by Laurie Mann
Blindfolded and tied. A long time since tied. Making a point? Sign of things to come? Nerves tingled, especially when the tyres crunched on the gravel that signalled the journey’s end. The cold breeze alerted my mind, which I was trying to numb and I shivered uncontrollably with the cold and fear as days of trepidation came to a head. Pussy knew and juicily anticipated the forbidden joy, so earnestly withheld.
Naked, I tingled with cold and anticipation. A smooth leather skin was moulded around my face. My eyes peered through two small holes, past the pink shadow of my nose poking through tiny triangle above strong zipper that crushed my lips against teeth. Laces drew the helmet tight across my forehead and temples and flattened my ears. The lacing continued, hard against the bridge of my nose and squeezed my cheeks onto clenched teeth until my jaw was locked solid as the helmet tightened to sleeve my neck. My whole head was encased in leather, my sight distorted by watering eyes and lungs deprived.
Left hanging by my head, I gently revolved as my neck stretched and the helmet squeezed my head until the throbbing echoed like thunder. Minutes seem like hours as my rag doll body felt distant, not mine as the helmet focused all the pain into my head and the tight leather prevented its escape. Walls slowly turned through the tears as my own weight pulled the hood increasingly tighter and the pressure inside my head built to insufferable numbing eternity that hovered on the brink of darkness. Oh, journal, the empty darkness of unconsciousness seemed so welcoming, even pussy, usually so excited by my pain lacked vitality, deadened by the incessant throbbing inside my head.
My lethargic fingers traced each link of the chain, taut and immovable to the ring, cold and secure, sewn into my helmet. Over the smooth dome to laces, criss-crossed and kept from prying fingers by the locked flap at the back. Escape was impossible and I despaired as my fingers subconsciously caressed my bald pubis. Bald by Rock’s hand, wrenched out by tape. Rock, give me the strength I need.
Helpless with no respite. My arms and legs were free but I was more helpless than ever before. Even my mind was controlled by the constant pulsing pressure. Journal, you can have no idea of the dejection, the pain of simply dangling, swinging gently, awaiting the fate I dreaded. If only I knew why, it might have helped.
“I’ve seen the video.”
Madam’s voice was muffled, almost inaudible. What video? Had to concentrate hard to hear her words. I couldn’t see her but the delicate whiff of expensive perfume told me she was close by but I needed to see her, to plead with my eyes.
“I’ve examined it closely and the client is correct, as far as I can see.”
A huge screen came to life. The hammock girl, me on a leash attached to her neck and the young boy sat between her legs. Blinking furiously, without success, I watched my bewildered expression of concern for the tortured body stretched into a dining table as indecipherable voices filtered through helmet.
The picture raced, the meal finished in seconds, to a close up of slender, well manicured fingers teasing her pussy. I remembered the cigar ash, the quaking of .... I’m sure I know that nose, really I am. Felt the embarrassment as I meekly allowed the unknown kid have his way. Grimaced as the screen showed my pleasure at his inept abuse, my face full of the effort to deny pussy and then showing the relief when I succeeded.
Fast forwarded to the pained frustration of the skilful older cock that brought pussy so close to my betrayal of Rock. The sweat and anguish as time and again pussy so nearly succumbed, my privacy displayed for all in cruel slow motion. The humiliation of hanging like meat in the abattoir before my unseen audience even greater than the pain as my weight continued to stretch my poor neck, to fill my head with pulsating darkness.
“The evidence is clear to me. It failed to orgasm. Worse, It did all It could to resist orgasm.” Madam’s voice cut through the whirring of the rewinding tape. So that was my crime. The cause of my disappointing.
Not one voice was on my side, as far as I could tell amongst the muffled incoherent buzz that filled the room. So that was that, my audience, jury, had decided. No orgasm. Presumably they would have a hand in my punishment as well.
“The question is, why?” Madam’s stern voice silenced the murmurs. “Either It can’t, or didn’t want to, or an outside influence has infiltrated.” Madam calling me ‘It’ again intimidated, as did the loud buzz that accompanied her words.
“‘Can’t’ can be discounted. There’s plenty of evidence in Its past to be certain of that. Didn’t want to? I think the effort portrayed in Its face destroys that theory. Which only leaves the outside influence factor. Are we all in agreement?”
The hubbub implied agreement, confirmed by Madam’s menacing words.
“Good. We’ll prepare It, then we can enjoy lunch while we decide what to do.”
Journal, you cannot believe the dread that welled in my heart as my legs were spread wide, secured with straps biting my ankles. Madam had already decided my fate, I felt sure. So what was to discus? New ideas to be tried? Who were my audience, clients, friends? Lisa? Rock? No, he’s away. Delayed though .... No can’t be, not now! Only my snivelling dripping onto my breasts, disturbed the silence and compounded my misery. My suffering only matched by the fear of what was to come. Time stood still as the cramps and the agony invaded to the depths of my soul. No let up, just constant pain upon pain with pussy the only chink of light.
Oh, Rock, it’s all your fault. Why did you take my orgasm? Cause all this grief. NO. NO. NO. I must stop thinking that way. I know now that Madam and Rock can never share. Don’t let it be Madam. Rock’s taken so long to find I can’t loose him now.
Shuddered and trembled, my bladder hurting it was so full. Impossible to hold with legs spread wide. Must hold. Bladder intent on release focused my mind, another new torture as my willpower was tested, though I knew time would win. So easy to give in, relieve the pain, so why not? Respect, nothing else left, that’s why. Couldn’t, just can’t let my waste splash to the floor, for all to see. Maybe better now, though, before they come back to witness my distress.
No choice, bladder won. Listened, eyes streaming while waters splashed noisily onto the bare floor. Worth it? Yes, journal, the relief, however temporary was worth all the anguish.
The dirty stench of urine and sweat overpowered and my misery enveloped all the suffering. At least it tempered the fear. Just the lonely miserable acceptance of my fate kept me company.
Journal, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t share the horror of my life with your delicate pink pages, but I have to tell somebody. Can’t tell Rock, not yet, even if he was here.
“Careful where you walk. It’s disgraced Itself.”
Madam’s disdainful voice infiltrated the leather trapping my burning ears.
“Fetch Slut. She can mop it up.”
Despair, deeper than you can imagine as my sobs blew bubbles through my nose. ‘Slut,’ was manacled hand and foot with a leather face, only eyes, mouth and that nose showed. Even through the tears I recognised her nose, but a name? She hurried with rattling chains to mop the floor. So humiliating, journal, for both, my mess, her odious chore.
“Wipe It’s disgusting nose.”
I tried to back away, twist but couldn’t. Eye to tearful eye with ‘Slut,’ I could see the misery that dulled her eyes, once so clear and blue, now vacant their vitality gone. How do I know, journal? I know them, like her nose. The human hammock was wiping my nose. I know her, if only I could see enough to recognise. The cloth stank and dripped as she smeared it around my face. The very same gut wrenching cloth she’d used to mop my puddle. Couldn’t catch my breath and I retched against my tongue that filled my permanently clamped mouth. And all the time Madam and her friends watched and observed. How many? Who are they? Could do no more than cry, tears flooding the hood as my urine stung nose and eyes. I just wanted to hide. Instead, could only hang, legs wide, wantonly displayed for all to leer and
sneer.
Could only hang as the steel circled my wrist, clicked shut and my hands were secured behind. Not cuffs as such, just two rings welded together, wrists inextricably attached. Madam’s wicked spite scared as my dead weight continued to increase the intolerable strain on my neck and head and I feared I’d never survive. Never see Rock again. My business gone with life snuffed out by a mad woman’s vitriol. All because I disappointed.
Where will it end? Must escape, never serve Madam again. My life is Rock’s now, not Madam’s. The fuzzy, grey room moved nauseously as darkness approached - yes, please. Protect from the pain, end the suffering, deny pussy. Eyes rolling, last I remember, journal.
An acrid smell stung my nose, seared into my brain ending my peace. Madam’s voice broke the silence as my eyes streamed and bubbles lingered on my nose before popping.
“Before It orgasms, a little warming is called for, I think.” Muffled murmurs, presumably agreement, immediately preceded the broad swathe of fire that swept both cheeks. Jerking hips yanked my neck and my bottom burned, tears rolled and pussy purred. Another band of fire, then another, each one new agony. Stroke after stroke when all I longed for was the tranquillity of darkness while pussy basked in the heat of the fire.
Fingers probed, shivers of delight rippled, more strokes implied not ready despite pussy hot as my cheeks. More probing, harder, crushing clit and I moaned into clenched teeth, jerked pussy onto fingers, head being ripped off.
“Get your tongue down here, Slut.” Shadowy movement through tears preceded the warm, soft pleasure for pussy. Hips strained for the pressure pussy craved. Control, must control, fight desire. A band of fire surprised, shoved my pubis against her nose, clit against tongue.
“For every stroke It gets, Slut can have two.”
The response was immediate. A three card trick of tongue, fire and pussy’s love of my torment. Couldn’t win but had to. Rock said orgasm only when he says. Her tongue slurped, lapped my juices and sucked all the pleasure towards pussy. Fires blazed and strafe upon strafe despatched waves towards pussy. Only my mind resisted, had to, I couldn’t let Rock down. Rock’s more important than Madam! I pushed against her tongue, encouraged her tongue and willingly absorbed all, before my every single nerve end was bombarded with delicious revenge for my obstinate denial.
Couldn’t stop it and the aftermath left only twitching, aching and misery. Failed, knew I shouldn’t but pleasure became more important than Rock. Fire stopped, tongue stopped, just left hanging stretching my neck even further.
“See the way It resisted. Only another owner could instil such resistance. Eighteen strokes. Prepare Slut and they can ponder their futures while we eat.”
At least the strain eased, toes barely touched the floor but the relief, however small, was very welcome. ‘Slut’s’ eyes, hurting, I could see that. Nipples hurt, hers and mine clamped together. Slightest movement agony for both. Recognised her eyes, the glint of excitement behind the pain and fear. Just need her name. Wavering balance controlled by nipples as metal teeth constantly bit. Face ached and nose itched, tantalised by the all consuming scent of sweat and sex. Twinned with ‘slut’ by clamps and helpless arousal. Minds abhorring body’s hunger. Misery and pain fuelled pussy’s desire. Eighteen strokes - doubled for ‘slut.’ Pubes tickled. My baldness was more sensitive but I couldn’t respond, pussy strained but the bonds were too tight. Nipples burned, thighs gently caressed, pubes strove to press the button that would ignite. Rock, give me strength, please. Don’t let me fail again. Get home soon.
Whoosh! Leather sliced the air. ‘Slut’ jumped, her eyes welled and lips trembled. Whoosh! More pain, more fire absorbed silently by ‘Slut.’ Used to it, could tell. Whoosh! Harder, the force jerking pubes together. Now real fire starting. ‘Slut’s’ eyes told as her head rolled and our nipples stretched as she swayed and ground coarse hair against bare bone as the flickering flames began to roar. Whoosh! Brushed thighs, then the uppercut caught her cheeks and lifted her, her pubes scouring mine. Nipples stretched nipples and the clamp’s teeth bit deep. My screams were trapped inside the hood while ‘Slut,’ with eyes wide, hissed through clenched teeth. With red face contorted and tears flowing only her eyes revealed her true pleasure. Who is Slut? Felt her pain, shared her lust, but sympathy was difficult as she swayed on my nipples. Whoosh! She grimaced, gritted teeth and swallowed her cry but refused to scream, denied her assailant victory. Her eyes showed why.
Change of tactics. A thin, whippy cane replaced the strap. Narrow lines of intense fire on a bed of burning coals. ‘Slut’ gasped and defeat neared. Swingeing stroke upon swingeing stroke. Each one a full sweep of arm. Each one jagged and jerked ‘Slut’s’ tortured body, tearing our nipples, grinding our pubes. At last she broke, screamed and begged, pain had won. She ground and rubbed her pubis against mine as she sought the pinnacle of rising pleasure that the belt and cane had created.
Stroke thirty six landed faster and harder jerked ‘Slut’ to her toes, arched her back and stretched breasts like the mad scientist’s had done. Was he there, watching? Could see she sensed the end as she frantically forced her wiry pubes against mine, more receptive now bare, rousing pussy to betrayal that was impossible to stop. Couldn’t betray Rock again but it didn’t matter, I just let it happen. Saw the adoration in ‘Slut’s’ eyes as the ecstasy rampaged, our nipples alight with common pleasure. Oh, Rock, I tried, I really tried.
The bath was so good, the hot scented water nursed the pain from my tired, stiff limbs. Hours of luxury made my fingers wrinkly as my toes twiddled the taps and kept the water steaming. I just let my mind drift. Rock’s home soon. Work - no. Ache too much. Lisa’s still off, the second week. Not like Lisa, hope she’s alright. No matter, just let the pain ebb, enjoyed the soothing warmth. Must book a massage, imagine Rock’s hands, reviving, comforting and arousing.
Wednesday 16th March
No, journal, it’s not Monday, but today, such a wonderful surprise!
“Hello.”
“Rock? Oh - yes - hello. I wasn’t expecting you. You’re home then?”
“So I can see.”
His eyes lingered and stripped me of my flimsy negligee. He never hides his visual striptease that always embarrasses.
“Come in, Rock.”
“Andrea said you were sick. Lisa too. Bit coincidental don’t you think?”
His tone suddenly reminded me of his comment about our eyes. Seen the same look in our eyes, he’d said.
“It’s a bug. Been going around for a couple of weeks. Makes you achy, a bit stiff that’s all. Be fine soon. Only lasts a few days.” I desperately hoped I sounded convincing.
“Get some clothes on, we’re going out.”
“No, Rock. I’m not up to it, really. I’m sorry.”
“Get some clothes on. Unless you want to come as you are?”
“But ....”
“But what? Forgotten who owns you already, have you?”
“No. But ....” His look stopped me short. I was suddenly aware of just how stiff my limbs really were as I scurried, well, tried to anyway, to my room. Made him coffee first though, journal, his look demanded damage limitation and I know him well enough to know coffee will help with that.
“Where are we going?”
“Dunno. Need to eat. You choose.”
“Anywhere?”
“Anywhere, need to cheer you up a bit. Somewhere nice and quiet. I guess you’ve earned it.”
What was that last comment about? Earned it? What does he know?
“How about a curry?”
“Nah. Dangerous stuff, curry.”
“Not if you have a mild one.”
“Custer went for an Indian. Look what happened to him!”
I was speechless. Didn’t know if he was joking or not. Journal, you’ll just have to believe there are times it’s impos
sible to tell.
“Chez Blanc, then?”
“If you like.”
He might have sounded enthusiastic, it’s the best for miles. Quiet though, this time in the week.
“It’s expensive.”
“You’re paying.”
Guess that’s a yes. Better book, just in case. It seemed he was treating me more like a girlfriend than slave and I began to fear he’d turn out like all the others.
“You were late getting home.” I decided to chide him. He’s supposed to keep in touch but doesn’t as much as he should.
“Not really.”
“You were. You were due home last week.”
“Weather. I was on schedule for this time of year. I don’t see a problem.”
“You’re supposed to let us know if you’ll be late.”
“Why? What are you going to do? Fly out and fit the chains for me? I’ll let you know if there’s a problem. Snow’s not a problem this time of year, it’s normal.”
His tone was the one that put Monica in her place so I backed down. It’s no good trying to argue. I just wish he’d keep in touch more and remember he’s got a boss to answer to now, not just himself. But then, I don’t think he’ll ever answer to anyone else.
“Who is it?” His measured words stop my heartbeat.
“Pardon?” I needed time to think so I sipped my coffee.
“You heard.”
“Who’s what?”
“Don’t play games. The first night at the Royal Oak, if ever a walk betrayed a good whipping, yours did. My house, the last time, bruises, faint admittedly but nobody can whip their own tits that hard. Silly ideas about what you thought a slave was. A bug? I’ll wager you’re black and blue. Think about it. Give me a call, if you want to talk. I’ll get a cab home.”
He just walked out, journal. Left me like I’d left him the first time we’d met. It’s terrible. For weeks I’ve agonised. Now the heartache has to stop - or get worse. How to tell Rock, now he knows? How much I don’t know, but in a few days he’ll be gone again - maybe forever. I can’t cope with that.