Chapter 14: Weekend with Omari and his friends

Sylvia hung there, her body trembling as she desperately tried to squeeze her buttocks together, doing everything she could to keep the vibrating dildo lodged in her anus from slipping out completely. The effort was excruciating, every muscle in her lower body straining to maintain the impossible position. Her legs were spread wide, forced into a full split with her feet balanced on either side of the chin-up bar poles. The vibrating dildo was nearly out of her anus, and the struggle to hold it in place by squeezing her buttocks together, her rectum tight, was a constant, humiliating reminder of her helplessness.

The seven boys surrounding her watched with cruel amusement, their eyes fixed on her every movement. They laughed and jeered, finding entertainment in her desperate attempts to clench her buttocks, an action so clearly observable that it deepened her humiliation. Sylvia’s face burned with shame, her body quivering as she desperately fought to hold on to the vibrating dildo in her anus. But the driving force behind her struggle, what forced her to try with all her might despite the extreme shame and embarrassment she felt; it was the fear. Omari, the short boy who seemed to take pleasure in her suffering, had warned her not to let the dildo fall. His friends, who stood menacingly close with rubber rods in hand, were her reminder of the consequences she might face.

“Pu-pu-please, O-omari, ca-can Ie-let go of the di-dildo, pu-please?” Sylvia begged, her voice trembling with desperation. “ It’so so ha-hard, please.” She knew that none of her previous pleas had softened this boy’s heart, but she was desperate, clinging to the hope that he might show her some mercy.

To her surprise, Omari’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of mockery in his voice as he replied,” Alright, Auntie, I gonna let you.”

Relief flooded Sylvia she stopped squeezing her buttocks, relaxed her anal muscle and let the gravity do the rest. Omari reached down and caught the dildo as it fell out of her anus. The tension in her body finally released, allowing her to relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She let out a shaky breath, her muscles trembling from the strain they had endured.

In the torturous split position Sylvia was forced to maintain, her legs were stretched wide apart, her feet precariously balanced on either side of the chin-up bar poles. Her arms were tied above her head, leaving her body humiliatingly exposed. The strain on her muscles was immense, every inch of her body aching from the unnatural pose. The African boys encircling her were relentless, their eyes gleaming with perverse delight as they observed this beautiful white woman’s every movement.

Sylvia hung there, her body stretched in the reverse T-shape position, shamefully exposed, trembling with fear as she tried to comprehend what Omari was planning next.Her muscles were quivering with exhaustion.

When Omari finally spoke, Sylvia’s heart sank. “ Auntie, ya remember da game we played thisa moaning?” he asked, his tone almost playful. Sylvia’s confusion was evident, and she could only stare at him, her mind racing to understand what he was talking about.

“We play da game dis mornin’,” Omari continued, clarifying her confusion. “ Who cum last. – game. You losta, ya remember, Auntie? Yua forma assist, Malik, wan that game, ya?”

Sylvia’s heart pounded with dread as Omari’s words sunk in. She remembered the humiliating torment, that Omari called ‘game’ in that morning. The memory of her humiliating experience in the sex shop made her feel sick.

“Now we gotta play da penalty game, ya?” Omari announced. “ “Don’a warry, Auntie, the penalty game a gonna be moa fun, ya know? Are ya ready? It’s gon’ be the pussy whacking game. Ya play defense, and ma buddies here play offense, you feel me, Auntie?”

Sylvia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She knew from her public punishment just four days earlier how excruciating such pain could be. The pain had been beyond anything she had ever imagined, and the memory of it still haunted her.

She started to cry, her voice trembling as she begged Omari,” Pu-please, Omari ... I’ll do anything, but pu-please don’t hit me the-there, please ... please ... I’ll do anything you wa-want ... pu-please.”

But Omari was unmoved by her pleas. “ Ya can start by jus’ keeping quiet, Auntie.,” he snapped. “ Ey, if ya don wanna play dis game-a, we can play anoda moa painful game, ya know?”

With that, Omari grabbed and pinched two pink nipples of her large breasts, pulling her nipples up as high as he could. The pain was immediate and intense, and Sylvia cried out, “Ouuu, please stop, uuuuu, it-it hurts, pu-please stop!”

“Eh, yaw anna play ma game, or we play moa painful game, okay?” Omari taunted, his grip tightening as he twisted her nipples cruelly.

“Auuuuueeeeeee, ye-yes, I’ll pu-play the -game, please stop...” Sylvia sobbed, her voice breaking as she pleaded for mercy.

Finally, Omari let go, a smug smile spreading across his face, enjoying the sight of the white woman’s pale melon sized breasts falling and bouncing on her chest.

“Alright den, let’s get dis ting started. Hey fellas! My Auntie here, she wants to play da pussy-whackin’ game, ya!” he announced, his tone filled with sadistic glee.

Jumba and Nia, two boys holding the rubber rods, stepped forward, ready to deliver the first blows. “ Eh, who wan to go first?” Omari asked, and Jumba quickly volunteered,” Ah I go first.”

At that moment, Sylvia couldn’t hold back her dread and fear for the impending pain any longer. She cried out loud, her sobs filling the air as she braced herself for the unbearable pain she knew was coming.

Sylvia’s heart leaped as she heard a loud voice call out, “Hey, Teacha! Hey boys! wassup witha dis?” She twisted her head to see who it was, and to her horror, she recognized Darko, Chaina, and Bongo—three of her students. Unlike the others, these boys were good students, had always treated her with respect. They were the opposite of the misbehaving bullies. A flood of embarrassment and shame surged through Sylvia. The last thing she wanted was for them to see their teacher like this, naked, hanging from a playground chin-up bar with her legs spread wide.

Her immediate, instinctive response was to plead with them to leave, to spare her the added humiliation. “Pu-please don’t l-l-look this way, please, please, look away, pu-please go-go away, pu-please.,” she begged, her voice trembling with desperation.

But Darko, Chaina, and Bongo ignored her words, their concern for their teacher’s well-being overriding any inclination to turn away. They quickened their pace, almost jogging towards her.

Bongo stepped forward, his tone laced with hostility as he asked, “Ey, what you doin’ to our teacha?” Sylvia’s heart leaped with a fragile hope. Maybe, just maybe, her students could rescue her from this nightmare. Though it was three against seven, Darko, Bongo, and Chaina seemed older and taller than Omari and his friends, although she didn’t know their exact ages. In fact, none of the Aprico Islanders knew their own age as they never recorded or celebrated the birth dates, or even years.

Omari responded with a nonchalant shrug, “Auntie Whitey here is ma playdate for today. And we be playing game, ya. Auntie like playing bondeji, games ya? If ya don’t believe, you ask her yourself, ya!” He turned to Sylvia with a sly grin, “Auntie, we be playin’ da playdate game, bondeji game, you wanteda, play, ya?”

Sylvia hesitated; the words caught in her throat. She wanted so desperately to summon the courage to say ‘no,’ to defy him, but then she saw Omari silently mouthing the words, ‘my cousin,’ and a shiver of fear ran down her spine, as she imagined her being tortured and killed by the sadistic criminally insane man.

And what if her three students couldn’t fight off the seven boys surrounding her? Or worse, what if they chose not to help her at all? The fear paralyzed her. Finally, she whispered, “Ye ... yes.”

Omari’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, but he wasn’t done with her yet. “We no hear you, Auntie. Say one more time, ya?”

There was a chuckle from the boys. Sylvia’s humiliation deepened as she stammered, “Ye-yes, I-I am O ... Omari’s playdate.”

But Omari was still not satisfied with just that. He pressed on, continuing her public shaming. “Auntie, are we playing dem bondeji games you wan play or not? Tell your studants say you wan play dis bondejii game. But, be honest ya? If you don wanna play this game, ya, just say so. We stop right now. And I just go back and play with my cousin, you know?”

The threat hung heavily in the air, his mention of his cousin now clearly a part of his intimidation. Sylvia, her voice trembling with total fear, finally said, “Ye-yes, I want want to play this bon ... bondage ... game.”

Chaina shook his head, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. “Oh, Teacha, ya know you already got in hot wata with the principal Tuwme for playing sex games with the bullies. You supposed to learn youa lesson ya, and behave properly like a lady, but now look you, you doin’ that again!”

The words cut through Sylvia like a knife. To hear Chiaina suggests that she was some kind of perverted, sex-crazed woman who enjoyed this humiliating bondage game was more than she could bear. She couldn’t help it—her head dropped in utter shame, and she began to sob, her tears a bitter release of her overwhelming despair.

“Alright den, let’s get dis ting goin’,” Omari said, his tone casual, as if they were about to play a harmless game. Jumba stepped forward, positioning himself in front of her, his eyes locked on her exposed, unshaven vulva between her legs. In his hand, he held a one-meter-long rubber rod—flexible, but sturdy enough to deliver a painful strike. A mean smile curled on his lips, his eagerness for the “game” apparent.

Omari continued,” The game is ‘Hit the Target’ ya. For this game, Auntie’s pussy, be the target for Jumba.” Jumba grinned. “Jumba is da offensive playa, He needs to make his swing sneaky ya, no heads up ya, quick and sudden. Den, ya, Aunty, ya, you are the defensive playa. You need to be quick. If ya see him sqwing, move your hips side to side, let him miss the target.”

The boys around him chuckled at his words, their laughter echoing in Sylvia’s ears like a cruel taunt. Even her students—Darko, Bongo, and Chaina—let out reluctant chuckles, their amusement clearly flickering across their dark-skinned faces. They weren’t stepping in to help her; instead, they seemed resigned to merely watching, perhaps enjoying the twisted spectacle in their own way.

Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest, her fear mounting as she hung there, naked, legs spread wide, trying to mentally prepare for what was to come. The humiliation of being reduced to nothing more than a plaything, combined with the dread of the impending pain, was overwhelming. She knew she had little chance of avoiding the blows, and the thought of the rubber rod striking her sensitive vulva lips filled her with sheer terror.

“Oh, I forgot, Auntie,” Omari began, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement. “Thisa wouldn’t be a good game ay if we didn’t keep score, ya? Here’s how the scoring works. As I said, Jumba gets ten swings. If he hits your pretty little pussy, he gets a point. If he misses, you get a point. If he wins, that is a more than five hits to ya pussy, then, we go for second round, Nia’s turn. If ya win, no second round. So, ya gotta win, Auntie. Besides no second round, getting hit on your thighs, side of your bum is a lot less painful than hit on ya fat pussy, I think ya?” There was loud laughter from the boys, even her students laughed, with only one person not laughing, the white woman hanging there with her legs spread to her sides.

Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. She tried to shift her hips, moving slightly to one side. She could shift her hips a bit. As her legs were in full split with her legs slightly bent, if she stretched one leg and bent the other as hard as she could, her hips shifted sideways an inch or two. It was impossible to escape the strikes completely, but Omari was right, she had to try her best and avoid getting hit squarely on her vulva. It would not only be less painful, but also, her win would let her avoid the 2^nd round, hit from behind where she wouldn’t be able to see the rod coming.

Jumba approached, the long rubber rod swishing menacingly through the air as he tested its flexibility. The sound it made—a sharp, high-pitched whistle—sent a shiver of dread down Sylvia’s spine. The rod was thin, but flexible, and it looked like it could deliver a painful sting. Jumba’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, his lips curling into a mean smile as he looked at Sylvia’s exposed vulva, now the target of his cruel game.

“Let’s get this started,” Omari announced, stepping back to give Jumba room. “First swing, Jumba. Make it count, buddy!”

Sylvia’s entire body tensed, her muscles rigid with fear as she watched Jumba line up his shot. Her mind raced, trying to calculate how she could move to lessen the impact, but there was no escape. She was too exposed, too vulnerable. All she could do was brace herself for the pain.

First Strike:

Swiiish—TWAK!

The sound of the rod slicing through the air was followed by a loud, sickening crack as it made contact with her vulva. The pain was immediate, a sharp, fiery explosion that seemed to radiate from her core out to every nerve in her body. Sylvia’s scream tore through the air, raw and primal, a sound born of pure agony. Her hips jerked violently, twisting as much as they could within the confines of her bindings, but it only seemed to make the pain worse.

The burning sensation was unbearable, a searing heat that pulsed and throbbed in her vulva. It felt as if her most sensitive flesh had been set on fire, the pain spreading through her like a wave of molten lava. She could feel the heat radiating outward, her inner thighs trembling with the intensity of it. Her hips moved frantically, gyrating back and forth in a desperate, instinctual attempt to escape the pain, but there was no relief. The agony was inescapable.

“Oh ya, good one!” Omari laughed, clapping his hands in mock applause. “One point for Jumba, ya? Looks like Anty Snow not off to a great start.”

Sylvia’s tears flowed freely, her sobs shaking her body as she tried to regain some semblance of control. But the pain was overwhelming, her vulva throbbing with each beat of her heart, the burning sensation refusing to fade. She could feel her pulse in the tender flesh, each throb sending another wave of pain through her.

“Ple-please ... please ... mercy, please...” she begged, her voice trembling with fear and desperation.

But her pleas were met with laughter, the dark-skinned African boys around her showing no mercy for the white woman.

Second Strike:

Swiiish—TWAK!

The rod swung again, this time striking the side of her vulva as Sylvia shifted her hips just in time. The pain was still intense, a sharp sting that left her gasping for breath. Sylvia cried out, her body twisting in her bonds, but the strike had missed the most sensitive part of her. It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. The pain still radiated from the impact site, spreading through her like a wildfire, but it was less direct, less concentrated.

“Ha! Almost missed that one, Jumba,” one of the boys called out, his tone mocking. “Snowflake gets a point!” But Omari said, no, that was till on her pussy. “A point for Jumba!” Sylvia wanted to protest, but she was simply in too much pain and agony to mount any type of protest at all.

Sylvia’s hips continued to move, her body writhing in a desperate attempt to shake off the pain. Her vulva still burned, the sensation of the strike lingering long after the rod had pulled away. She could feel the heat, the pulsating throb that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second. It was unbearable, but she knew it was far from over.

“Come on, Whitey, you can do better than that,” another boy jeered, his voice full of cruel amusement. “Twerk! Let’s see you really move those hips!”

Sylvia sobbed, her tears mingling with the sweat that covered her face and body. She tried to steady herself, to prepare for the next blow, but her strength was fading fast. Her body was trembling, her muscles burning with exhaustion and pain.

Third Strike:

Swiiish—TWAK!

This time, the rod landed directly on her vulva again, and the pain was indescribable. It was as if a white-hot blade had been driven into her, the agony so intense that it seemed to blot out everything else. Sylvia’s scream was hoarse, her throat raw from the effort. Her body convulsed, her hips jerking violently as she tried to escape the source of her torment, but there was no escape. The pain was all-consuming, a tidal wave of fire that left her gasping for breath.

Her vulva throbbed painfully, each pulse sending fresh waves of agony through her. The burning sensation was worse than before, a deep, relentless pain that seemed to dig into her flesh and refuse to let go. She could feel the heat radiating outward, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as her body fought to cope with the intensity of it. Her hips moved in a desperate, instinctual dance, her body seeking relief that would never come.

“Three points, Jumba! Keep it up!” Omari’s voice was gleeful, his enjoyment of this white woman’s suffering evident in every word.

Sylvia was barely holding on, her mind struggling to process the sheer amount of pain she was experiencing. She could feel the wetness on her thighs, a mixture of sweat and tears, and something else—her arousal fluid. Even in the midst of such pain, such brutal strikes to her vulva, her body was responding it as if it was a sexual stimulation. She hated her body.

“Please ... please ... I can’t ... I can’t take it...” Sylvia sobbed, her voice broken and full of despair.

“Aw, poor little Auntie can’t handle it!” one of the boys mocked, his tone dripping with false sympathy. “Better get used to it, Whitey!”

Fourth to Sixth Strikes:

Swiiish—TWAK! Swiiish—TWAK! Swiiish—TWAK!

Each strike felt like a fresh assault on her already ravaged body. The rod struck her vulva, her thighs, the tender skin between her legs, each blow bringing with it a new wave of pain. Sylvia’s cries grew weaker, her strength fading with each hit. Her body was a mass of pain, every nerve on fire, her vulva throbbing with a deep, burning ache that refused to subside. The strikes blurred together, each one adding to the cumulative torment that seemed to engulf her entirely.

The boys’ laughter was a constant background noise, their jeers and taunts a cruel reminder of her helplessness.

“Look at Auntie Snow squirm! She’s trying so hard,” one of them called out, eliciting more laughter.

“Beg for the next one, Snowflake! Beg for Jumba to hit you again!” another jeered, his voice full of mockery.

“Please ... please ... no more ... I’m begging you ... please...” Sylvia’s voice was barely a whisper, her entire body trembling with exhaustion and pain. Her hips continued their desperate, instinctual movements, trying to find some relief, but it only seemed to make things worse. The burning in her vulva was relentless, the pain spreading through her like poison.

Seventh to Ninth Strikes:

Swiiish—TWAK! Swiiish—TWAK! Swiiish—TWAK!

Sylvia’s mind was barely holding on, each strike a fresh burst of agony that threatened to overwhelm her completely. Her vulva was a mass of pain, each blow making the burning sensation worse, the heat spreading through her body like wildfire. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, her muscles straining to keep her upright as her body continued to endure the relentless torment. The strikes came one after another, the pain building to a crescendo that made her want to scream until her voice gave out. But she was too weak, too broken, her cries reduced to whimpers of pain.

“Almost there, Jumba! Make this last one count!” Omari encouraged; his voice full of cruel anticipation.

Tenth Strike:

Swiiish—TWAK!

The final blow landed squarely on her vulva, and Sylvia’s body convulsed in response. The pain was beyond anything she had ever experienced, a searing, blinding agony that consumed her entirely. Her scream was raw and broken, her hips jerking violently as she tried to escape the pain. But there was no escape, only the relentless, burning torment that seemed to go on.

They left her hanging for a few minutes, whimpering, moaning in pain. Sylvia felt as if she was about to lose her consciousness, fainting into a deep sleep, when she was awaken by Omari’s loud voice.

“Ay, Auntie Snow! I’m sorry but you lost, ya? Ya only got like two points. So, now, we go go for the second round. Nia will show you some moves from behind ya, eh?.”

Sylvia couldn’t believe her ears. She burst into tears, her sobs raw and filled with despair.

“Please ... please, no-no more ... no more ... have mercy ... please..., I ca ... can’t take it anymore...” Her voice was barely audible through her cries, her body trembling uncontrollably. The pain from the first ten strikes to her now swollen vulva still lingered, a cruel reminder of her torment.

“Ey, Auntie Snow, don’t be quitting on us now, okay?” Omari’s voice was filled with mock sympathy, each word a twisted knife in her already wounded spirit. “You had your chance, but you lost 1^st round, so, Auntie, you have to go for the second round. I’m sorry. It’s the rule.”

Sylvia’s body was a quivering mess of pain and exhaustion, every muscle strained to its limit as she tried to hold the buckets steady. Her skin glistened with sweat, her hair matted against her forehead as she gasped for breath. The pain radiated from her vulva in relentless waves, spreading through her entire body. She felt on the verge of fainting, her mind and body pushed to their absolute limits.

“Pu ... please, O-omari, let’s pu-play some other game, pu-please.,” she whimpered, desperate for any reprieve, her voice a faint whisper of hopelessness.

As Sylvia hung there with her legs spread, her body convulsing with pain, she couldn’t imagine enduring even one more strike to her already swollen and bruised vulva. Her mind raced, trying to find a way out, but all she could manage were desperate pleas for mercy.

“Pu-please ... no more, I can’t t-take it anymore, please...” Her voice was a trembling whisper, barely audible between her sobs. She was on the edge of collapse, her legs shaking uncontrollably. The strain was unbearable, her body drenched in sweat, every muscle quivering.