Chapter 45: Award Ceremony
The humiliating release left Rupert trembling, his body feeling hollowed out and raw. The waiters moved with efficient detachment, unlocking the stocks and helping the three men to their feet. Their legs were unsteady, muscles protesting the sustained crouch. A brief, clinical cleaning followed—cool, damp cloths that did little to erase the memory of what had just transpired. Then, the familiar, unwelcome pressure as the butt plugs were securely re-inserted, a final reminder of their captivity. The hoods were adjusted, leaving their faces exposed to the crowd’s scrutiny, which felt somehow more exposing than being fully masked.
Julia waited until they were standing in a ragged line before her, shivering slightly in the barn’s warm air. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows that made the scene both intimate and grotesque. She picked up a small silver bell from the head table and gave it a sharp ring. The murmur of conversation died instantly, all eyes turning towards her.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Women’s Institute,” she began, her voice projecting through the space with the clarity of her policing days. “We have witnessed a display of… intestinal fortitude.” A ripple of laughter skittered through the room. “The points have been tallied. It is time to announce the standings, and the rewards.”
Rupert’s heart hammered against his ribs. He risked a glance at Margot, who was leaning forward, her expression a mixture of intense pride and nervous excitement.
“In third place,” Julia announced, letting the silence stretch for a moment, “with a distinct lack of control and a frankly pathetic showing in the final test… Contestant Number Two. Henry.”
A sympathetic, or perhaps mocking, sigh went up from the crowd. Henry hung his head, his plump shoulders slumping. Elizabeth, seated at a front table, snorted derisively and took a deliberate sip of her wine.
“The penalty for last place is an extension of your current state,” Julia continued, her tone leaving no room for appeal. “You will remain in chastity for an additional month, under Elizabeth’s strict supervision.”
Henry whimpered softly.
“But,” Julia said, a sharp smile playing on her lips, “that is merely the baseline. A true punishment should fit the lack of achievement. Elizabeth, your prize for enduring such a disappointing performance is a demonstration of what you’ve been missing.” She gestured to the three waiters, who stood attentively by the wall. “These gentlemen will provide you with a thorough… appreciation. And Henry, so you don’t feel left out, you will be returned to the stocks. Three of our members—Agnes, Felicity, and Brenda, I think—will ensure you are… occupied. Pegging, of course. A full sensory experience for all.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, then gleamed with anticipatory vengeance. “Oh, I think that sounds perfectly adequate, Julia. Don’t you, Henry?” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
Henry looked like he might be sick.
“Now, for second place,” Julia turned her gaze to Paolo, who stood with a resigned dignity. “Contestant Number One. You showed promise, but ultimately, your control faltered. You, too, will enjoy another month locked away.”
Paolo gave a slight, ironic bow of his head.
“Your prize, however, is a bit more hands-on. We will begin with a public milking. Right here, in the stocks. I shall attend to it myself.” Dolores, watching from her seat, let out a low, throaty laugh of approval. “But the main event,” Julia continued, “is that you will be installed in the queening throne. For the remainder of the evening, any lady who wishes for a turn, for a bit of oral attention, need only take a seat. You will service them all, until the party’s end.”
A cheer went up from several women. Paolo closed his eyes for a second, a faint smile on his lips, as if calculating the endurance required.
Julia finally turned to Rupert. The room fell into a hushed anticipation. Margot was practically vibrating in her seat.
“And the winner,” Julia said, her gaze lingering on him, “with a surprising display of stubborn resilience. Contestant Number Three. Rupert.”
Margot let out a small, triumphant cry of “Yes!”
“Seventeen points. A commendable score.” Julia took a step closer, studying him as if he were a peculiar specimen. “You have conquered a physical challenge. You have proven you can surrender your body’s basic controls. But as I said, the mind is the final frontier.”
Rupert felt a cold dread pool in his stomach, worse than any enema.
“Your prize,” Julia said, her voice dropping to a confidential tone that nonetheless carried to every corner of the barn, “will be determined by your next choice.”