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I was all for going to the warehouse immediately and looking for the Machine, but cooler heads prevailed. Bert reminded me about the guards. Sue pointed that we didn't have any appropriate clothing for the Wild West. The clothes slowed me down more than the guards. The diaries had notes about the importance of blending in with the local culture and the lethal consequences if this went wrong.It took us almost a week to get everything together. Andrea found costumes from an amateur theater group and some friends that were re-enactors. Bert collected the camping gear, Ernie got the food, and Sue brought two pistols. During the week I scouted around for a likely place to break in to Victory Station.Breaking in was no easy matter. Victory Station is surrounded by a double chain row of chain link fences, both topped with razor wire, fifteen feet a part. Vehicle patrols rode around the perimeter and inspected sites at random intervals. All designed to keep people out. The only way to get in. After a time She told me to follow her on my hands and knees. She led me into her dungeon and commanded me to climb up onto her bench lying on my stomach which she called her whipping and fucking bench. I trembled as I did what she said. She then strapped my arms to the side of the bench and my legs apart at the rear. The bench raised my arse up and the way she strapped my legs meant that my tight little hole was at full view. Before I knew what was happening I felt her strong hand spank my backside. She rained blows down on my cheeks repeatedly telling me how she loved sluts who liked pain and how she could tell I was a complete whore. Her hand moved away and she then replaced it with a paddle. She told me she was going to give me 10 strokes with the paddle. She started to count each one as she beat my arse black and blue. It was agony and I was itching to use to the safe word but desperate to please her by not doing so. After the 10th stroke she gave me an 11th, 12th, 13th it just.
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