The harsher his punishments, the more she seemed to crave his approval, and the more willing she was to accept his discipline – not that she truly had a choice. He took her whenever the urge struck him, in any way that pleased him at that moment. She'd been bent over and spread wide on his desk, over the snack bar where they ate, on the dining room table, the sofa in the living room. Also over the big butcher-block style coffee table, where he liked to tie her, naked and exposed, and tease her gently all day, taking her with as little thought as he relieved his bladder, keeping her sweet and wet with occasional long swipes at that prominent little bundle of nerves. He punished her in that position once – the only time he'd ever disciplined her when she hadn't done anything to deserve it.
She had been secured, face down on a fluffy comforter he always spread over the hard wood, for several hours already that morning when he came and sat near her head, gently stroking her hair. "Katherine?" He pressed a straw to her mouth so that she could drink the cool water he brought.
"Yes, Sir?" she answered, her tone carefully respectful. She stopped drinking, and after a moment he took the cup away.
"I'm going to do something now that I might repeat in the future, but I shouldn't think too often – it goes against my grain to a certain extent, but I find myself somewhat curious."
Prima did not like the sound of this.
"I'm going to punish you."
She was confused and afraid, and pretty much desperate to avoid one of his spankings. "Have I misbehaved, Sir?"
Joseph sighed. "No, you haven't. You've been very well behaved the past few days."
"Is there something I'm not doing that I should be doing?" He could hear the fear in her voice as it became just a tad hysterical. "If there is I'd be glad to do it in the future – please don't spank me for not doing what I didn't know to do in the first place."
"No, Katherine, there's nothing you're not doing," he whispered, still stroking her hair. "I just want to spank you, and that's what I'm going to do."
He left her for a moment, during which time she began to shake with dread. It played havoc with her mind that he would do this to her. Katherine could almost – almost – make her mind come to terms with the idea that he would be disciplining her for the rest of her life for any infraction he deemed in her behavior – anything. She was still having problems with the idea of a severe, weekly punishment that would be administered regardless of her behavior. But to be punished as harshly as he always punished her, just because? She knew she could not stand it!
But she was going to have to.
When he returned, he put a pillow in front of her hips and moved the furniture so that he had a clear shot at her raised bottom. Then he put an antique, full-length mirror directly in front of her. Prima put her head down so she didn't have to look at herself. Somehow, if she didn't actually see what she was going through, part of her subconscious didn't have to acknowledge its reality.
But her owner wasn't about to put up with that. "No, no, no. I want you to see yourself getting spanked. I want you to watch me punishing you."
Oh, God, where did he come up with these horrible ideas? How could she possibly bear to both see and feel those vicious cracks against her bottom flesh?! That would make it twice as bad as it usually was, and she barely survived even his light spankings with her sanity still intact. This was psychological as well as physical torture, and she knew she had no choice but to obey him, or make it much, much worse on herself.
When she lifted her head and opened her eyes, she could see herself: naked, spread, and bound – hand and foot – breasts smooshed into the comforter, arms and legs pulling compulsively against the padded leather restraints. Joseph stood behind her, also watching her in the mirror, the prominent, ever-present bulge in his jeans growing even bigger. Behind him, on the couch, she could see the armload of implements he'd brought out to use on her. A thick, ruler paddle with blister-making holes down the center that he usually kept in his office and had used on her before, reducing her to tears in a matter of seconds. The dreaded solid wooden, oval bath brush; a leather strap that looked like a thick leather belt; a cane, which made her shudder; the thin rubber strap that bit into her flesh horribly but left no marks; and a birch switch that he usually looped over once, so that it left not one but two thready, red welts across her bare white bottom, setting her to howling so bad she usually lost her voice on the first stroke.
He came up beside her head and bent down, saying, "Open," as he held something in his hand that looked like a horse's bridle.
Katherine opened her mouth and accepted the thickly padded wooden dowel that functioned as a bit in her mouth. Joseph collected her hair to one side and fastened the gag very tightly around her head, then pulled her hair into a loose ponytail along her back. Feeling the inevitability of her impending agony and humiliation, and wanting desperately to escape it, Prima hung her head while chewing aggravatedly at the bit, an act that was immediately punished by ten searing swats to her bottom.
"Head up, my girl," Joseph coached her into position, then rigged something up that hooked from the back of the gag to the leather restraining belt she was wearing that would not allow her to lower her head even if she wanted to. She was reminded of a passage in the original 'Black Beauty' that described horses during the Victorian era having to endure some type of harness that did something similar to them, requiring them to arch their necks for hours on end because it looked pretty. At least she was smart enough not to try the 'close your eyes' idea, which would probably just piss him off royally and get her extra added strokes.
"Very good." He stood behind her again, running his hands all over her, eagerly, possessively, and watching the both of them in the mirror. Prima flushed pink with shame at the same time she shivered in anticipation of a very unpleasant afternoon at the mercy of this mercurial, merciless man.
Noting her shiver, Joseph turned up the heat, setting the timer to turn it down once they were into her discipline session, lest she become too hot and dehydrated. For a second, he squatted down behind her and explored her well-exposed pussy. She was very tight and dry, obviously not looking forward to this. Katherine already knew how blisteringly hard he spanked. He couldn't say he felt the same – he knew there was already pre-cum on the broad head of his cock. Joseph watched her eyes in the mirror, seeing them grow round as he took her with his fingers, gauging just how sexually aroused she was as he rooted roughly around in her pussy, listening to her sexy whimper behind the bit-gag.
He stood and reached for the ruler paddle, touching it against her bottom almost gently as he said, "I want you to keep your eyes open, Katherine. And you can scream and cry and rant and rave and rail against me and cry for your mother – there will be no restrictions on how you express your pain this time – except, of course, disrespecting me and using bad language, the usual."
With that, he began, and Katherine had no choice but to both watch and feel each vicious, hard stroke as the burning quickly built in her bottom. She saw herself moaning at first, then as the paddle fell relentlessly against her unprotected rump in an inexorable cadence that was setting fire to her skin, moaning louder and more rapidly, crying of course, streams of tears pouring down her cheeks as she fought valiantly to free herself, or even just to avoid one blow, but to no avail. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Every second or so, for what seemed like forever. Prima saw the aguish reflected in her face as her moans mutated into screams and muffled, unintelligible pleas for leniency that went unanswered, which was exactly what she expected. But she could no more stem flow of useless pleas than she could stem the tide of her tears.
Suddenly, Joseph stopped, practically mid-stroke, as if he'd had an idea. And it was another truly devious idea. Soon, though, he picked up the paddle again to renew its horrible march up one cheek then down the other, down the back of one thigh and up the back of the other, concentrating ten or twelve shots in a row at her sit spot, then beginning the trek again. All while Prima enjoyed two vie
ws of her own torture, courtesy of a second full-length mirror that he positioned just so; where she could see the implement descending to her bottom, leaving a big red welt, then arcing quickly back to deliver the next devastating blow with the deft snap of his wrist.
It was awful – it was hideous – it was wholly obscene. Prima began to struggle wildly, driven practically insane by the shame of having to watch herself being paddled like a naughty little girl, as it was happening, as well as the searing agony of having to take the kind of torturous paddling Joseph dished out.
But, try as she might, she got nowhere, and all she succeeded in doing was exhausting herself. Joseph quietly went on to the next implement – the solid wooden bath brush. It was about eighteen inches long, with a solid oval head that was approximately four inches by four inches. Katherine could do nothing but watch as that unforgiving, vicious implement bruised and tenderized her backside inch by square inch, the pain exploding in each heavily concentrated area where the head of the brush landed. She screamed, cried, wailed, and moaned and no one heard her – no one but the man causing those unholy sobs. Somewhere, between the end of the paddle's reign of terror and the beginning of the brush's, she lost her voice entirely and then there was only the sharp crack of stiff, unforgiving wood biting repeatedly into swollen, soft, feminine flesh.
She saw him pick up the cane in the mirrors and lay a track down onto her butt cheeks – criss-crossing from the top of her left cheek down to the top of the back of her right thigh – without missing a beat between one implement and the other. A loud, hoarse groan tore from Prima's ravaged vocal chords with each stroke, her poor strained voice getting as bruised and beaten as her bottom. She watched as weal after weal appeared, following each swift flick of his strong wrist; saw the welts rising on her already well-beaten bottom. She was a mass of agony when he stopped and checked the condition of her bottom. Joseph came to her head, noting the pool of tears beneath her chin. He kissed her on the forehead in an almost tender gesture, saying, "I'm going to give you another round with the cane. This is the last one, for now."
A kind of tentative relief flooded her, but she chilled at the last two words of his statement. And then, she saw him draw his arm back to begin her double dose of the cane, drawing it back so far it was almost as if he was swinging a golf club, and she knew this was going to be the worst yet.
And it was.
When he'd finished beating her, Joseph was so engorged he thought he didn't know how much control he had. He knelt behind Katherine and unzipped his fly, reaching between her legs with his fingers and finding an incredible amount of wetness there. She never failed to amaze him. Feeling strangely courteous towards her, he wet his fingers in her honey and brought it up to her clitty, watching her eyes close slowly in the mirror, then reopen, as they were required to.
She wiggled tiredly, as if trying to avoid those rough fingers, "Please, Sir, I don't want –
"Shh-shh-shh. You deserve this after all I've put you through. I'm going to pleasure you, honey. I'm going to make you feel so good after all that pain." Joseph wished she was on her back so that he could eat her greedily, but he promised himself he'd do that tonight. He settled for putting two fingers of his left hand into her wet, hot pussy the way he'd learned she liked, fucking her steadily, deeply, hard, while the fingers of his right hand roamed over and over that bundle of nerves, marveling as it swelled up even more as if to greet him.
Katherine whispered a shameful moan at his ministrations. She didn't want to cum, didn't want him to bring her to ecstasy after he'd hurt her so awfully. But in this, she had no control, as she had no control over almost everything else in her life. She was subject as much to him pleasuring her as she was to him hurting her.
And her body seemed to crave both, much to her total humiliation.
He spread her wider, forcing her legs open around his, driving his hand further into the recesses of her body over and over, feeling the clenching tension as she drew inevitably closer and closer to her end. "That's it, Katherine. Surrender to me. You know you want to. You know you need the pain I give you just as much as the pleasure; both of them keep you in line like a good woman needs to be kept in her place – bottom welted and bruised regularly, pussy full of cum or cock or fingers, or all three. There's nothing you can do about it, anyway," he whispered, watching her breathing become more and more irregular as she fought herself and him and the physical gratification he relentlessly drove her towards.
Joseph had learned that she responded exceptionally well to his voice, so he continued to talk to her. "For me it's a tossup as to which one I like more – blistering your bare ass or pleasuring you till you blow apart like you do. I imagine neither one of them is really your favorite – even the pleasure comes at the price of your total submission, doesn't it?"
She began to emit what passed for a whine in rhythm with those fucking fingers as they plunged in and out and in and out…her body drawing taut with its pending implosion.
"That's my good girl. I love owning you, Katherine Marie." He moved over her, to get closer to her ear as he dragged those fingers over and over her swollen clitty and shoved his fingers deep into her upturned cunt. "I'm going to beat you like this again tomorrow, and then I'm going to pleasure you afterwards, like I am now. So you know what you can look forward later tomorrow afternoon. Another good, hard beating like you need. And then a good hard cum and fucking to go with it –"
Prima screamed with the strength of both her orgasm and her despair, but it came out more like a violent whisper. "No no no, please no, not again, no!" He made her ride it out to the very end, forcing every bit of pleasure out of her before he relinquished possession of her private parts with his hands, reluctantly, and patted her back, then pistoned his swollen cock into her empty pussy with one massive thrust that made her contract anew.
Her still strong convulsions, tightening around his organ like a good woman's mouth, brought him off within in minutes of entering her, milking him dry as he continued to hump her with a painfully erect, still-throbbing penis.
Finally, he untied her, ungagged her and carried her into his room, tucking her under the covers on her tummy. She lay there, unmoving, but couldn't seem to stop crying. Joseph got her a glass of water and two of those awful, big aspirin/sleeping potion suppositories, which he slipped into her behind before sitting beside her on the bed. Instead of fighting him or protesting a little, as she usually did, his insertion of the medicated bullets didn't seem to register with her at all. It worried him that she was still sobbing like he'd ripped out her heart – and the hoarse croaking sound of it was tearing at his own heart. Joseph remained with her for a long while, rubbing her back slowly and gently, and she did finally fall asleep after a long while of aching sobs.
Chapter Six
He was as good as his word. Prima spent the rest of the day in bed, at his insistence. Whenever he approached her or even just came into the room, she eyed him warily, but he paid it no attention, feeling it was natural that she was a little fearful of him. Joseph was downright solicitous towards her, partly because he didn't like that look in her eye, partly out of a sense of guilt that niggled in the back of his mind, no matter how determinedly he tried to dismiss it. It was the lingering guilt that made him bring her dinner in bed and practically feed it to her, even when she showed no interest in the steak and baked potato he'd cooked, knowing it especially was what she liked to eat. That night, once they were in bed with the lights out, it was one of the few nights he didn't require that she sleep bound. Instead, he carefully fit himself around her, spoon fashion, his inevitable erection nuzzling the warm, welcoming crevice between two wonderfully swollen bottom cheeks, but he did not take her. He stroked her hair back from her face, rubbed up and down her arm slowly. But mostly Joseph just…held her. Tightly. Securely. So tightly and securely that Prima, who had been staring off into space, fighting off tears fairly successfully, lost her battle to keep the sobs back.
Why did he have to
be nice to her now? If he'd continued to be a sadistic bastard, she could have built up a nice burning resentment towards him. Some of that was always in the back of her mind, anyway, always would be. Resentment that he owned her. Resentment that he could do this to her. Resentment that he made every decision for her, down to the most minute thing – limiting her ability to move, deciding what and when she ate, taking away what should have been her choice about who could enter her body, where they could enter, and when.
But she lost it when he was nice to her. The bastard. He made her do it again, only this time his implement was subtly and insidiously cloaked as compassion. He made her totally lose her dignity and her control to him, crying so hard she hyperventilated and nearly fainted, while Joseph's heart was in his throat as he tried to calm her down. Finally, he made her breathe into a paper bag, all the while talking to her in a soft, gentle voice and looking gravely concerned.
But none of his concern and caring prevented him from doing to her exactly what he said he would the next afternoon. Without a shred of compassion or human decency in evidence, he brought her back to the site of her greatest pain, not twenty-four hours later, and repeated the whole experience, this time beating his sadistic tattoo on an already horribly swollen and bruised target.
He tied her a little differently the next time; the square, butcher-block style coffee table turned so that she could be tied over a corner with a pillow beneath her plump mons, raising her up as if she was asking for each searing stroke rather than cringing desperately from it. The mirrors, the uncomfortable gag and head harness – tied from the back and from each side this time so that she could not even turn her head – that forced her to watch the process of her own torture, and the pile of implements were all there. The pile had been cut in half, however, as Joseph had removed the implements he'd already used. The thick, broad leather strap, the thin rubber one, and…Prima shuddered as she watched him pick up the long, slim hickory switch, kept limber in water and folded it over to form a loop that would lay a web of thin red welts all over her vulnerable, upturned bottom, two at a time. They would sting-itch unbearably for days afterwards, she knew from previous experience.
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