he could never pay it on his own, but he was already feeling so much pain and so much humiliation that another half an hour and five hits more would surely barely register. And then he could go home, and not have to worry about the rent or owing his friends as would happen if he paid the fine. Assuming they even let him when he didn’t have the cash on hand.
“The…the second,” he stuttered out, and then, because everything would be infinitely better if he could just be clothed, he moved to put his clothes on.
“Hold on,” the attendant said, stopping him, “You have to say it. For the record, to show you fully know what you are choosing. Say you want to be bent over with your limbs locked in place and beaten instead of paying the fine.”
Face feeling like a furnace, which nicely matched the rising rash from the nettles, Jack grit his teeth and nonetheless managed to say, “I want to be put in the pillory and beaten instead of paying the fine.”
That seemed to satisfy the attendant, but he still didn’t let Jack get dressed.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “You wanted to expose yourself in the park? Well, the punishment is meant to fit the crime. Now you’ll stay exposed all the time you’re bent over, your legs spread so everyone can see your pussy. And how they’ll stare in wonder at how ruined it looks after I finish beating it.”
It probably already looked pretty ruined after the wasp stings and the nettles, and Jack found himself shaking harder, shocked at the crude language and the description of what was to come. He glanced instinctively for Frank; there was no way Frank would let language like that pass. But Frank had moved a few steps back, looking uncomfortable but silent, as if he hadn’t heard. Maybe he hadn’t. Either way, he was no help, and Jack was left to speak for himself.
“Actually,” he said, “I think I’ll pay the…”
“You made your decision and stated it,” the park attendant interrupted, “No going back now.”
“Not like you have five pounds anyway,” Billy pointed out helpfully. He was certainly close enough to hear the crudity of the attendant’s words.
“Just take your punishment,” Frank advised, having come closer while Jack had hesitated. “You did, after all, choose to strip down in the park.”
“There was a wasp!” Jack exclaimed, so indignant at the suggestion that he deserved this that he overcame some of his own fear and shock over what was happening.
“Come along,” the attendant ordered. He grabbed up Jack’s discarded clothes himself, including the shoes, and Jack had to hobble along after him bare from the waist down, his shirt only barely able to hide his private bits from view. He had half a mind to make a run for it instead, but he doubted he’d get far dressed as he was and it would only make the punishment worse.
The pillory chosen was not the more popular one at the center of the park, to Jack’s surprise and relief. In fact, at that moment the only witnesses remained the attendant and Jack’s two friends. It was still in the wilder area of the park, next to a small pond. Jack could hear frogs and the whine of insects and birdsong. It was a peaceful and rather pretty place, which was small comfort for what was about to happen.
“Go on, bend over it, then,” the attendant ordered, once they were standing before the rather innocent looking torture device arranged on the edge of the path, near a small bench. It wasn’t like the medieval pillory; rather than having his head and hands latched into a wooden plank, there was an adjustable metal bar that went up or down as needed so as to be the right height for the punished. Jack had to bend over it at the hip and grab a second bar where his upper torso was to rest, also adjustable, before being locked in at his wrists and ankles. Ideally, he’d be latched in such a way that his full weight could rest on the bars. It wouldn’t be comfortable with all his weight on his feet, pelvis, and shoulders, but it wouldn’t be painful or harmful either. That position required the attendant to adjust the bars to the correct distances.
The park attendant, sadistic bastard that he was, forced Jack’s legs so wide before he latched them in place that Jack had to go up high on his toes to have any weight on them at all, instead of all on the bar at his pelvis, and the bar that was meant to be at his shoulders was just a tad too far, so if he shifted at all he’d slip until it was his neck at the bar instead. He had to use his own muscles to remain in a position even remotely comfortable.
“You weren’t lying about that wasp,” the attendant remarked with an impressed whistle as he set about making sure Jack was completely immobilized and exposed. “I’ve never seen a cunt so red and swollen in my life. Looks like you spent your heat with a rutting bull…or tried to bed a cactus.”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pretend he wasn’t there, and repeated in his head over and over ‘half an hour…half an hour’. He couldn’t help but make a squeaking sobbing sound when the attendant actually put a hand out to touch him between his legs. The fingers ghosted almost gently over the stings.
“Is that what happened? Did that wasp decide to bed you? Poor little omega, spread its legs hoping for honey and instead got a sharp sting?” His fingers pressed more firmly into Jack’s mound. Open and exposed as he was, Jack could do nothing, though his legs jerked in his instinctive attempts to close them. For the second time that day, a finger found its way into his hole. This finger felt even more intrusive, rough and cruel. No gentle or slow push but a stab, and Jack howled, the humiliation and horror second only to the agony. It felt like a knife and reawakened the venom in the wasp stings as well as the sting of the nettles.
“Don’t you worry,” the attendant said, sounding oddly calm. Not a beta lusting over an omega. An attendant doing his job. “I’ll plug these holes up before I leave you; you might get some groping fingers but you won’t leave here with a pregnant belly from some stranger. We do things civilized here.” Jack barely heard or understood, all his attention on the feeling of that finger. The attendant hadn’t just put it in, he immediately started thrusting it in and out, fucking the omega’s virgin hole as hard and fast as he could. Jack tried to tell him to stop but it came out incoherent, in a sob. He waited in vain for his friends to protest this treatment. Finally, the attendant jerked his finger out and absently wiped the resulting mix of slick and blood on Jack’s shirt.
“Now, let’s do this properly. First, I’ll set on this sign your name, what you’re being punished for, and the time of your release. Name?”
It took Jack far too long to even understand it was a question. He didn’t have a chance to decide whether or not he could get away with making something up. Frank, voice sounding oddly musky, answered for him.
“Naughty omega Jack exposed his privates in the park in front of two witnesses…” the attendant muttered as he wrote, “To be released at…” he looked at his watch and squinted, as if doing some hard mathematical equation… “Let’s see, if now it is 10:06…let’s round up to 10:15, that’s easier…then three and a half hours would be…”
“Around 2,” Billy answered helpfully.
“2pm it is,” the attendant decided, and wrote that on the board with his chalk. It still took a moment for Jack to comprehend what that meant. Most of his attention was still on the phantom sensation of a stranger’s finger raping his cunt, and the rest had mostly been worrying about the five hits he knew were coming soon, likely to his already extremely sore vulva. And if not there, well, everywhere was sore, thanks to the nettles. So he can be forgiven for not catching on very quickly. When the words did register, he felt the blood draining from his face.
“You said…you said half an hour,” he protested, since clearly his ‘friends’ had no intention of intervening on his behalf. If he had been more with it, he’d have realized that, far from helping Jack, Billy’s bad mathematics were extending his torture.
“I said the ‘minimum’ is half an hour,” the attendant corrected, sounding oddly like a teacher correcting a student. “The maximum is three and a half. And that’s what I’m assigning you.”
That, Jack was certain, was not fair. If he had known that, he might well have suffered the fine, no matter that five pounds was a ridiculously high fee for the offence. But fairness was not the only thing running through his mind. Had the ‘five’ hits also been the minimum?
“How…how many…” Jack stuttered out, not quite bringing himself to ask.
“How many hits am I about to give you?” asked the attendant. “Let’s see…the minimum is five and the maximum is…sixty.” While Jack was still faint with horror, the attendant bent over him in a cruel parody of intimacy to whisper into his ear, “So I am going to be smacking your swollen, wasp fucked fanny over and over until it’s so purple and ruined it won’t even look like a cunt anymore. I’ll make sure I get your arse and thighs for a few hits too; you won’t be sitting for at least a month by the time I’m done. And after I beat you, I’m going to stuff your holes and you are going to have to stay like that for hours and hours while upstanding visitors come and look. I call my paddle Cunt-buster because that’s what it does. Unofficially, of course. We got to dot our i’s and cross our t’s for the paperwork, but this beauty…hard wood drilled with holes…stops air resistance you see…and studded with metal for that extra oomph. Usually doesn’t draw blood, just tenderizes the flesh a bit…but you’re already so ruined maybe it will. And after…the mosquitos will eat you alive, just you wait. You are in for a loooong and painful time.”
Then he stood back up and unlocked a small and innocuous chest next to the pillory where further instruments of punishment were kept, including a selection of implements for beatings. Jack waited in vain for his friends to share their horror or ire at the turn this had taken. The attendant was capable of anything but if they protested…the attendant had to know this was unfair, had to know that if the three of them together protested it could be him in trouble…they could lessen this, at the very least talk him back down to five hits.
No protests came. They were so quiet, Jack wasn’t even sure they were still there. Anyone could be there, or not there, behind him where he couldn’t see, staring at his exposed body. Jack again, uselessly, tried to close his legs. All that happened was the wasp stings flared up worse, and the burning rash from the nettles amplified everything.
“Ready for your beating?” the attendant asked, sounding all official again. “I am to administer sixty hits with my chosen implement, a wooden paddle, to the miscreant’s rear.”
No protests came. Jack was too done with the whole thing to voice his own complaint or to do anything but tremble in his restraints and wait for things to get worse. Billy, Jack suspected, was looking forward to Jack being beaten. Why Frank said nothing, Jack had no idea, but thought it might have something to do with this being official. Most of their class had a healthy disdain for authority figures that often were unfair and cruel, but Frank, privileged in the way beta men everywhere were, still approved of discipline when it came to omegas like Jack. This was extreme, but maybe to Frank it was acceptable. Jack didn’t think he’d be able to look at either of his friends the same way again after this.
“No need to count out loud,” the attendant said, which was all the warning he gave before raising his arm and aiming for Jack’s completely vulnerable vulva. The paddle was as he described, heavy and studded. It was long enough to get the entirety of Jack’s vulva in one go, but narrow enough ensure the blows were concentrated. The result was a loud and slightly wet slapping noise, followed by an agonized scream. Jack hadn’t finished screaming before he was hit again, on the same spot, and then again. It hurt worse than he could comprehend, worse than anything he had experienced up to that point. Part of it was of course the blunt object battering a very sensitive location with bruising force. Part of it was how the stings and the nettles combined had already enflamed his skin and made it even more sensitive than usual. Part of it was the way the hit and the stinging combined into one tortuous agony that was greater than any one part. The paddle hurt, and the stings hurt, and the nettles, and all together it was unendurable agony. Except Jack had to endure, had no choice, because he could not will himself unconscious or escape. And the attendant hit there again. And again. And again.
After the first ten, the attendant did switch it up, hitting Jack’s sit spots with unerring accuracy that was sure to leave deep bruises under the nettle stings. By that point, the pain in his groin was so great that not hitting it hardly made a difference except to spread the pain wider.
Jack didn’t count, couldn’t count. He cried, mumbling words without fully realizing it, words like ‘No, please, no more, stop, it hurts, it hurts so bad, I can’t, stop, no…” over and over, barely coherent through his sobbing and cries.
The attendant hammered the paddle against his arse, then thighs, again and again and again until each both had received at minimum twenty hits each. Then he paused to inspect his work. Jack’s backside had already been flushed red from the nettles, and that hadn’t really changed except the backdrop had darkened. Before it was pink with tiny raised bumps from the nettles; now it still had those bumps but the effect was more purple than red. And between his legs, the wasp stings had bled slightly when he received them. It left his vulva and penis looking swollen and bloodied. Now the entire area was flushed a deep, dark purple, and it was already swelling in such a way to make it hard to tell where exactly the original stings had been.
He hit Jack again, aiming for the swollen mound between Jack’s leg, giving it ten solid whacks. Then, while Jack was trying to remember how to breathe, feeling pain so intense it was all he knew, the attendant paused again and stepped back. He still didn’t put down the paddle.
“Now…” said the attendant, “How many more do I have left?”
If Jack had been coherent enough to count, he’d immediately protest that the attendant had actually already given all sixty hits. He had long lost count, though, so it was up to Frank and Billy to answer.
Perhaps Frank hadn’t counted either. That could explain why he didn’t correct Billy when he immediately answered, “I think about fifteen left, sir.” Frank did let out a sound, something like a moan, but nothing else.
“Fifteen, then,” said the attendant. And he turned all his strength into destroying the swollen, purple vulva. He hit hard, and he hit fast, giving Jack no time to get used to it or adjust. With how much everything already hurt, it was hard to imagine it could hurt worse, but it did. Jack could almost feel his own sanity shattering as his mind tried to process the pain and couldn’t.
He screamed, shrill and long, struggling uselessly to escape, as every inch of his cunt was brutally beaten. Those fifteen final hits alone would have been too much to bear, but on top of the twenty already given, on top of the forty more to the rest of his backside, on top of the stings and the nettles, it was unendurable agony.
No one, except Jack who was too incoherent to form the word ‘stop’, protested. This wasn’t Jack’s first beating, not even his first beating to such a sensitive area, but never in his life had he been beaten so hard and so long when he was already in pain and overly sensitive.
The pain went on until Jack felt the edges of reality fraying, the pain so beyond what he could bear that he no longer fully comprehended the park, or even his restraints; he knew pain and that was all he knew. He was on the edge of passing out completely. He welcomed the oncoming break from pain. Somehow, those final fifteen seemed to last an eternity, but finally the attendant stopped. Jack didn’t pass out, just hoarsely kept whimpering while sickening pain radiated in hot throbs through his entire body.
“Now, I just need to plug those holes up to stop passing perverts from raping your unprotected sex. See, to stop ‘em we put this special mixture on the plug, so even if they pull the plug out it will hurt them too much to shove their dicks in. It’s made from a mixture of ghost peppers, ginger, and mint combined. Won’t feel good in your hole, I’m afraid, but better than leaving fucked full of cum, right?”
Jack barely understood his words as the attendant dropped the paddle back in the box and rummaged for new devices of torture. The ‘plug’ he chose was actually a massively oversized punishment dildo, thicker than a wine bottle and covered in an uncomfortable mesh of both tiny holes and miniscule needles. The needles were tiny enough that they wouldn’t even draw blood, just enough to make things that little bit more uncomfortable every time the omega clinched or shifted once it was inserted. It was the holes that were truly insidious; they were there to allow the slow release of whatever lube or liquid one wished to include. After all, Jack was going to be there for hours; it wouldn’t do for the attendant’s ‘special mixture’ to dry up in the meantime.
Said mixture was first poured into the dildo, and then smothered over it to help with the insertion process. Jack mostly missed these preparations, being still incoherent with pain from everything before, but the attendant was ‘kind’ enough to move around and show Jack exactly what he was about to shove up his virgin hole. Most of the dildo was hard rubber, but the back end of it was softer because it had a pump that allowed it to increase in size like an alpha’s knot. That was the only part of it that actually resembled a plug rather than a dildo.
The attendant rubbed the massive device against Jack’s cheek, letting him feel the roughness of the miniscule spines, the burn of the mixture, the sheer size of the thing, before pressing its tip against Jack’s lips, before Jack fully understood the intent or could clench his jaw to guard against it, it was being forced into his mouth until he was gagging on it, jaw aching from the sheer girth.
The mixture burned his lips and tongue, like mouthing the spiciest foods imaginable and then some, and tears streamed from his eyes that only somewhat had to do with the pain and humiliation.
“First time sucking cock?” the attendant asked. “Won’t be your last, I imagine. Get the tip good and wet; the mixture is good for deterring perverts but not so good as a lube, except for being wet.” Jack mostly ignored the instructions, too out of it by that point to either fully comprehend the point he was making, just knowing that the attendant was continuing to torment him in new ways, but it was soon coated with his saliva and drool in any case. The attendant pushed it in and out a bit, each thrust releasing more of the burning fiery liquid, before pulling it away and moving back to Jack’s exposed vulva. He touched him again, pressing his fingers between his folds, enjoying the heat radiating from the beaten parts, while Jack started sobbing, helpless and in pain.
When the dildo was pressed to his cunt, the sobs turned to voiceless wails, the fiery liquid burning his over sensitive cunt lips and renewing every pain he had thus far suffered even before it was inserted. Then the attendant thrust, hard. Despite this, the monster thing didn’t go in, not on the first push, or the second. Jack was too swollen, too virginal and unprepared to take something so large. But the attendant didn’t give up, just braced himself and used all his strength, and after a long moment of intense hard pressure, the head of the thing finally forced open Jack’s hole and went inside.
Jack’s day was not going well. The stings were horrible, but at least not a deliberate attack. The nettles were less accidental. Being restrained and exposed and beaten was beyond horrible, while his so-called friends did nothing to protest or protect him. And now he was being raped by a tortuous device and still not a protest to be heard. It was humiliating, and dehumanizing, and straight up torture. The liquid by itself was more than he could bear, but having something so large being inserted into his tight, untouched hole, the pain of the stretch escalated into something he literally could not take. He passed out.
If the world were a kinder place, his friends would have put a stop to this. If Jack had even a tiny bit of things working in his favor, he would have stayed passed out for the rest of his punishment. Neither of these things happened. He passed out, but only for a moment. The world went away completely, his vision white, and then his brain reset itself and he had to endure the feeling of something unimaginably large and painful being fucked into his cunt, while his friends watched.
The attendant grunted, working hard as he forced it deeper and deeper, Jack far too tight to easily take it and its own nature making it harder to force in, not being smooth but rough edged. This too made the whole process more painful for Jack, and it went on and on, each hard thrust only slightly inching deeper. He could feel it inside him, touching places nothing had touched before, forcing him open slowly but surely, alighting new nerves with painful fire with every new inch. After a bit, it felt so deep that it didn’t seem possible to go deeper. But it did. And then some more. Finally, finally, when it was pressed so deep it literally could not go deeper because it was pressing at his womb, it stopped.
“There we go,” said the attendant. “Let’s just adjust it now, shall we?”
And to Jack’s horror, the attendant grasped the end and pulled it out again, until only the tip was in, and then he thrust it yet again all the way back. And then he did that again. And again. At first he went slow and careful, aware of how the hole he was battering was new to this, how it fought every rough thrust. It wasn’t kindness that made him go slow but necessity; it was hard work. As the movement forced his hole to loosen, to take it, he was able to go faster and faster, until he was literally fucking the virgin hole with the dildo. Soon it was raping him just as hard and fast as the paddle had beaten him, cruelly rough and deep, the attendant expertly twisting or changing the angle, knowing every movement added to the omega’s pain.
“Please, no more, please,” Jack tried to plead, though he had almost no voice left anymore, “It hurts so bad, I can’t take it anymore, please, no, it hurts, it hurts, it’s too much, I can’t, stop, please…” over and over he pleaded but the attendant didn’t stop, if anything went harder and faster.
“Take it, bitch, I’m going to ruin your cunt, beat it so hard you’ll never be able to take another dick without feeling this one. Gonna rape your pussy raw, then leave you stuffed and exposed for everyone to see.” His voice was coming out a bit breathless as he worked himself into a sweat raping the omega.
Finally, finally, he shoved it in as deep as he could force it, so he could feel it painfully forced against his womb, and he didn’t pull it out again. Instead, he started pumping the base, making the ‘knot’ inflate and inflate until Jack’s hole, that had barely taken the original girth, was stretched around a bulge that was at least an inch wider, the soft rubber now hard and taut as he puffed it as far as it could go. He didn’t stop until the hole, already bleeding from the beating and the wasp stings, was now bleeding from being forced beyond its capacity. Then he pushed on something else, that forced out a thick spurt of the burning liquid inside it.
“Take it out, it hurts, I can’t, please,” Jack tried to babble, mostly incoherently.
“There you go, all plugged. Now, just your rear hole; wouldn’t want to block the front door only for the perverts to go in the rear, right?”
He pulled out a second dildo. It wasn’t quite as thick as the first, but longer, and otherwise was identical. He took less time over it, clearly tired out from fucking Jack’s cunt. Just quickly added the liquid, then, without any kind of warning, let alone ‘lubing’ it with Jack’s spit, he pressed it to Jack’s anus and shoved. It went in slightly more easily, both because the wasp hadn’t gotten Jack there and because the hole received more regular use through bodily functions, but it wasn’t prepared in the slightest and the sudden insertion of something going the wrong way in his hole was in no way pleasant. The attendant pushed it in and in, until Jack felt almost certain he could feel his gut rearranging itself to take it, and the liquid burned and did the bare minimum to ease the way.
“Not there, please, no,” Jack babbled, “It burns, it hurts, please, I can’t, please…”
The attendant, clearly tired and less interested in this hole, only fucked it for a couple of minutes before he inflated the base to its full girth. Then he stood up, slapped Jack’s burning arse, and said, “See you at 2. Or should we add half an hour, since the insertions took so long, and that really shouldn’t count as part of your time? Let’s say, 2:30 then.”
And the attendant left, his gait slightly awkward, as if his own groin were giving him some difficulties. Jack shook, his holes burning, and with every twitch, every unavoidable clinch and his body naturally tried to get rid of the intrusion, the pain notched up as the prickles and the oils did their job.
And to think, the day had started so well, and all this came about from a single wasp. A single wasp and less than useful friends.