Bouquet of Bamboo

by Sarah Steel

  She cried out as her feet kicked the empty air. His left hand alighted upon the hollow behind her right knee, and firmly smoothed her leg down into the stillness of submission. It took only the slightest touch of his dominant hand to quell her other rebellious leg into motionless surrender. He slid his controlling hand, palm down, along her legs, lightly skimming the silky warmth of her submissive flesh. At her thighs his hand paused briefly to squeeze, and then the dominant palm inched upwards until it was greeted with the smooth swell of her upturned bottom. Again his hand paused to squeeze, gently depressing the curves of the diva’s plump cheeks before resting palm-down upon the bare bottom it proposed to beat.

  At her neck his controlling hand tightened its grip. Her blonde mane spilled down in a wanton tumble to curtain her apprehensive face. She squirmed beneath the dominant touch at her buttocks and neck, and James felt the warm weight of her naked breasts against his thigh. His hand sank to capture and give a punishing squeeze, and as he felt an erect nipple graze his palm, he saw her buttocks tighten, rendering the shadowy valley between them almost invisible.

  He released her soft breast and returned his hand to her neck to keep her down. ‘Discipline,’ he remarked. ‘No success can be achieved without discipline. And dedication,’ he added almost conversationally, ‘and skill, and luck, and talent. They’re all important. But the most important of all is discipline. Isn’t it?’

  She wriggled in response, but remained silent.

  The thumb of his spanking hand thrust between her cheeks. She clenched her buttocks to force it out, but only succeeded in trapping it between her soft globes.

  ‘Isn’t it, bitch?’

  She nodded. He felt the unseen response as her neck muscles rippled in his controlling hand.

  ‘I asked you a question and I expect an answer,’ he insisted relentlessly.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered hoarsely.

  ‘Yes, what?’ he demanded.

  ‘D-discipline is – is necessary,’ she blurted.

  ‘So glad you agree,’ he goaded. ‘So glad you agree with me that a successful diva requires discipline.’

  She squirmed, subconsciously thrusting her bare rump up invitingly.

  ‘You do, don’t you, bitch?’ he demanded, milking her pre-punishment anguish to the last drop. He felt the question hovering menacingly over her like the threat of his spanking hand above her bare buttocks.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, sobbing gently.

  ‘I’m going to discipline you, bitch,’ he murmured, caressing the mounds of her buttocks with smooth sweeps of his dominant hand. ‘I’m not quite sure how many strokes… no, strokes are for caning, aren’t they?’ he teased. ‘Just be content with the knowledge that I’m going to spank your bare bottom very, very hard until your cheeks are cherry-red and blazingly sore.’

  ‘No…’ she wailed. ‘Please don’t beat me! Please don’t—’

  ‘Too late, bitch. Your bare bottom is mine, all mine.’

  ‘I’ll do—’

  ‘Exactly what I tell you to.’ Straining slightly beneath her weight on his thighs, he stretched out his right foot and deftly scuffed one of his abandoned rubber gloves back to the base of the sofa. Then scooping it up he forced the fingers inwards to fashion a ball, which he stuffed into the diva’s mouth. ‘Don’t want you singing too loud during this performance, eh?’ he gloated. ‘Bite on that, bitch,’ he added, his voice cold and cruel. ‘Bite on that as the fire burns across your bare bottom.’

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Three sharp staccato spanks rang out as he swiped his punishing palm down across her soft and utterly vulnerable naked buttocks. The punishing smacks bequeathed a flame of blushing pink pain across her smooth curves, and he felt her jerk in response, but the rubber glove stuffing her mouth stemmed her cries. The flesh of her bottom felt pliant to his hard palm as he tightened his grip at her neck, forcing her further down into her shame and torment.

  Crack! Crack! A severe double swipe of his spanking hand flattened the curved cheeks briefly, and caused the punished flesh to shudder as the rosy blush deepened to a darker shade of suffering.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! The rhythm of the vicious melody quickened as James settled into his task. His cock rose painfully hard as he thoroughly enjoyed his revenge. The suppleness of her reddening cheeks delighted him, and his balls churned as he slapped her satin skin. The heat from his punishing hand spread its scarlet agony across her submissively proffered buttocks. He could not hear her silenced screams, but he sensed and relished them through her convulsive jerking and wriggling on his knees.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! He was giving it to the bitch severely. No mercy. No forgiveness. She had to suffer. She had to pay the price.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Almost tipsy with exultant triumph over his naked, red-bottomed diva, James slowed the spanking to a blistering sequence of paced blows. Palpably pausing between each searing contact, he deliberately built up her pain and suffering. Like a nomad at an oasis, he savoured every drop of his longed for, and long anticipated, revenge. His cock rose to stab the softness of her belly, which pressed against his helmet, squeezing out his pre-cum.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! He concentrated hard, ignoring the pulse of his trapped, throbbing shaft. He was careful to spread the spanks evenly across both her cheeks, aiming the stinging rain of scalding pain down across the upper slopes of her supine buttocks before attacking the fleshy crease that defined the tops of her thighs. He really enjoyed spanking that particular part of her bottom. Each swipe really told. But to avoid embarrassing himself and coming from his intense excitement, he had to pause and merely caress her hot rump for a moment.

  He took a deep breath, sucking in air. His tight chest loosened and his shoulders eased. Clenching and unclenching his spanking hand, he parted his fingers wide. Then returning the hand to her bottom, he dimpled her crimson cheeks, smiling as her hot red skin briefly whitened when depressed, and reddened again just as quickly when his fingertips left it.

  The glove fell out of her mouth. Possibly, James thought, she spat it out. Then her sudden yelling and sobbing made him tense. He promptly snatched up the glove and gagged her again, but the memory of her loud sorrow haunted him. It was exactly what he had waited five years to hear.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! The harsh spanking continued undiminished. The memory of her sobbing grew stronger with each blow, and surrendering to a dark fancy, he snatched the wet rubber glove out of the diva’s mouth again, and was immediately rewarded with another snatch of her shrill howling. He almost climaxed it was so thrilling, so intoxicating to hear her screaming as he caressed and squeezed her punished bottom. Then he gagged her again and dragged his forefinger down between her blazing cheeks. The hot, dark cleft was sticky, and as his fingertip tapped her puckering sphincter, he felt a molten juice seep from her anal crater.

  She squirmed, crushing her body against his leaking cock and almost rocketing him into an orgasm. He gasped and clenched his teeth. The waves of the climax ebbed, leaving him erect and aching. Damn, she would suffer now… really suffer.

  A smart tap-tap at the door froze his hand above her buttocks. ‘Shit!’ he hissed.

  The diva twisted her face up and her tear-filled eyes met his angry, uncertain gaze.

  ‘When I take the glove out, tell them to go away,’ he whispered.

  She nodded mutely, but he felt her inhale a lungful of air just as his fingers found the glove. He knew. He knew she was going to scream for help. So he slipped his hand down between her thighs and tugged hard at her wet pubic bush. She cringed in agony.

  ‘No tricks, or I’ll be back,’ he warned. ‘I promise.’ He tentatively removed the glove, keeping it close to her lips.

  She obeyed, managing to send the visitor away in a convincing tone that told of her headache and desire to be alone.

  James plugged the glove back into her mouth and stroked her blonde mane
approvingly. Twisting a handful around his fingers, he painfully controlled her head as he buried his face between her smouldering bottom cheeks and nuzzled the punished flesh. After licking and kissing her hot and tender skin for long moments, he straightened up, his saliva glistening on her sore curves.

  ‘That was a good performance,’ he declared. ‘And a good performance deserves a round of applause.’ Pinning her neck down, he settled her more comfortably into the punishment position across his knees and spanked her severely. His hand clapped her so hard it soon hurt. He paused to blow on his palm in an effort to cool it. She was twisting on his knees, her thighs spread, her dark fig gaping and glistening. He peeped down over the hand at his mouth, saw between her parted crimson cheeks the line of her dark cleft, and within the darkly yawning groove, he made out the wink of her pink sphincter. He mumbled an obscenity, but managed to pull himself together. ‘Cheeks,’ he blurted, his face flushed and his expression stern. ‘Close them up, bitch.’

  But perversely she thrust her bottom upwards, widening the delicious valley between them. Her anus, clearly visible now, puckered as if about to proffer an impertinently obscene kiss.

  James licked his lips hungrily, but recovered his self-control in time. ‘Cheeks together, slut,’ he barked, angry he was not entirely in control of his voice; it trembled slightly, and almost cracked on a semi-quaver between anger and desire.

  She clamped her thighs together promptly, and her instant obedience pleased her punisher.

  ‘Up, bitch.’ His cock pulsed violently. ‘I want your bottom up.’ He felt her weight as she collapsed, sobbing silently, across his supporting thighs. ‘No, bitch, I said up. I want your bottom raised.’

  After a few rebellious seconds, her buttocks rose obediently towards his hovering hand, and the crowns of her scorched cheeks chastely kissed his unyielding palm.

  James shuddered and swore softly beneath his breath. The sweet ache in his shaft became an urgent burning. Unzipping his trousers, he fingered out his veined, twitching cock and pressed it into the passive flesh of the naked diva. His penis had never been so thick, so full and so potent.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Allowing his wet glans to spear and nuzzle her soft thigh, he continued spanking her upturned buttocks, and just before the harsh sound of a fourth smack rang out, he started coming. Lifting his knees, he tipped her facedown across the carpet and swiftly straddled her, his legs scissoring her plump crimson cheeks. Then grasping and pumping his cock, he emptied his molten seed all over the bottom he had just beaten.

  Wiping the knout of his spent erection against her thigh, James stretched on the carpet alongside his captive. Using his hot palm – the palm that had blistered the now semen-soaked buttocks – he caressed the smooth curves of each glistening cheek, methodically smoothing his seed into her skin. ‘No,’ he said, ‘stay exactly as you are. I haven’t finished with you yet.’ He rose unsteadily to his knees, and the glint of the champagne bottle caught his eye.

  Leaving the diva moaning into her gag as the carpet grazed her peaked nipples, he drank long and deep from the heavy bottle at his lips. Draining it, he tossed it away and returned to his quivering victim. ‘Change your song cycle every six months, don’t you?’ he demanded.

  Her head rose from the floor. She peered up at him, but her eyes were bleary, almost unseeing.

  ‘Change your tune, don’t you?’

  She nodded slowly.

  ‘Why’s that, then?’ He removed the glove gagging her so she could respond, but her mumbled reply was inaudible. ‘We can’t hear you, bitch. Louder.’

  ‘To widen my repertoire,’ she said, her voice thick and soft.

  ‘To widen your repertoire, eh?’ he repeated mockingly, thrusting the damp glove back between her lips. ‘Well, let’s see if we can’t do a little widening tonight.’ He sank to his knees beside her. ‘Up,’ he instructed. ‘Kneel, on your hands and knees.’

  She was slow to respond to his command, but a sudden sharp spank quickened her obedience. Her breasts swinging, her blonde mane cascading down her back and around her face, she knelt as instructed before him.

  He slipped his right hand between her thighs and inched it upwards slowly, until it touched her wetness. He worked his thumb against the dark heat of her cleft until it grazed the lip of her anal crater. ‘Open up, bitch, time to widen your repertoire.’

  She shook her head defiantly and grunted into the gag. He thumbed her dominantly, but she squeezed her cheeks together to hide the sparkle of her anal rosebud. James snarled his frustration, and reaching around to her face, he tore out the gagging rubber glove again. ‘Do exactly as I tell you,’ he spat. ‘I’m in charge, now. Me, not you. Me.’ But then suddenly he felt queasy, almost seasick. He was losing it – losing control. He knew, deep down, that if he had to say he was in charge, he wasn’t. ‘Open up!’ he barked.

  She shook her head, tossing her blonde mane as she cursed him. And with that defiant gesture, with that ripe curse, the balance of power shifted away from him to her.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! He slapped the soft lower curves of each of her bottom cheeks viciously, and then dealt a harsh blow to her wet pussy. She shrieked, but her buttocks parted invitingly and his thumb triumphed at her sticky warmth.

  A stern lecture followed, but James felt everything he said to explain and justify his punishing revenge was lost on her. So he said it all again, cataloguing her sins and selfishness. He told of her arrogance, of her petty spite, of her vanity and her egotistical ruthlessness. He spoke of the hurt and harm she had done to all those around her. And all the time his thumb-tip, followed by the length of his thick digit, worried and tormented, stretched and filled her anal warmth. ‘Widening your repertoire,’ he murmured, jabbing inwards repeatedly in a final flourish that elicited a shrill squeal from the diva. Finally he extracted his thumb, twisting it spitefully as it emerged with a wet plop.

  She grunted and moaned and collapsed across the carpet, and he stared down at her in fascination as she writhed like a wounded snake, feeling a warm glow of pride implode in his belly. He had achieved all he set out to. The diva had been sternly reminded of her monstrous behaviour and severely punished for it. He had controlled his hatred and contempt for her, and now he marvelled at how it had subsided from blind fury to the cool assertion of his absolute authority over her helpless nakedness. Yes, he had taught her a lesson she would never forget.

  James managed to refrain from hugging himself in self-congratulation. He had done well. The bitch had been made to suffer. She had been made to suffer shame, humiliation and pain. His revenge tasted sweet, indeed. Revenge, he remembered reading somewhere, was a dish best served cold…

  ‘Stop that!’ he suddenly said furiously. During his reverie the diva had been surreptitiously raking her clitoris against the prickle of the carpet, and the tension in her buttocks betrayed the imminent climax being conjured up by her furtive self-pleasuring.

  All the cool authority James was congratulating himself on evaporated in a flash of anger. ‘You really are a stupid, disobedient little bitch,’ he hissed, furious with her obvious attempt at masturbation. ‘I thought I’d taught you a lesson.’ But to his amazement she laughed; a harsh laugh in which he heard the contempt and scorn of one who has by no means fully surrendered or succumbed to strict discipline or stern punishment.

  ‘Silence!’ he thundered, then scrabbling for the rubber glove he re-gagged her, and then, hot-faced and furious, he flung himself down onto the sofa. ‘And don’t move a muscle. Stay right where you are or you’ll be sorry.’

  He burned with frustration and bewilderment. Where had he gone wrong? He had planned it all so meticulously, every last detail. He forced her to dress and then strip again. He exposed her to the shame and humiliation of intimate inspection. He touched her intimately too, and spanked her bare bottom, subjecting her to the torments of humiliating pain. Then he came all over her bottom. A
nd yet with that single defiant laugh she scorned him completely.

  Had she revealed her mettle, the indomitableness of the true diva? Was she indeed extraordinary, irrepressible, possessed of those sterling qualities that are the hallmark of true stardom? Then he remembered his own arousal, remembered how he struggled to fight back his sexual excitement in his attempt to focus and concentrate on the serious task at hand. He remembered how he weakened after coming intensely over her punished bottom; he almost fainted from the pleasure. She, too, must have enjoyed arousal during her discipline. Pain had ignited a powder keg buried deep in her animal sexuality. Perhaps it was the strict tone of his voice that got to her. Or was it the cruel spanking, intended to hurt and humiliate, that illumined the darkest recesses of her primitive libido?

  No, he had not succeeded. He had failed. Therefore, he must try again. But this time there would be no inappropriate arousal. No unintended excitation. No talking, only strict silence. No touching other than the kiss of the lash. Pure punishment and pain. He wanted to whip her, avoiding any actual contact between them… but he had no whip.

  Rising from the sofa, he paced the dressing room anxiously. A leather belt would do. Applied across her bare bottom and the softness of her upper thighs, it would surely teach her the true meaning of vengeful punishment. Then he remembered something he had seen behind the blue curtain – his initial hiding place on entering the room – where the bleach, dusters, mop and bucket remained concealed.

  The curtain hissed open on its brass rings as he wrenched it aside. Yes, there it was, the long feather duster he glimpsed when in hiding – a six-foot length of pale gold bamboo topped with an explosion of fluffy, multicoloured feathers. Grasping it, he snapped it down sharply across his knee, breaking off, and then discarding, the feathered end like a fox tossing aside a dead chicken.

  Back at the sofa he knelt and aimed the quivering tip of the shortened length of cane at her neck. He tapped her dominantly and she turned her head to face him. She saw the cane, and her eyes widened in trepidation as they drank in the meaning of its smooth malice.