Learning to Crawl

by John Argus

  ‘Owww…’ she wailed, jerking from side to side. ‘It hurts… please take it off,’ and her sudden defensive movements made the heavy little ball dance and tug on the end of the chain, pinching her nipple even more fiercely. He ignored her and produced a second ball and clip, and despite her protests, quickly snapped it onto her other nipple, before returning to his cooking.

  Her cries and yelps soon dropped to winces and gasps as she looked down at the things. The initial sting had been terrible, but had settled quickly into a sharp little throbbing ache.

  She glared at him, wanting to demand he remove them. Yet the worst was over, though they continued to throb uncomfortably. And she had been deliberately goading him.

  She winced again, trying to hold still so her movements did not make the little balls jerk and tug. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said sincerely, but he did not reply. ‘Please take them off me, sir…’ she pleaded, but he merely turned and glowered at her again, shaking his head.

  ‘Do not ask for a punishment to be rescinded,’ he said coldly. ‘It will only draw more punishment. When you act up and are punished, learn your lesson and don’t act up again.’

  Gwen said nothing; he had set the rules and she had agreed to them. She was at his mercy so long as she remained. And running begging to her stepfather was no longer the main reason she wished to stay, she realised. In spite of the occasional pain she was finding it all deeply exciting and arousing. At that moment the thought of leaving, to return to her old life of relative boredom, was not at all attractive. All those boys who had fawned over her: what milksops they were compared to this man.

  She sat quietly as he continued making breakfast, then watched as he brought a large plate over to the table beside her and sat down to eat. She did not ask for food, though she hoped he would make her something, or let her make something for herself later.

  ‘Hungry, slut?’ he asked suddenly, and another little shudder struck her at the word.

  Slut. What a slut she was.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied honestly, so he cut off a piece of sausage and, with his fingers, held it down to her. She looked at it in surprise, then swallowed a little wave of sexual heat and opened her mouth as she leaned forward. The weights tugged at her nipples, making them ache even more, but she ignored them, letting her lips close around the piece of sausage and take it from his fingers, then chewed quickly and swallowed.

  Her chest tightened as she watched him; she was eating out of a man’s hand!

  If he did it again, she decided, she would lick his fingers. The thought made her squeeze her pubic muscles on emptiness and wish she had the dildo he had driven into her the previous night.

  He held out another piece and again she leaned in, her lips sliding along it and brushing his fingers, licking at them as she took it and ate. Her upper body jerked a little more abruptly and the weights bounced on the end of the chains, making her nipples pulse.

  The next piece he held out was in the palm of his hand, and she licked it off, her tongue sliding out, lapping slowly across his hand before she closed her lips on the meat. It was good, but she hardly noticed the taste; so caught up was she, so enthralled in her own submissive, degrading behaviour.

  She passed her breakfast that way, eating bits and pieces from his hand. Then he set out a bowl of milk and she bowed forward, the weights dangling to the floor as she drank like an animal, bottom raised, legs apart. She wished he would take her again – hard. But he let her finish drinking before removing the bowl. He clipped the leash to her collar then and bent behind her to unclip her wrist restraints from each other.

  ‘On all fours,’ he ordered. The words shocked her and she hesitated, remembering the fiery and furious response she had made to the last boy who’d wanted her on all fours. But she swallowed her former feelings and, feeling exceedingly sluttish and wildly wicked, dropped onto all fours and let him walk her down the hall towards his dungeon. The weighted balls tugged much more severely at her nipples, swinging back and forth beneath her as she crawled, and she winced at the sensations but made no attempt to remove them.

  Her heart began beating faster and faster as she realised his intent, and her mind span as she tried to think of what he would do to her. She was not ready to be whipped – was she? No, of course not. She would definitely not permit that.

  ‘Stand,’ he ordered, and she obeyed without question. ‘Step over here. What do you think of this?’ He led her before an X-shaped frame. With straps at the top and bottom of the wooden beams it was obviously meant to hold someone, and more than that, for a large polished wooden phallus was attached where the beams crossed, angled up at an acute angle.

  ‘It – it looks… strange,’ she ventured.

  He moved to it and fiddled with the wooden cock until it came down and off. Then he motioned her forward. Gwen felt nervous but excited, and stepped up to the frame, facing it, reaching without being told for the top corners. He strapped her wrists into the restraints, then spread her legs and locked them to the bottom. She felt deliciously erotic as the muscles of her thighs strained, and then gasped as she felt his hands near her sex. He held the wooden phallus, and she hissed as he slowly pushed it up into her pussy. She was moist and ready, or the thickness of it would have hurt. Even as it was she ached a little as it spread her wide.

  ‘On your toes,’ he ordered, giving her bottom a smack.

  She raised herself onto her toes and felt the thing being manoeuvred and attached to the frame. He moved around in front of her then, smiling from between the top arms of the cross. He released the two clips simultaneously and she cried out at the sudden rush of pain. That pain grew rapidly as the feeling returned to her nipples and she gasped and winced and pulled against her restraints.

  Then his mouth closed over one of her nipples. He did not suck, but merely mouthed it, letting the inside of his mouth massage it gently. The feeling against her quivering, aching nipple was intoxicating. Both were so sensitive she could feel the gentle breeze from the air conditioning vent as it blew across them, and she whimpered in pleasure and pain as he moved his mouth and fingers from one to the other.

  She eased down onto the wooden dildo, grunting as it slid deeper inside her. But there was a price to pay, she realised with a gasp. The thing was at such an angle that the lower her pussy lips slid the less space there was between the dildo and the frame, and just near the base was a little nodule on the frame which, by accident or design, ground directly over her clitoris.

  He straightened, and then produced a golden chain. At each end was a small loop, which he proceeded to slip around her engorged nipples and then tighten. The loops did not hurt, as the clips had, but did hold tightly to her nipples. He pulled back on the chain at its centre point and fixed it to a small hook in the wall, then moved away.

  ‘I have to shower and get ready for work,’ he announced. ‘I can’t stay around here all day playing with you. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.’

  The door shut behind him and she was alone; surely not for the whole day. But the thought was brief; she had more important things on her mind.

  She indulged herself by pulling at the restraints, reassuring herself she was a helpless prisoner. Then, too randy to resist, she began to carefully work herself up and down on the wooden dildo. It was difficult and her feet and legs soon began to tire as she slid up and down its length. But excitement leant her energy. As she moved her breasts shook lightly, pulling against the chain binding her nipples and sending wicked little sensations through her. She moaned, riding faster still, needing to take as much of the dildo as she possibly could manage.

  She tried to avoid the little bump, to take only so much and then stop as she felt its edge. Her moist sex lips squeezed tightly around the thick phallus, sliding wetly up and down as she grunted with pleasure.

  Gwen looked up at the wall before her, to wh
ere the chain was hooked, and saw the mirror there to one side. She had hardly noticed it before and hardly noticed it now, except that she caught sight of movement in it, and as she stared she realised it was reflecting the far larger mirror on the wall behind her.

  That mirror reflected the lewd image of her rounded bottom working up and down, showed the glistening wooden phallus appearing and disappearing as she rose and fell. She stared at that hypnotic image, unable to tear her eyes away, hardly able to credit how intensely lewd and arousing it was.

  She slid her sex down the dildo and groaned as she went too far, as the little bump ground across her swollen clitoris, pinching against it. She pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet and then onto her toes, paused, and then slid down again.

  Too far… she groaned again as the nodule pressed over her clitoris. It hurt, but the discomfort was only a brief distraction from the flood of sexual steam filling her mind and body. She continued to ride the thing, growing frantic with heat and need, staring at herself in the mirrors, gasping each time she slid too low; which was every time now, for she needed absolutely every inch inside her.

  She cried out as the orgasm hit her, only to discover instants later that it was only the prelude. The real climax tore into her then and she screamed, shaking violently in her bonds, riding the dildo with the last of her strength, sobbing in pain and wildfire pleasure as the climax rolled on and on, then faded, and then bloomed anew.

  She had never before experienced multiple orgasms. She’d heard girls boast of it but considered them liars. Now a fleeting and shocked recognition struck that part of her mind still capable of thought as another orgasm gripped her, as she began a rollercoaster ride up and down a parade of them, body shaking and jerking, legs and feet working desperately.

  In the end she collapsed, utterly exhausted, almost hanging by the wrists against the frame. He returned, neatly dressed in an expensive suit, smelling of expensive cologne. He smiled as he unlocked her from the device and settled her on the floor, and then walked out.

  Gwen lay there for some time, exhausted and sore. Her feet and her calves ached, the muscles overstrained. Her pussy was feeling little better after the wild ride she had taken on the wooden phallus.

  She managed to get to her feet and stagger out of the room, then along the hall to flop on one of the padded chairs in the main room. There she lay for a while, massaging her legs and feet and rubbing her nipples, which were still intensely sensitive.

  She realised he was gone, and therefore had some time to recover and settle herself. She found an enormous green marble bathroom and filled a large sunken tub with hot, soapy water. Then she lay back and relaxed, idly stretching her legs and arms, letting the hot water work on tired muscles.

  Gwen could hardly believe she had met the man not much more than twelve hours earlier, and that she had experienced so many mad sexual thrills in such a short period of time. She luxuriated in the penetrated warmth of the water, and in her new self-image as a wild, kinky, wanton slut. None of her girlfriends, she was sure, had ever enjoyed such an incredible experience. How they would drool when she told them!

  It was so wildly perverse and thrilling that she was unsure she could even tell them the whole of it. It was strangely desirable to be a ‘slut’ here in this penthouse, with him, but that did not mean she wanted all her friends back home to think of her so.

  What else would he do to her? In what other ways would he punish her and use her?

  She let her legs spread under the water, drifted a hand gently down to her mons, and traced the line of her sex. She was sore, inside and out, and was amazed at the way she behaved on that rack, like a depraved animal, and wondered if she mightn’t have a little of the nymphomaniac within her.

  And of course, he was a beast every time he entered her, pummelling her mercilessly, rutting like a wild boar. She’d never had a man use her with such violent passion and utter disregard for her.

  She let her finger stroke across her clitoris with the gentlest of touches. It felt sore, and almost raw, but was also beautifully sensitive.

  Much like her nipples. They had stung awfully at the time, yet something inside her had deliberately made her writhe and pull on them again and again. And with each sharp ache had come a sizzling jolt of sexual electricity that made her breasts swell deliciously.

  Gwen hissed lightly as the soft pad of her index finger gently rubbed against her clitoris. At the same time she rolled her nipple between a pair of soapy fingers. She groaned and spread her legs wider, slouching lower in the tub and raising her knees. She felt a pleasant tension in her inner thighs as the tendons stretched, and she slid all but her knees and head beneath the water. Her hands stroked and circled her breasts as her mind replayed the events of the morning, and the previous night. Each wicked highlight sent a little shudder through her mind and body as she added more pressure from the finger stroking her clitty. A finger slid gently inside, then stroked in and out as she remembered how he had thrust so harshly into her body. Her eyes closed and after long minutes of stroking she climaxed once again, sighing aloud.

  She rested, relaxing, feeling drained.

  After her bath she found nothing to wear but one of the towels, tucking it around her chest as she set out to explore the penthouse. It was a slow, intriguing exploration. The penthouse was not large compared to her stepfather’s manor, but for an apartment in downtown Manhattan it was simply enormous.

  She walked through the living room, despite her earlier climaxes still gripped by a simmering sexual arousal, then back to his bedroom and began to poke about inquisitively. In one drawer she found a pair of green silk pyjamas. They were too large for her, of course, but she rolled up the sleeves and it did for a nightshirt.

  The rest of his clothing was predictably expensive but appeared, as far as she could determine, to be off the rack rather than tailored. She sniffed disdainfully and headed back up the hall.

  The swimming pool was superb. It extended out beyond a glass wall onto the back terrace. She could see the mist rising from the pool outside into the chilly winter morning, and suddenly felt an almost overwhelming desire to swim under the wall and outside.

  She hesitated, looking at the buildings nearby. None seemed quite as tall and she decided that, barring someone having a telescope, she was likely safe from close observation.

  Dropping the pyjama top on a chair she gently eased down into the warm water. She swam slowly out into the middle, then with a kick and a dive went under, swam forward and then surfaced outside. The air was warm from the mist coming off the pool and she swam to the far corner, then climbed the steps and got out, gasping as she walked away from the warm air over the pool and felt the deep chill of winter bite her.

  Yet she did not turn back – not immediately. She felt wild and wanton there outside, overlooking the city, nipples erect, goosebumps breaking out on her pale flesh as she moved carefully to the edge of the terrace. The air cut into her, freezing the water on her skin, and she knew it would be delicious when she did turn and dive into the warm water. She crossed her arms under her breasts, rubbing at the cold, and moved along the rail, looking out at the city below.

  She lingered further, delaying the pleasure that awaited, growing colder still. She raised her arms, pulling back her hair, twisting it so that water, still warm, dribbled down her back and between her buttocks. Her feet were freezing and she imagined it as a punishment from him – from her master. She bent forward, consciously spreading her legs, raising her bottom as she tried to look all the way down to the street below. She looked down into the myriad of windows around her, watching the tiny forms of movement within, people working, doing boring office type jobs, she mused, copying this and dictating that.

  Her breasts were so chilled now they were practically numb. She wondered if anyone was watching, and raised her hands to cup and squeeze them, but she could tak
e no more of the cold and turned and jumping into the water. The warmth enveloped her chilled flesh and she groaned in delicious comfort, drifting slowly towards the glass wall, swimming easily then ducking beneath and coming up on the other side.

  Why couldn’t her stepfather have a place like it in London instead of that boring old barn in the middle of nowhere?

  Gwen drifted slowly and then climbed gracefully out. There were towels on a shelf nearby and she dried herself, then put on his pyjama top once more and resumed her exploration. She bypassed most of the rooms, though she did spend a while in the little theatre examining his storehouse of videotapes. Then, finally, she headed for the strange torture chamber, fascinated, a low hum of sexual excitement still gripping her.

  She took down and examined various whips, crops and paddles, sometimes lightly striking her palm, or hip, glancing irrationally and anxiously over her shoulder in case someone was spying on her. Then she tried to place herself in the various and outlandish frames. For some reason the chains thrilled her. She imagined hanging from her wrists, moaning – a picture of submission abused by her cruel tormenter. She raised her wrists, looking at herself in the mirror on the far wall, wondering what it would feel like to be hung so.

  She picked up a ball-gag and fed it experimentally into her mouth, buckling it at the back of her head, then again looked at herself in the mirror, putting her hands together behind her back.

  A sexual prisoner!

  She trembled with arousal and moaned through the gag, and that brought a new thought and she moaned more loudly; she had always felt an instinctive need to suppress her sounds of pleasure from her lovers. There was a need for dignity and reputation had to be considered; a girl who uttered indelicate noises during sex lacked class, and a gag would help her maintain her decorum.

  She removed it, and worked her stiff jaw as she examined the selection of sex toys. She had never imagined she could find such a wide selection of artificial penises. Some were white, some pink, and some black. Some were thin, some terribly thick, some were a few inches long, some looked like they had been modelled after horses. She was too tender to try them out, but she told herself she would eventually, then resumed her tour of the place.