by D. A. Maddox
No tears, he thought. This is it, this is it…
Maddy took a knee in front of him, took his hair in hand, holding his face down, not letting him look at her directly. “Who do you think I am, Robbie? Your mother? Do it right this time.” She stood. “Worship me, motherfucker.”
Was she breathing heavy?
“Yes, Mistress Piper,” Robbie said, teeth gritted. But he unclenched his jaw, licked his lips, and did all he could to relax as he leaned down for a second attempt. He cradled her foot along either side with his hands, kissing it several times, stopping only after he had taken each of her toes in his mouth—which made her giggle—and gently sucking on them.
“Better,” she said with a satisfied sigh—and pushed the button again. The tails swatted his outer right thigh below the buttocks and the back of his testicles.
Robbie pressed his forehead to the ground between her feet and wailed.
No tears. No tears…
At that, she yanked his neck up by the leash and started him back toward the center of the Arena.
“Your mistress is working hard to clear your conscience, Robbie,” she quipped over her shoulder. “What do you say?”
Head down, Robbie hesitated to reply. He knew what he was supposed to say…
“You may speak, Robbie.”
Eyes still on the floor, Robbie answered, “Is that all you got, Mistress Piper?”
Even through the far walls and from three stories up, Robbie heard the cheer from outside.
****
As for Maddy, she was sure she was imagining it—or perhaps the tech people had mic’d in the sound as a kind of encouragement. For Robbie.
Whatever. It didn’t matter who made the noise, whether it came from the studio or the parking lot, that cheer had not been against her. It had only been for Robbie, and she was rooting for him, too. There was no compensation, no avoidance of punishment on her own behalf, that would be worth it if she damaged this man in any permanent emotional way.
But, in the meantime, she had to survive her own part as well, and that meant playing it right. She reeled on him, pressed him chest-to-marble with the heel of the foot he had worshipped. She promised him, “Oh, no, Robbie. I’ve got plenty more where that came from. You know what? On second thought, keep your asshole mouth shut. Not another word until I tell you.”
Still using her foot, she pushed his head down until he lay on the side of his face against the stone. She waited for one of the cameras to adjust to floor-level, allowed it to take a ten-second shot of him with her foot against his cheek, eyes wide, her toes scrunching against his disarrayed blond hair.
Then she stepped aside, yanking him by the leash, forcing a strangled gargle from his throat as she force-led him back to the center of the Arena.
“How does it feel to be walked like a dog?” she asked him, not caring whether or not he dared an answer. The result would be the same. “How does it feel to know that I can punish you for nothing, just because it pleases me to do so?”
She pushed the button twice in rapid succession, and the twin whiptails flicked over his shoulder blades, then across his raw buttocks, still showing several impressions of the words “BAD BOY”. Now there was a clear, reddening X over them, as though Maddy were a professor grading her friends’ work and had found it lacking.
“Are you sorry, Robbie?”
She pushed the button again.
****
I said I was sorry! his mind raced. How many times do I have to tell you? Jesus! Jesus Christ!
His instinctive reaction was to catch his breath and hold it, to brace himself, tense himself against the pain. But his Matron had warned him against that, so he forced himself to keep breathing. His throat was raw from yelling, but he couldn’t keep himself from doing it, not as long as his breath kept coming in and out, in and out…
“Get down on your belly,” she said. “Legs pressed together. Hands behind your back.”
Wait, he thought. Please, just wait a few seconds.
She leaned down, close enough to kiss him. Directly into his ear, she screamed, “Now, motherfucker!”
Robbie bellied out. He marveled to hear her use such language. Had she always been like this—or had she been taught to do it, just for him? Until recently, Robbie had never used the word “fuck” nor taken the name of the Lord in vain in his life. Had it been the same for her? Were they being ruined together?
His cock hardened against the stone.
Sweet mother of fuck all, what’s gotten into you, penis of mine? You trying to win an award?
He couldn’t keep from laughing, even when the whip struck him again, this time at his lower back. He laughed, and he cried out in wordless misery.
He put his hands behind his back, crossing them at the wrists. Maddy sat on them with a knee. Robbie expected the handcuffs—and he got them, but not at first in the way he’d expected.
She’d set the whip down, and it bucked and curled over gray stone, untended and angry, impatient. With both hands, she folded Robbie at the knees until his heels practically reached his ass. Then she cuffed him at the ankles.
Then she used a second pair on his wrists, and fastened the two pairs by a length of connecting chain that hardly allowed Robbie any slack at all.
Lazily, seemingly of its own volition, the whip reached out and double-slapped Robbie on the ass again.
“Goddamn it,” he croaked, caught by surprise. “That fucking thing’s alive, and it hates me.”
Maddy smacked him across the back of the head. “You brought this on yourself, Robbie. Be quiet.”
She pulled at his bonds, testing them. Positioned as he was, double-braceleted in a steel hogtie, Robbie couldn’t see her, but he could hear her snap her fingers. Then there was a creaking noise emanating from straight above him. Something was unwinding. Something was being lowered, coming closer and closer to him.
Again, she took him by the leash and dog collar, forcing him to arch his back as she affixed the grip to whatever new horror had descended from the ceiling. Whatever it was also clicked over the connecting chain between his ankles and wrists—and, briefly, it hoisted him half a foot from the ground.
Robbie’s shoulders crackled in new pain—so much so that, although his face contorted in anguish, he was wholly unable to force sound from his lips.
Because the dog collar was tied off up top, too, and for a second, his windpipe closed.
I’m too heavy, he thought, panicking. You can’t hold me up like this! You can’t! My fucking rotator cuffs will crack! I’ll fucking strangle myself!
But Robbie’s shoulders didn’t bear the weight very long, nor did his neck. In moments, Maddy had drawn a harness under his middle, just over the belly and the top of his buttocks. She clicked a locking cable over it for support, and—
And then Robbie swung gently back and forth in the open air, strangely comfortable—if not wholly over the panic.
Up, up he went, his penis dangling at half-mast, his chin dribbling drool. Three feet, then four… At five and a half feet, he was face to face with Maddy again—whether he wanted to be or not, couldn’t be held against him—and…
She took him by both sides of his face and kissed him.
Then she drew back. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking.
Robbie shook his head. No, he thought, dizzy with confusion. It’s fine. Please continue.
She kissed him again, more deeply this time, pushing her tongue into his mouth, reaching under him and stroking him, stroking him. Robbie’s penis hardened to a pronounced, inverted sickle shape. His breath quickened as their tongues danced over each other, red cheeks bulging with half-realized fulfillment and desire.
Thank you, God, he prayed, awash in bliss and horror and surprise. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
She kept pumping him, settling into a rhythm that felt oddly experienced. Maybe she was a natural. Robbie’s eyes rolled back…
But as soon as the telltale first dribble slipped f
rom his man-slit, she let him go. She pulled her face back from his. Left him hanging there, stewing in the agony of incompletion. She reeled back and slapped him across the face again, harder than she had before. Much harder.
“We have unfinished business, Robbie,” she said. “It’s time for you to find out all of what I’ve fucking got.”
****
The real support was the harness. The dog collar, the cuffs at his wrists and ankles, the connector chain—all of these were mere guidance and positioning, now that he was good and properly trussed up in space. Directing him by the collar, she put him in an upright position, parallel to herself.
She snickered, eyes flitting over him. He looked like just a little bit more than half a man, with his legs drawn up behind him, his cock sticking out like a hungry child begging for food in Oliver Twist. She held her hand out for the whip, which stood up on its business end and placed itself by the handle into her waiting palm.
I’ve already maxed out my strokes with this, she thought, noting the watchful eyes of Nurse Reyes-Garcia in the background. “Have you reconsidered?” she asked him, fingering the grip. “Have you had enough yet, Robbie? You may answer.”
Robbie shook his head. “No, Mistress Piper,” he said. “I—I can take more.”
Maddy rolled her eyes, clicking off the power on the whip handle. Instantly, it sagged in her hand—almost seeming to deflate with disappointment. Robbie’s love handle, by contrast, remained positively perky. She tossed the whip aside.
“If you say so,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, unfastening two of the steel clamps that hung from her sleeves. “Remember, you asked for it.”
Wisely, Robbie kept his gaze down, but he answered, “You’d have done it anyway, Mistress.”
“True,” she admitted, taking a nipple between thumb and forefinger. “But you don’t even know what ‘it’ is, do you?”
“Not a clue, Mistress Piper.”
The she reached up and pinched the clamp into place, watching Robbie’s eyes follow her fingers as she secured it firmly to the tip, which she massaged to full protrusion with her thumb. At the end of the clamp dangled a small leaden weight, which distended him further but didn’t break the skin. Robbie gasped.
“How does that feel?” she asked.
“It … it hurts, Mistress … Piper.”
“Um, hmmm,” she said, pinching the second one into place. She batted the weights with her fingers, making them pendulum like miniature grandfather clocks.
“Oh, God—please, they’re going to break off …”
“No, Robbie. They won’t. You just feel like they will. Why aren’t you crying, Robbie?”
Robbie heaved in breath, let it out in an agonized grunt. He didn’t answer.
“Nothing to say, convict?”
“N-No, Mistress … kind of … at a loss for words, here… Might say I’m … distracted…”
She moved behind him, took up the chain link between his ankles and leaned his upper body forward until, facing each other, the two of them formed a perfect right angle.
“You’re trying to outlast me, aren’t you, Robbie? Trying to keep the tears back until I’m all done with you. That’s how you win, isn’t it?”
“I d-don’t know … Mistress Piper,” he managed between heaving breaths. “Haven’t … thought it through … in that way.”
Maddy took his hair again, made him nod his head.
But he said, “I don’t … deserve … to win against you…”
Thumbs against his cheeks, she turned his face to meet hers. “Explain.”
“I’m … only playing … against myself, Mistress Piper.”
Again, she leaned in toward the side of his head, causing him to flinch, no doubt anticipating another assault on his eardrums. “If that’s all it is,” she quietly said, “then I hope you do it. Hold on, Robbie. Almost there.”
Lazily, she spun him, pushing him by the shoulder, then by the feet. She turned him a full circle, then did it again. And again. And again.
Gradually, by small degrees, Robbie rose still further as the cord supporting the harness turned in on itself, twisting and tightening. On a whim, she unclipped one of the pinwheels and lightly traced it over Robbie’s flesh with her left hand as her right spun him a sixth time, a seventh. Teasing him with pain, never puncturing the skin, she passed it over his collar bone, his knees, his wrists, his neck—the veins of which were bulging as Robbie gritted his teeth in ecstasy and anguish.
By the time she had turned him twelve times, she could hardly reach him to turn him more. But she could reach his cock. She clipped her pinwheel back to the sleeve of her dress, holding his elbow, standing on her toes.
She let go. Quickly, deftly, she had his hard-on in hand. She did nothing but gently hold it in a loose fist as Robbie spun on his own, counterclockwise with no urging from her. Down he spun, and farther down, his raging erection twisting in her hand, until Robbie erupted with an unrestrained, helpless roar of pleasure, ejaculating in gushes over her hand, into her upturned face and hair.
She let him go, allowed him to finish spinning, unattended, as she quickly dashed off to clean herself. By the time she returned, Robbie was rocking back and forth at eye level again.
“Might have warned me you were going to blast off in my face,” she said, hoisting him up again a few inches, slapping his face. “You will have to pay for that, you know.”
Then she unclamped the cock ring from the Devastator dress.
****
Up again, and up. Six feet in the air. Six and a half.
The harness stopped its ascent. Back and forth, his body rocked, just above her, turning small circles, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise. All the while, he couldn’t stop staring at the steel circle held between her thumb and forefinger. He’d never seen a cock ring before, but—
That’s for my dick. Oh, God, it might as well have the words, “Place on Robbie’s dick” engraved on it in Tolkien elvish. Well, penis, you got me into this…
Sure enough, and soon enough, Maddy stopped his helpless rotation with a gentle but firm grip to his bicep and reached under him with the ring. Robbie’s cock refused to play defense. Rather than retreat, it just jutted forward as though into combat with an enemy it wasn’t equipped to defeat. He shuddered when he felt the ring slide over him, already oiled, probably from its own inside. Robbie could feel tiny perforations. Then he felt the whole thing constrict.
Not by much—not enough to cut off blood flow—but enough so that it wouldn’t inadvertently slide off.
Maddy took off yet another chain, this one a foot and a half in length. At one end of it was another leaden weight—a larger weight, probably the size of a golf ball. Robbie didn’t like to imagine how much it weighed. He was in enough discomfort already.
She lowered him, foot by foot, until he was no more than six inches from the floor, looking at one of her calves poking out from the dress. But then she circled around him, stopping between his legs. Kneeling. Scooping up his testicles and kneading them.
She loosened his cock ring, just a bit. All she had to do was twist it left, and it relaxed—enough for her to hook the chain to it.
“Mistress Piper,” Robbie said. It was almost a moan. “What … what are you doing?”
“Shut up, Robbie,” she calmly said, turning the cock ring right, tightening it again. “Take it.”
The weight at the end of the chain was on the floor. But the chain rose up from it to his middle, hooked at the other end to the ring, and the ring was on his still-erect penis, the eye of which stared back at Robbie when he stared at it.
“No, Mistress Maddy,” he said, fighting the urge to hold his breath, battling back the need to cry.
Slowly, she started raising him again. Before long, the chain went taut. Robbie’s penis went limp. The ring constricted further, adjusting to avoid slippage.
She raised him some more. Robbie’s penis stretched against the weight—but the leaden golf b
all left the floor. The ring slid down his distended organ to the glans, anchoring itself at the helmet head. Robbie gasped, panting, eyes bulging with disbelief.
She raised him some more.
“Mistress, stop! Maddy, Stop!”
The word is “mercy”, Robbie thought. All I have to do is say it.
“No, Robbie,” she said, raising him back to eye level, her eyes bloodshot with malice or regret. “Not yet.”
Robbie looked down over himself. He felt stretched to the breaking point. Both of his nipples were like upside-down tents. He’d never seen his cock so long before. The ball at the end of the string swayed at the end of its chain.
“I can’t do this,” he said, sucking in breath, heaving it back out. “Please, I’ll fucking break.”
“You are doing it,” she said, raising him over her again, patting his cheek. “Holding it like a champ, Robbie. Remember—this is for your own good.”
She unhooked the two handheld pinwheel spike rollers from the sleeves of her dress.
Mercy, he thought. Say it, Robbie. Just say it, and all of this ends.
No!
She started down his arms with them, walking under him, rolling them in straight lines. To the elbow joints, still bent over his back, secured by the cuffs. They pricked him in running lines, seeming to find his very pores and poke past them, never drawing any blood.
He screamed again, louder than he ever had before in his life.
She ran them under the nipple clamps, crisscrossing them over his belly, which rose and fell in agonized, helpless shudders.
“Never felt this way before, have you, Robbie?” she asked, her tone conversational. She stopped just long enough to undo the nipple clamps, one at a time, allowing them to drop to the floor in small, metallic rattles.
There was no answering her. It wasn’t an issue of defiance or disrespect. Robbie was wholly overcome by the need to keep screaming. Doing it, focusing on only that, kept the tears at bay, kept him from begging out his escape word. He hardly felt any relief at all from the release of the clamps. All of the pain in the universe had gathered along the length of his penis. It was all he knew—that, and the screaming.