A Lady Pays Her Penalties

by Ashley Zacharias

  The first possibility, that he would use her once, come quickly and then leave her alone again, was long eliminated. The opposite possibility, that he intended to stay all night, using her again and again and again, now seemed inevitable.

  As degrading as this was, she preferred his abuse to the boredom of being left alone all night in a brightly lit room with uncovered windows.

  She congratulated herself for looking on the bright side of life.

  Funny how quickly a person can change their perceptions, however miserable their circumstances. She thought that she was suffering The Passion of Christ and found that she was living The Life of Brian instead.

  * * *

  Alex lay on the bed and felt like dozing off. Trying to be a bastard was exhausting. He wondered how real bastards managed to keep it up all day long, day in and day out, for their whole lives.

  He felt like he was falling in love with Leslie but he couldn’t be sure. He might merely be feeling sympathy for her or he might merely be basking in the glow of having his lust so well satisfied. He had told her that her cocksucking was barely adequate but he had lied. There’s no such thing as a bad blowjob. There’s no purer way for a woman to service a man and, as far as Alex was concerned, when he was cumming in Leslie’s mouth, she owned him, lock, stock, and barrel.

  He hadn’t cum in a woman’s mouth nearly often enough in his life.

  And fucking a woman in the ass? He’d never tried that before, only read about it. The advice that he had read – use lots of lubricant, go slowly – had been spot on. Leslie had made his life complete and he wanted to love her for that gift.

  He had made love to Leslie a couple of times since he had begun dating her a few weeks ago. Those had been good times. Hell, they’d been almost great. But that had been straight, vanilla sex in a proper bed with the lights turned low. They’d both enjoyed themselves but this was sex in a completely different league. He had never known that it was in him to be able to use a woman without caring what she felt. It didn’t come naturally to him. He had to force himself to ignore her feelings; and he could only do it because her letter had assured him that she needed him to do it. Selfishness, though, was the ultimate new experience for him. Even if she never again felt the need to give herself to him so generously, that she had done so once was a memory that he would treasure forever.

  Tonight, she was dirty and smelly and looked exhausted – dark circles under her eyes and pale lips that were slightly chapped gave testimony to that – but tonight, to Alex, she looked breathtakingly beautiful.

  And, right now, she was downstairs doing nothing but waiting for him to come down and use her again.

  He dozed off to that thought.

  * * *

  When he awoke, the clock beside the bed said that he had been asleep for almost two hours. The erection pressing against the mattress said that he had been asleep for long enough.

  As he walked down the stairs, he massaged himself idly to keep his stiffie. He carried the pillow from her bed under his arm.

  Leslie was still awake, sitting against the wall, looking exhausted and beautiful.

  “Middle of the floor, on your back,” he muttered casually.

  She gathered her feet under her, leaned forward and twisted to balance herself, then rose as far as her chains would allow. After tottering to the center of the floor, she carefully lowered herself to her knees, then turned and lay down on her back with equal care.

  The chains forced her to spread her legs for him in a most agreeable manner.

  He could fall upon her right now and take her as she was, but he had little taste for dry cunt and no interest in foreplay; he was already hard. Maybe she would already be wet enough, but maybe not. Why bother taking the chance? He dropped the pillow between her spread legs, and then fetched the bottle of lube from the floor where he had left it after the ass fucking. He squeezed a plentiful glob on his hand and massaged his cock with it. She didn’t have to be lubed if he was.

  He dropped to his knees on the pillow and then thrust himself into her, hard and quick. She gasped, mostly in surprise, though she might have suffered a twinge of pain as well. What did he care? He reminded himself that it made no difference to him why she was gasping.

  He pumped with long, smooth strokes, feeling the soft, silky inside of her cunt caressing the shaft of his cock. Then he stopped and pressed hard and deep into her, the head of his cock reaching for the center of her body, her nether lips pressing against the root of his shaft, and her clit flattened between their pubic bones. He paused for a minute and felt her begin to respond to him, beginning to work her hips forward and backward, seeking stimulation from him. He could not tell if she was getting aroused herself or simply trying to goad him into finishing more quickly.

  To his amazement, she began rocking and thrusting against him harder and harder, her hands fluttering impotently at the ends of the boards and her feet rattling against the chains as though she wanted to be free to hold him tight while she came. And, as she came, she howled like a beast of the night, primal and savage. He felt her cunt contracting around his cock and he came, too. They both came at the same time, hard and delicious.

  He tried to not care whether she had taken pleasure from him or not, but knowing that, in some miraculous way, she had managed to reach her own climax despite her obvious discomfort made it so much sweeter for him that he wanted to cry.

  He held her and hugged her and felt wet on his cheek. She was crying. Whether from exhaustion, relief, ecstasy, or maybe from the simple pain of being crushed against the hardwood floor and plank by his weight upon her, he would never know. Maybe she did not know herself. But he did remember that was not allowed to care. Not tonight.

  So he pushed himself off her, gathered his clothes and began dressing.

  She laid on the floor, watching him with wet, tired eyes, and said nothing.

  He finished dressing without a word, and then walked to the front door. She twisted her head to look at him as he reached to open it, and then said, “Wait. One thing before you go.”

  “Yes?”

  “I miscalculated something. I can’t open my water bottles with my hands like this.” She fluttered her hands. “Would you open a couple of them, please?”

  He looked at her with suspicion and recalled that her letter said that he was being tested; that any act of kindness on his part would be a failure. On the other hand, she should have water available just for the sake of her health. How long had she been restrained like this without being able to drink anything? She looked exhausted and he suspected that she had been restrained long before he had been sent over.

  He suspected that the correct response would be, I don’t care, and was about say that but suddenly realized that he could reply with an even more appropriate response. “What will you do for me if I do that for you?”

  She looked taken aback. He could already do anything to her that he wanted, in fact had spent half the night taking all she had from her. What more could she offer? “Anything you want me to do.” It wasn’t literally true, but she would do an awful lot right now. Her mouth felt dry as a bone.

  He looked at her for a minute, and then said, “Amuse me.”

  “What would amuse you?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked around the room and his eye fell on the bucket. “Is that your piss?”

  She looked at the bucket and said, quietly, “Yes,” unable to meet his gaze.

  “Pour it over your head.”

  She looked at him in shock.

  He stared back impassively.

  She looked at the bucket again and bit her lip. She was awfully thirsty. And it was her own urine, not poison. “Would that turn you on?” she temporized.

  “Not at all,” he replied. “I’m not into anything like that.”

  “Then why would it amuse you?”

  “Because you won’t like it. It’s like watching a clown being forced to push a pie into his own face. It’s only funny because he
doesn’t want to do it.”

  She flapped her hands again, “I can’t. I can’t raise my arms above my head.”

  “Too bad.” He turned to reach for the door.

  “Wait,” she said. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

  He watched while she struggled to turn over and then raise herself to her knees. She did not bother to try to stand, but walked the few steps on her knees to reach the bucket. There were only a couple of pints sloshing about in the bottom. Not more than a couple of hours ago, she’d been worrying that it would be embarrassing if he heard her peeing. Now she was going to baptize herself with her own piss.

  She grabbed the edge of the pail with her right hand and twisted herself to raise it above her head.

  “Aim carefully,” Alex warned. “You don’t want to miss your chance.”

  She aimed carefully. She bent sideways to make sure that the bucket was directly over her head, tilted it slowly, and looked up to make sure that the piss was coming directly at her.

  She began pouring it over her face in a slow stream. Because she had not drunk much, her urine had been exceptionally concentrated. The piss that poured over her was strong, dark yellow, and smelled thick. She wanted to gag. She tilted her head toward it to make sure that the last half fell into her hair and soaked her entire head thoroughly. That was the request: that she pour it over her head, not just on her face. When the bucket was empty, piss was running down her face, over her eyes and mouth, and streaming out of her hair and down her back in yellow rivulets.

  Alex clapped slowly and sarcastically. “Bravo.”

  She put the bucket back in its place.

  He walked over to her flat of water bottles, picked out three of them, and walked back to her. One at a time, he twisted the caps off and spaced them apart on the floor, each resting in the puddle of urine that she had just created.

  “Enjoy.” As he left the room he thought, Fuck going to dinner and a movie; this has been a hell of a great date.

  She did not answer his retreating back. As he let himself out of her house, locking the door behind him, she knelt in her pool of her piss and hated him. He had acted exactly the way that she had wanted him to act when she had decided to make him part of her punishment. And now she hated him for it.

  As soon as he was gone, she set about drinking one of the bottles of water. Without the use of her hands, that was easier to say than to do. She had to lower herself far enough to get her lips on the mouth of the bottle without slipping and jamming it into her mouth. The bottle was too heavy to risk trying to lift and tilt it with her teeth and lips. Instead, she tilted it over, lowering herself further towards the floor so that the water flowed out and into her mouth.

  She suspected that Alex had calculated the consequences of his placing the bottles in her puddle of urine. She could only drink them by lowering herself so that her tits were dragging through her cold piss. And she could only get the last quarter of the bottle by pushing her face all the way against the sopping floor. Not that that mattered so much because her face was already soaked with urine, but the act did give her that little extra boost of debasement.

  One blessing was that Alex had not thought to remove the cardboard from the windows before he left. Despite the instruction in the letter that he leave her as helpless and vulnerable as when he arrived, he had failed in that particular. She was happy to spend the rest of the night in privacy. Pity he had left the lights on, though. She would have liked to be able to sleep in the dark for a while tonight.

  Most people never appreciate the dark until they are forced to live in the light all the time.

  But Leslie had always known that she needed her darkness.

  * * *

  Craig was cold and tired. He had spent most of the night standing in Leslie’s back yard, peering through her dining room window. Alex had been careless in his placement of the cardboard screen that leaned against the glass, leaving a narrow crack along the right side by the window jamb. It was just wide enough to let him see what was happening in Leslie’s living room when he pressed his face to the glass.

  Craig told himself that, as a true friend, his obligation to watch over Leslie extended beyond the specific instructions contained in her envelopes. He had been assigned an active role in her punishment when he had been asked to bolt her to the plank and to deliver the envelope to Alex. Though he had not opened that envelope, he had been able to feel the key through the paper. It had not been hard to guess what Alex was being asked to do. As the only person who knew what was likely to happen and having the responsibility of ensuring that nothing went terribly wrong, he had a duty to watch over her during as much of her penalty as possible.

  That was what he told himself despite the wood in his pants. The thrill that he got from watching his helpless friend get ravished again and again in different ways was incidental. Leslie would be safer as a result of his vigilance, and it wouldn’t hurt her if he got turned on by it. It wasn’t like he was the man porking her.

  The episode with the bucket of piss had been over the top. Disgusting. Craig could not understand why seeing it had made him harder than ever. He wasn’t into that kind of thing so why did it make his cock so rigid that it was painful? He had no choice but to give himself relief. It only took a few seconds for him to open his pants and jerk off right there in the shadow of her back yard. As he pulled at his pud, he felt shame that he had become so aroused by his friend’s degradation – more aroused than he had ever been with his wife – but the succulent marinade of guilt only increased the intensity of his climax.

  Surely Leslie understood that, even though they would never make love to each other, she was enriching his sexual life immeasurably. And, if he sometimes thought of Leslie while he was making love to his wife, that hurt no one, especially not his wife who lauded his passion in bed.

  It was two in the morning when Alex finally left and Leslie settled down on her back to try to get some sleep. After watching for a few more minutes, Craig felt free to go home and grab a few hours of rest before returning with the next envelope.

  * * *

  Leslie was so exhausted that she fell asleep despite her discomfort. And she stayed asleep for more than three hours despite being unable to move her arms even an inch, despite being unable to straighten her legs completely, despite the edges of the oak plank digging into her upper back, despite the bruises that were developing where her arms kept pressing against the U-bolts that restrained them, despite the stinking, sticky urine drying on her face and in her hair, despite the cold air and glaring light in the room, and despite her desperate hunger. At least she was no longer thirsty. And, with the windows blocked by the cardboard screens, she no longer had to be afraid that someone was watching her.

  When she awoke, she was still tired and achy and shivering. Her back was sore and every joint was stiff. But those discomforts were not in the forefront of her mind. More than any other single thing, she felt discarded. She had been used and abandoned. Not just used but abused before she had been abandoned. Alex did not have to force her to soil herself with her own urine. She had given him no such instruction. It was true that she had told him that he was not permitted to show her the slightest kindness, but he had taken that instruction past the point of reasonable interpretation. He could have simply given her the water, not as a kindness, but as a simple act of preserving her safety. Even pigs are given water as they are being taken to the slaughterhouse. That hardly indicates a kind intention on the part of the butchers, only that the meat must be maintained while in the pen.

  And he hadn’t been forced physically to leave her in this state. He could have ignored her instructions to some degree. At the very least, he could have stayed for a while and relieved her boredom with a little company. After she had allowed him to use her body so completely, didn’t he think that he owed her at least that much a few minutes of conversation? He could even have tossed her a blanket or a pillow from her bed before he left. He could see how much distress she was in.
If he really loved her, he would have ignored her letter and rescued her from her misery altogether; found the wrench and unbolted her; tossed her the key that was hanging in plain sight on the far wall.

  By being so eager to follow her every instruction exactly to the letter, by interpreting her words as cruelly as possible, he had shown his true colors. He was so good at using a woman and discarding her, this must be his natural inclination. Everything else, his months of being kind and tender while they had been dating was merely an act, a ruse to lull her into accepting his abuse when he finally unveiled his true personality. Her letter had merely been the excuse that he needed to show her what kind of man he truly was.

  The penalty that Leslie had designed for herself had been to suffer the ultimate debasement – to be used and then discarded as though she had no more value than a piece of toilet paper. Now that she had reached that state, she wallowed in her misery like a pig wallowing in its filth.

  She loved her misery and embraced it with zeal.

  Alex had given her exactly what she needed and she deliberately turned her thoughts in the direction that would ensure that she experienced her degradation as acutely as possible.

  Though awake, she could no longer see out any window and did not know how long she had to wait before Craig returned with the next envelope and dialed her ordeal up to the next level. She dreaded what was coming next.

  She struggled to turn over on her face and then knee-walked over to drink another bottle of water. She was no longer concerned about having to pee in the bucket. Her floor was already soaked with urine and would have to be cleaned as soon as she was released; when she had to pee again, she would just go on the floor.

  When she bent over to suck on the open water bottle, her nipples, still adorned with large safety pins through her long-healed piercings, linked with that hateful chain, brushed against the sticky, mostly-dried urine in a most disagreeable way. When she tilted the bottle and pressed her face against the floor to drink the last quarter of the water without the use of her hands, her cheek stuck to it as though in were covered in cheap child’s glue.