Sam felt a stab of anguish. Oh God she’d messed up badly! She ran to Beauty and stroked her hair. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. You know that.’
But Beauty would not look her in the eye. Where was her mute controller? In her bedroom? She must get it so she could let Beauty speak so she could say she understood.
But by now her father had found his tongue, even as his terrible glare froze Sam to the spot. ‘So, you’ve been swimming while you left your pet unattended on the mill. Something you were specifically told not to do. And then you compounded your dereliction by setting the device carelessly so that she could have suffered severe harm. And, thanks to your muting of her, she was doubly helpless. That is a catalogue of gross carelessness and incompetence.’
‘I’m so sorry, Father.... I was on my phone and -’
‘Silence! You’re only making it worse.’
He took hold of Beauty and gently helped her down from the bench. She winced visibly as she moved and Sam felt another stab of regret.
Her father addressed Cleaver. ‘I’m going to take Beauty to the house to show my wife, so she understands what comes of humouring Samantha’s foolish whims. As a penance she can apply more cream to her bottom until it is soothed, even if it takes all night. Meanwhile I want you to punish my daughter severely. Take as long as you need and use whatever means you see fit. Her bottom is all yours, do you understand? I don’t care if she can’t sit down for a week. Unless she is made aware of the magnitude of what she has done I fear she will continue to disgrace me like this, and I will not have that. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly, Mr Fillister,’ Cleaver said.
Her father led Beauty out, leaving Sam alone with Cleaver. Suddenly she realised that she was only wearing her skimpy bikini and he was looking at her with cold calculation. She wrapped her arms across her front and chewed her lip. ‘I... I’m really sorry, Mr Cleaver, I know she’s been hurt - and I’m so sorry - but it wasn’t that bad. A good caning would have done as much damage. I’ve seen you do it to bad girls. You did it to me!’
‘Yes, I did, Miss Samantha. But there’s a world of difference between deliberate, calculated, purposeful punishment and injury caused by carelessness. Every slave owner must know that. Your father is angry because you’ve broken the Irontown trust between slave and slave master. We promise to give them a better life if they accept we have power over them. That means we take responsibility for their minds and bodies. If we don’t live up to that bargain then we’re no better than common people traffickers.’
‘But I -’
‘Be quiet girl!’ he snapped. There was no diffidence in his voice now. It was the same tone he might use on a thoughtless slave. ‘We’re done talking. Now I’ve got to punish you as your father wishes. I’ll have to do a better job than last time. I’ll begin by having you take off your costume.’
‘Oh... no, please don’t make me -’
Cleaver unhooked the cane he carried on his belt and swiped it through the air. ‘Now, girl!’
Miserably, snivelling in fear, Sam peeled off her bikini top and bottom. Her hands moved to cover her breasts and pubes but Cleaver snapped: ‘Hands clasped behind your neck! You’re not allowed any modesty in here. Not today, not after what you’ve done.’
Feeling sick and yet also strangely detached, as though this was happening to somebody else, Sam obeyed. He did not seem moved by her exposure or those intimate details of her body that were now revealed. To him she had become just another naked female body that needed disciplining.
Cleaver drew out one of the devices stacked neatly against the walls. It was a low, solid wheeled bench of dark wood fitted with an array of heavy tubular brass rods and clamps. Like the treadmill it might have been a century old but it had been built to last. A pair of rods rose vertically from the rear corners of the bench with sliding clamps on their ends. In front of them a second, shorter pair, had clamps at their bases while above them they were linked by a horizontal rod on sliding mounts. An adjustable hinged wooden board fitted with gag straps and a set of vice-like clamps extended from the middle back edge of the bench.
Cleaver swung the horizontal rod aside and said sharply: ‘Lie on your back, head on the board and legs up high...’
With her stomach churning Sam climbed onto the bench and lay back as he commanded. Her head now lay between the rubber-lined jaws of the vice mounted on the hinged board, while her buttocks overhung the front edge of the bench, which had been chamfered and rounded. The wood under her felt unexpectedly smooth: polished by the bodies of who knew how many slavegirls before her. But how many of their mistresses as well: the wives and daughters of strong Irontown men who knew how to keep their women in line? Or was she the first to be shamed like this? Selfishly she hoped not.
Cleaver pulled her arms out sideways to the clamps at the base of the forward pair of uprights and closed the rubber-lined hoops about her wrists. Then he pulled her uplifted legs further back, spreading them as he did so, until her shins were vertical and her knees were close to her shoulders. Then he clamped her ankles to the tops of the corner uprights. He screwed the vice jaws together about her head, the rubber pads pressing against her temples until her head was held fast and she could not turn it, nod or raise it unless he permitted. He pulled the side straps across her mouth. They held a thick rubber bit which he forced between her teeth.
Sam accepted this into her mouth almost eagerly. As any Irontowner knew it was best to have something to bite on when the pain came and it might also muffle her screams a little.
Finally Cleaver swung the horizontal bar back into its place bridging between the two shorter uprights and lowered it downward. It pressed against the bowed backs of Sam’s double-over thighs, forcing them a little further downwards until she whimpered at the strain on her hip joints. Then he locked the bar in place.
Now Sam was totally helpless and about as exposed as it was possible for a woman to be. Her splayed and bent legs, pinned down by the crossbar, thrust her haunches and the soft mound of her sex upward, so that its plump outer halves naturally parted revealing the intimate details her inner labia. The tension on her thighs pulled her skin taut, causing her bottom cleft to gape and so expose the crinkled pucker of her anal mouth. It was a position ideal both for a beating and for intercourse.
Cleaver ran a hard hand over her groin, stroking and pinching her bottom and pussy. Sam whimpered and her eyes grew wide in fear and shame at being handled so intimately by an employee of her father’s. It was worse than exposing herself to the park warden. At least he did not know her. Cleaver was staff. He’d worked for the family for years. But he was not feeling her for his immediate pleasure. He was merely assessing how much damage she could endure.
From a pegboard rack on the wall he took down a supple leather strap and slapped it across his palm. Sam flinched.
‘And so you should, girl,’ Cleaver said. ‘Your father wants you to suffer and it’s my job to make you. Six of the best to start with. Think yourself lucky it’ll be over sooner for you than it was for Beauty.’
Positioning himself by the foot of the restraining bench he stroked the strap across the cleft of her bare sex. Sam shuddered at its sensual suppleness and felt a perverse surge of lust flare in her loins. No, she could not respond like this! Cleaver drew the strap down through her furrow a second time but even deeper and she felt a warm slickness coating the leather. She was oiling the strap with her own juices.
Cleaver grunted. ‘That’s right, girl, you wet it. Wet leather has more bite.’
She sobbed in shame. He was tormenting and shaming her, exposing her instinctive reactions. Why couldn’t he just get on and beat her!
Cleaver drew back his arm and swiped the strap across the pale twin hills of her outthrust bottom.
Sam almost bit through her gag as the pain seemed to cut into her like a h
ot knife to her very bones and the air rang with the crisp crack of leather on girl flesh. Her breasts jerked as she shrieked and the impact ripple surged across her bottom. The whole bench frame shook as she yanked on her clamps and hot tears filled her eyes. It was the worst thing she had ever felt. She could not take six of these. She would do anything, anything!
Cleaver laid the second stroke neatly beside the first. If anything it felt worse. The sound she made was to her ears scarcely human. Tears filled her eyes and overflowed, blurring everything about her.
As the third stroke fell the pain became too much. She lost control of her bladder and a fountain of pee spurted high into the air, some of it falling back on her splayed thighs and red-barred bottom where it stung abominably. For a moment utter despair rivalled the searing fire in her backside. Cleaver waited patiently for this shameful display to finish and the last hot drops to trickle down through her pussy cleft and around her pinched anus, before continuing.
And then Sam must have fainted for a few seconds because she did not remember the last two strokes falling. It was little relief. She recovered with Cleaver still standing over her with her head spinning to the pain of her searing, blazing bottom. Instinctively she tried to lift her head to see what damage he had done to her but the vice holding her head did not permit it. She realised she was trembling violently from pain and fear. How easily she had been reduced to this miserable state. She’d never be bad again!
Cleaver felt her raw cheeks. Even as she yipped in pain Sam thought the heat from them must burn him. Surely they were on fire.
‘Now I’m going to give you a choice, girl,’ Cleaver said. ‘There are two ways of driving this lesson home and you’re going to decide which. I could give you six more whacks of the strap...’
Sam whimpered in horror and tried to shake her head.
‘Or else,’ Cleaver continued, ‘I could take out your gag and listen to you begging me, and I do mean seriously begging, to hose out your rear hole out and then give you a good hard buggering which will leave you bruised for a week!’
Sam started. He really knew how to make her suffer. By tradition in Irontown anal intercourse was almost exclusively reserved for slaves. If free women did it voluntarily they did not talk about it. Sodomy was the kind of thing a husband might inflict on his wife as a means of re-asserting his dominance. Or of course a woman might offer it as an act of contrition or penance...
‘Now that’ll hurt a bit less than the strap, but it’ll leave its own kind of scar on you. It’ll mean from now on every time you see me you’ll be reminded where I’ve been inside you and that’ll bring this day back and you’ll remember what you did and why you had to suffer. So which is it to be: the strap across your bum or my cock inside it? You beg for one or the other or you get both.’
And he pulled out her gag.
Of course she could not face the strap again. But to be made to beg him to sodomise her was disgusting. But then that was the idea, of course. Either way she would remember this for the rest of her life. And what option she was going to choose was really never in doubt. She did not have the courage to beg for six more strokes of the strap.
‘P... please, Mr Cleaver, will you wash m... my bottom hole out and bugger me.’
‘I want to hear you sounding more sincere that that, girl!’
‘Please put your big hard cock up my bumhole and fuck me hard!’ Sam sobbed. ‘I... need to be buggered. I want to feel you right up inside me!’
‘And why do you need buggering?’
‘T... to make sure I never forget what I’ve done wrong, Mr Cleaver.’
‘You’d better not, girl!’ he said, pushing the bit back between her teeth.
He uncoiled the douche hose he used on the slavegirls. It had a selection of soft rubber nozzles to use both on vaginas and anuses, a liquid soap dispenser and a cup fitted about its head to suck the soiled water away. Sam gasped as the nozzle slid up inside her and the cup rim pressed against her buttock cheeks and the warm water flushed out her rectum. A final press of a trigger delivered a blob of lubricant inside her.
Then Cleaver took up position between her spread legs and unzipped his flies. With her head clamped she could not see his cock. How big was he? Would it hurt?
Uhhh! The plumb of his shaft forced its way into her anus, stretching it wide to swallow it down... and wider... Oh God he was big! No, she couldn’t take it... ahhh... the head had passed through and the rest of the shaft was sliding in after it, making her bottom bulge as it slid ... and slid... no... too much... he’d rupture her! Owww! His lower belly ground against her raw, simmering buttocks.
Then he began to pump into her with long hard strokes that felt as though they were riding up into her spine, while the thud of hips grinding into her sore bottom spiced the pain. She began to sob and whimper. Cleaver knew his job. Each stroke was intended to bruise both her mind and body. He was brutally taking his pleasure with her in the most degrading way he could. He was using the pliant sheath of her rectum and the tight mouth of her anus as a sex toy and, what was worse, she was responding. Despite the terrible pain in her bottom her juices were flowing and her nipples were hard.
He was forcing her to enjoy serving him and being abused. As with the park warden she could not help herself. Why fight it? She could not sink any lower. At least for a few seconds she would have some release from her suffering.
But this tiny balm was also denied her. Before she could climax she felt his hot sperm spurting deep in her rear passage. As the slippery stuff seeped through her she felt suddenly sick, soiled and dirty. Was that it now? Surely he could do nothing to make her feel any more wretched.
But he could.
Cleaver pulled his shaft out of her. With his cock still hanging out he moved round to the head of the bench and reached under the headboard. The board hinged downward, bending Sam’s neck and head back until she saw his cock upside down bobbing before her eyes. He pulled out her gag and pushed the head of his penis between her lips in its place.
‘Lick me clean, girl!’ he commanded.
Sam hesitated, revolted at the thought of where it had been. She had never sucked off any of her boyfriends after they had been inside her. Cleaver took hold of her nipples between thumb and forefinger and pinched and twisted them, digging his nails in so that she screeched in pain. As she did so Cleaver thrust his shaft between her lips.
Trying not choke or to be sick, feeling tears returning to her eyes, Sam sucked and licked him clean. When she was done, like the warden, Cleaver wiped his cock dry on her hair.
As she shivered in utter dejection, Cleaver replaced her gag and folded the headboard back to its starting position. Then he took more items from the wall rack. One was a telescopic t-bar with a rubber ribbed dildo capping its main shaft and hooks on the bar tips. This he plugged into Sam’s vagina. With her haunches doubled over it jutted out from her cleft at forty-five degrees. The next items were a pair of short slender chains with lead weights on one end and crocodile clips one the other. He closed the clips about Sam’s nipples, making her eyes water afresh, and hung the chains over the t-bar hooks so the weights dangled in front of her scarlet bottom.
‘These’ll make sure you don’t doze off,’ he told Sam. ‘I want you to think over what you’ve done for the next few hours...’
Sam’s eyes widened in horror. Hours! No, he could not leave her like this for hours. She hurt so much. And who might see her?
But that was exactly what he did. And she had no choice but to lie on the bench in her pain and soiled misery, with the root of the t-bar firmly planted in her vagina and held tight within her. She held it tight because any motion tugged on her clamped nipples. She dare not attempt to pleasure herself with it and the pain did not allow her any rest, even though she was weak with nervous exhaustion. Her punishment was total and complete.
* * *
Cleaver now returned to his regular duties, ignoring Sam. Other slavegirls were brought in, washed, fed and caged or else taken to serve in the house. Sam screwed up her eyes, cringing in her bonds, her cheeks burning in shame almost as fiercely as her bottom. They could see her exposed and beaten and plugged. Did they recognise her? No doubt that was intended as well. What did they think of her? More importantly, what was Beauty thinking of her right now?
I’m so very, very sorry, Beauty, she thought miserably.
Finally, when evening had turned the sky purple and the electric lights were on, Cleaver at last released her from the bench.
After hours bent over double Sam could hardly stand to put her bathing costume back on. Every movement of her legs hurt her seared bottom flesh. Even the light material of her swimsuit felt like sandpaper as it pressed against her buttocks while her sore nipples stung as she slipped her breasts into their cups, but she was not going back to the house naked. Cleaver said nothing as she struggled to dress and she did not look him in the eye. What more was there to say?
At last, wincing in pain, Sam shuffled stiff-legged across to the house. Her father met her at the side door.
‘Are you sorry for what you have done?’
Sam hung her head humbly. ‘Yes, Father.’
‘You will go to bed without your supper. Tomorrow we shall discuss how you will make amends to Beauty.’
* * *
Sam limped to her room. Her bottom burned so that every step hurt and her rectum ached from Cleaver’s ruthless sodomising. She felt his sperm still seeping out of her sore anal mouth, adding to her misery. She had to remind herself once again that she was an Irontown girl who could take such things in her stride. However that did not stop her feeling wretched and ashamed.
Ponygirls of Irontown Page 9