“Let her down, Preston. Before I whip her, I’d like to see her show off for me.”
Like he was sub and she was Dom, Preston complied with her wishes and loosened the ropes that bound my wrists. I stood before her with my hands at my side, while her smirk seemed to broaden into a wider grin. I could see the wheels in her mind cranking out her devious plots en masse. “Hold out your hand,” she said.
I did, taking from her a string of five golf ball-sized beads with about three inches of string between them.
“Put them in your ass.”
I must have looked at her dazed, because she had to repeat the order.
“In your ass. Get on your knees, bend over and put them up your butt.” What was sexually seductive about her with men abruptly turned ice cold with me under her control. Afraid of the icy bitch, I dropped to my knees on a wooden floor that felt like concrete. Then I leaned forward with every intention of following her instructions. Unfortunately, the first ball was not slick enough to insert into my rectum.
“Spit on it!” she suggested the cure, which worked with the first ball, but not the others, since they were all attached. “Use your fingers to swath the path,” she recommended then.
I liberally covered my fingers with spit, and coated my anus, then shoved another of the beads into my ass. The first two were the most difficult, as the strain, the humiliation and the need to prove myself conspired against my efforts. But once I felt a pleasant fullness in the body cavity, my lust kicked in. I hardly cared where I was or who was forcing me to abuse myself. I nearly forgot my surroundings completely—if anything the unlikely locale for my punishment just heightened my arousal more.
Susan stood over me, the cold, dictatorial bitch that she was, but I didn’t care any longer that I hated her. More exciting to me was my master to my left, leaning on a sawhorse, casually watching the show, attentive, but with an air of cool indifference—like a referee perhaps.
“Hmmm… . very good,” Susan purred as I pushed the third bead inside and followed it with the fourth. By then, my insides felt puffed up and about to explode. There were two beads yet to go and I couldn’t imagine more pressure, but I wasn’t about to hesitate. This was as much a matter of principle as anything. I refused to look bad in front of Preston, or weak, or unsure, or rebellious. Even if it killed me to do it, I wouldn’t let the woman have the satisfaction of besting me. I’m sure that’s what she planned on.
With a little more effort and deep breath, I shoved the fifth bead into my ass, and moved on to the sixth. I couldn’t believe that there’d be room to fit that one too, but with my determination driving me forward, I managed to insert the last. I felt it hit the one next to it as it settled inside. This was a demanding physical bondage of a sort I’d never experienced. I sucked in my breath and held on with all my might, while the urge to push the beads out threatened my hard-earned victory.
“Let’s not see you panic now, Skye,” Preston urged me from the sidelines. His comment made me believe that he was in charge, not Susan, though that was a short-lived thought.
“She needs the aggravation, Preston. Conniving trollops deserve to suffer.” She kicked my ass with the toe of her high-heel.
I was getting used to the foreign objects in my ass, and the threat of voiding the six beads faded. Still hanging from my rectum was the string end attached to the beads. At the very end of that was a ring to tug… or, in this case, a place to attach a leash. Once Susan snapped the clamp shut tight, she walked about the downstairs of the house with me following on hands and knees—backwards. “Careful you don’t make me pull out the beads. If you do, you’ll regret it.”
I was glad that someone had swept the place free of loose nails and lumber, which would have made the parade more difficult. Even so, negotiating doorways backwards was tricky, tricky too keeping up with Susan’s steady gait. “C’mon, slut, let’s keep moving,” she ordered, while stopping long enough to whack my ass a few times with a piece of wooden molding she’d found. I hated the sting, but I’d never let her know that. I held in my loathing and continued moving, urged by the gentle tug to my ass. I was destined to fail this exercise—Susan had that all figured out and so did I. It was only a matter of time before she’d tug just a little too hard and the sixth bead would exit accidentally.
She didn’t even try to disguise her plan. Suddenly, pulling me way too fast for my ability to move, she had, not just the sixth, but the fifth bead popping free. A rush of energy flooded that place, and all my careful containment threatened to vanish. My bottom felt like it would explode.
“Oh, my, she slipped,” Susan quipped for the benefit of Preston. Then, using the sharply honed edge, she whacked me a dozen times or more with the molding, scorching heated lines of pain across my ass. “Put them back!” she demanded, her voice icy with contempt.
I quickly obeyed, slobbering my spit over the round orbs and insisting they fit in my rectum again. At last successful, my perilous journey began again, this time up the stairs of the house moving forward. The leash lay across my spine loosely, while she charmed me with sweet-talk fit for a beast of burden or her toy poodle. “That’s it, just a little ways more, just a little more,” she tugged lightly as she spoke. I mounted the stairs on my sore hands and knees, doing double duty to keep my entrails full and my mind focused on the chore.
“Throw me the cuffs and rope,” she called down to Preston.
He didn’t throw them; instead he ambled up the stairs to join us. Strangely, it was some comfort having him close enough to see because I was performing for him, rather than Susan, a fact I found erotically pleasing at the moment of my greatest humiliation.
We moved to the back of the house, into another of many framed but unfinished rooms, to where a large window that looked out on a forest of trees.
“On your feet, slut,” she said, after having unleashed me.
My hands were cuffed and strung up high into the ceiling beams, then Susan tied me to the window jambs on either side, from my shoulders to my ankles, using, when possible, the rope-dress Preston fashioned for me earlier. While my ankles were tightly anchored, she purposely left some slack in the torso ropes, so I’d be able to move within the spider web of rope.
“Now lean out the window, slut,” she ordered. This wasn’t easy, but I complied, hoping that she had in mind a plan to secure the position. Once I arched my back, jutted my ass back into the room and leaned forward, she shoved a sawhorse in front of my legs. It hit where my legs and thighs meet, but powerfully held me in place as the ropes tightened and held me fast.
Until that time, I felt safe enough in the house to think we could keep this activity private, just between the three of us. But my privacy immediately vanished with my naked tits hanging out the window like two bobbing balloons. I could look to either side of me and see into the neighboring backyards where hammers and saws were being put to use by tough, tanned construction workers.
“Oh, how nice,” was Susan’s first comment, seeing me spread wide with my back arched and my ass pushed out. She moved around me stroking my tautly contained body, venturing a squeeze or pinch if that pleased her. She plucked my right nipple and twisted it so hard, I was sure it would tear away. Noting that I wouldn’t howl, no matter how hard she squeezed and twisted, she let go. “Impressive. But then, we’re just getting started. It’s been along time since I’ve had a body like yours to torture, and I will enjoy every minute, until you finally surrender.”
Surrender! To her? Only when hell freezes! I silently told myself.
There was not a muscle in me that didn’t ache, that didn’t scream for relief. But the only relief I would know was through the long steady shower of pain that rained down on me from the wooden slat and then a conductor’s baton she found in Preston’s satchel. She whipped my ass and shoulders soundly, waiting for me to let loose with a scream. I wouldn’t give her that thrill, but bit my lips, sucked in and made the pain arouse me. When I wouldn’t cry, she changed her target and pa
ddled my tits with the molding. She thwacked them hard on top and from the bottom with dozens of stinging, white-hot smacks. The pain continued relentlessly, tearing at me anew with each blow that landed.
When that wasn’t enough, she started in on my pubis, reaching underneath with first the baton, then the slat of wood, whipping and spanking the flesh until it was as hot as a fiery oven, blistered and swollen. I refused to cry and she didn’t like that.
“You’re not enjoying this, are you?”
“Should I be?” My tone was a bit defiant and she didn’t like that either.
“Maybe I should march you in front of the brutes next door and let them have at your ass.”
Maybe you should, I barked at her silently, although I shuddered from the embarrassment that would bring me, and shuddered even more with the thrill I might give those men.
“You never told me she was a pain slut,” she told Preston.
“I don’t think she is,” I heard him reply.
Because he was standing directly behind me, I couldn’t see him from where I hung between the framing 2x4s. But I could sense his presence, the fierceness of his being, and the irrevocable connection between us. Even Susan couldn’t sever that.
“Not a pain slut, and still not a whimper?”
“Keep going, the day’s not done,” he told her.
“Of course, it’s not.”
She leveled me then with a series of quick repeated smacks to my ass, all in one tender spot and so many that I thought she’d never let up. Then she moved her aim from side to side, targeting one cheek and then the other, but hardly missing a beat. I struggled hard to maintain my silence but it was crumbling away with no relief at all. Unwittingly, I began to moan my distress, something Susan didn’t seem to realize right off, but then, even while I tried to stuff it in again, there was enough anguish surfacing, enough plaintive garbled sound for her to finally realize how much I hurt.
She was like a demon after that, pinching my labia between her fingernails, so hard I was gasping audibly again. “Can’t take it, can you?”
“Yes, I can,” I maintained despite what I knew was true.
She liked defiance, and the fact that she would prove me wrong. She resumed her torture, digging her nails into my other labia. I held on then, but when she began to pinch my clitoris outright, what little of me could move and shake, tried to shake her off. I attempted vainly to let the pain arouse me, as it had many times. But this was beyond my level of tolerance.
“Ahhh… please!” I finally heard myself cry.
“Please what?”
“Please!” I screwed up my face in a pained grimace.
“Please what? Answer me, bitch!” she yanked my hair back and nailed my clit with the other hand in the same instant.
“Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaauch! Stop, please. I can’t take anymore.”
She let up only reluctantly. I could feel her fighting to continue. Later, much later, I would suspect that there was some unspoken agreement between Susan and Preston that prevented her from going further. That saved me. I would have been screaming in my loudest voice unable to stop myself if she’d gone on much longer.
Susan gathered my sex juice from my cunt and presented it to my mouth. “Lick it, bitch.” There was a weird gleam in her greenish eyes, the glitter of the sadistic mad woman that lurked behind her polished exterior.
Between the sound of Susan striking me and my internal screaming—just as the pain was the worst—I thought I heard creaking sounds like was someone coming up the stairs. I didn’t dare look behind me; the thought of having a bigger audience was too much for my overloaded senses. But once Susan’s viciousness had its say, as her vengeance was satisfied, I became aware that there were others in the half-made room, two construction workers—big brawny fellows—with their eyes glued to the sight of me bound, strung up, ass out, tits sporting nipples fired by their recent onslaught.
“Nice ass, huh?” Susan mocked me to the voyeuring men. “If one of you will yank that string hanging from her ass, while the other one finger-fucks her cunt, I’ll bet she’ll come.”
I didn’t try to see the snicker on her face, I knew it was there just hearing the tone of her voice. I heard retreating footsteps as her high heels hit each stair on her way down to the first floor. I guess she’d had enough of me. I’d certainly had enough of her.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to let my thoughts linger or my body rest. I felt one hand at my cunt and another on my ass, tugging at the end of the string. The man at my side began to fuck my pussy with his hand, and soon the other one gave the beads a healthy yank.
As the first bead exited my ass, my body exploded in orgasm. Then as each of the next beads were yanked free, sharp pains rocked my insides with more spasmodic waves of climax.
“No! No! No more!” I cried out from the senseless oblivion that followed. I couldn’t take any more… not that fast. But the men ignored my pleas. The one behind kept jerking the string, while the one at my cunt continued fucking me with his hand. I rocked back and forth and from side to side in my spider web prison, weeping softly as the next bead was painfully jerked away and the climactic sensations were revived. When the last bead popped free, I nearly passed out.
“Damn, what a slut!” I heard one of the men say. I didn’t want to open my eyes; my embarrassment was that profound. “She a good fuck?”
I suppose he was asking Preston, and though I didn’t hear his reply, the answer was obvious. Moments later, a prick was stuffed in my rear and I had more reason to scream. I managed to contain myself, however. Knowing any sound might draw attention to the open window, I was sane enough to keep my agony to myself. The second man’s prick followed the first, and by then, I was oblivious to pleasure or pain, simply hanging on until the man had spent himself inside me.
I was spared the humiliation of having to face the two; they quickly disappeared down the stairs as I recovered my senses. I heard them leave the house, and then in the steamy quiet that followed, I waited for Preston to speak.
The silence made me quiver—even the noise from the other jobsites had tapered off, just a distant hammer or the quick squall of a saw. And then there was nothing—must have been lunchtime. I never did understand why the housing development had been vacant of workers when we first arrived—explained away by Preston as a temporary work stoppage—and then was suddenly busy with activity no more than a half hour later. I guess it really doesn’t matter if I have an explanation; part of surrender is accepting the situation for what it is.
As I waited to be released, I sensed him close. I sensed his cool and calculated manner, and felt the fire from his eyes even though I couldn’t see them. I expected him to speak, but he maintained the brutal silence. I suppose that is only natural for him and I should have accepted the fact that I had a reticent master. Part of his reserve was what I loved, since it was so much the opposite of me. I always thought of myself as a bubbling-over brew of emotions, visions, quirky thoughts and fantasy, with an endless supply of questions traveling through my brain cells.
Unlike so many times before when I waited for my master to act, I sensed some strong emotion beneath his quiet exterior. He seemed curiously anxious. Was this the ripple in his smooth veneer that I’d noted months before? Anxiety? Reluctance? A steamy fire of passionate lust? Was all that there? Or was it just my just imagining running away in fantasy?
My shoulders shivered for the hundredth time that day, then I felt his hand reach out—hot, firm and curiously tender. I thought I would melt into a puddle of happy feelings—joy, relief, contentedness and love. How could I love him? Why would I? He’d never given me reason to take our relationship into that unstable territory. Was he, maybe, doing that now? It surprised me how much I hoped for that.
As he carefully began to remove me from the web of rope, his hands would graze my skin as if he intended to soothe me. When he stood close, I felt a deep pulse in his crotch, body heat, cock heat and more. Once I was down to the ro
py garment, removed from the window and safely back inside the privacy of that upstairs room, there was no mistaking the affection pouring out on me. He stood behind me and kissed my back with tenderness. This wasn’t an adoring kiss, but a thank you, a gesture a master would give his property for a session fittingly carried out.
“Remember what this was about, Skye,” he whispered in my ear. “I have charge of you always. I’ll give you to whomever I choose. Whether you enjoy their treatment of you is not an issue. It arouses me to see you challenged by the things you hate. Because I know that what you hate, you really love. Your eyes open to a larger world beyond your narrow vision, and I can mold you into the woman I desire you to be, the woman you are begging to become.”
Oh, yes, that was exactly what he’d done.
“Every bit of you belongs to me, Skye, every minute, hour, day, thought and feeling.”
All true.
He turned me around in his hands so I had to face him, look him in the eye and confront the reason I’d been brought here in the first place. He stood close, inches away and held me at the shoulders as a father disciplining a naughty teenager. His voice was stern, but loving. And his eyes, less critical, less cold, but still imperative. This was essential stuff he was talking about, and a twist in our relationship, I loved but was equally scared of. I understood… he wanted more of me than just a series of hot sex scenes. I wanted that too, but never counted on it happening. I never expected him to be talking to me this way. I suddenly had the urge to push him off, it scared me so.
“If you wish to remain my property, you’ll learn to be more gracious with the choices I make for you, and you’ll end your jealousy now. Your status doesn’t entitle you to make statements regarding my behavior. I own you. You serve me. I’ll take my pleasure from whatever slut I choose, whatever woman, whatever liaison, serious or inconsequential. Don’t have a problem with that because it speaks to the essential difference between you and me. I give up my liberty to no woman, especially one as trivial are you are. This is the arrangement you agreed to. Don’t think you can change it; it’s not within your rights. Remember who you are.”
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