Fall from Grace

by Syra Bond

  ‘Go on, my boy. Go on.’

  The boy stepped forward again. I felt the heat of his body. I felt his fear.

  Still staring at my cunt, the man extended his hand onto the boy’s shoulder. But the boy had become fixed to the spot - he was completely unable to move.

  ‘Henry, I think perhaps you should wait it out for a while. Go and choose another item. Think things over. Remember what I told you. Be positive. Come back when you feel more comfortable.’

  The youth turned and went. He didn’t need a second prompting.

  ‘You’re staying?’ I asked.

  ‘If you don’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all. You can help me if you like.’

  He looked behind him and stepped in beside me. He stroked his hand along the side of my hip and reached between the tops of my thighs. It felt good. I rose up onto his fingers then dropped myself against their tips. They slipped in on the moisture that covered my flesh - already hot and swollen with excitement and urgency. I sighed as they went in deeply - it was delightful.

  He massaged the soft flesh of my cunt and pressed his thumb and forefinger around the swelling bud of my clitoris. My already hard nipples ached. He dropped his mouth around them in turn, sucking and biting each one with a fevered passion. The ache in them turned to pain and that, as it circled them and ran up into my throat in rolling waves, turned to a different sort of ache - an ache for more.

  Suddenly, he pulled back and yanked the leather belt from his trousers. It came free with a sharp snap.

  ‘On your knees!’ he said brusquely.

  I was surprised by his sudden change of tone, but I did not question his instruction for a moment - it was forthright, so commanding. I felt as if I had no option. I dropped to my knees and felt a surge of delight at my immediate and unquestioning obedience to his order. I looked up into his eyes, waiting for another instruction.

  ‘Put your hands together, as if you’re praying, then hold them up.’

  The aching in my nipples increased. I felt the moisture of my cunt. I squirmed my legs together. I did what he said.

  He wrapped the belt tightly around my wrists, pulled the strap through the buckle and yanked it up as much as it would go. I cried out as the hard edge of the leather belt dug into the skin of my wrists. He looked at me angrily.

  ‘Look, it’s more than my life’s worth not to do this. Do you get me? I’ve no option. Don’t think I want to do this to you. No, don’t think that, but I have to. I just have to.’

  He was obviously worried. It was as if he was scared of something, or someone.

  ‘Look, just do as I say and it’ll be alright. Really it will. It’ll be trouble for me if you don’t though.’

  He pulled my bound wrists up to a coat hook on the wall. He latched the strap over the hook.

  ‘Stay on your knees. I need you stretched up.’

  He went back to the swing doors and anxiously looked out into the shop.

  ‘And I’ll put this across your mouth. It’s better if I do. It’s a football chinstrap. Open your mouth.’

  I opened my mouth. I felt a fresh surge of heat in the flesh of my cunt as I obeyed him.

  ‘Wider! That’s better. Press your tongue against the back of it. It’ll stop you gagging.’

  He pulled the plastic chinstrap into my mouth. I pushed my tongue against it - it tasted sweet and sickly. It had four elastic straps, two on each side, and, as he pulled them back, they dug into the corners of my mouth. They had notched loops at the ends to fit to a football helmet. He pulled these firmly around my head and wound them together at the back. They were extremely tight.

  ‘Good.’

  I hung on the straps at my wrists, my mouth tightly gagged by the chinstrap, naked and with droplets of rain still glistening on my cold wet skin. I could not believe what had happened - it had been so fast. It seemed incredible that within a few minutes I had found my way into this situation. Five minutes ago I was walking outside in the road, soaking wet, and now I was bound and gagged, hanging on a hook on the wall of a changing room and obeying every instruction of a man I had never seen before - and a man whose name I didn’t even know.

  ‘Look, it’s like this,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I have to do it. When I first met her, Marcia that is, it was love at first sight. I was bewitched. It was incredible, but it wasn’t long before things changed. She was never satisfied She always wanted more than I could give - more money, more clothes, more sex. I tried my best. I really did. I took an extra job in a club and did without a lot of things I would have liked, but she was insatiable. Soon, she started bringing young men home. It was always young men, and always inexperienced. That was what she liked, young men who knew nothing of sex. She liked to “train them up” as she put it. Well, she certainly trained them up - and me along with them. I soon found myself looking after her as though I was her servant. Every day I would clean the house and prepare it for the evenings when she brought her young men home. And she insisted I always watched. Yes, I used to sit on the sofa as she trained her young men. She trained them in everything and I watched it all. Do you find it exciting? The idea of me watching like that?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I can tell you exactly what she did if you want?’

  I nodded again, this time more than once. The story was exciting me more than I could imagine - I could feel it deep in my cunt. I nodded again.

  ‘Well, the first time it was a sophomore college student. I don’t know where she found him. Later she put adverts in magazines and the local paper. To start with, though, she just went to student bars and picked them up. He was keen, this first one - mighty keen. She told me to sit on the sofa and watch. She said I could take my trousers down if I wanted. “Jerk off if you need to”, she said. She stood the student in the centre of the room, knelt at his feet and undid his trousers. I can tell you, my cock was as hard as rock in a second!’

  Suddenly, the swing doors of the changing room opened. A young man with long dark hair and a ring in his ear stood uncertainly at the entrance. As soon as he saw me, he flushed with embarrassment and went to turn back.

  ‘Sorry. Sorry. I must be - ’

  The man grabbed his arm.

  ‘It’s okay. You’re in the right place. Have you got your receipt?’

  The young man offered a small piece of white paper. The man took it from him, looked at it, and pushed it into his pocket.

  ‘I see you’ve brought something with you. Excellent. A table tennis bat. That’s a good choice.’ He looked at me. ‘Now, you. Stand up!’

  I struggled to get up and he walked impatiently towards me. He lifted his hand to strike me across the face. He laughed as I stood up trembling and he unhooked my wrists from the hook.

  ‘Bend over that bench!’ He looked at the young man. ‘Is that suitable?’

  The young man nodded.

  I knelt down at the end of the bench and bent forward. I knew what was going to happen - it was obvious. I was caught with two desires: whether I wanted only to follow the man’s instructions, or whether I wanted to feel the bat across my bottom. As the question flittered through my mind, I realised I wanted both. And I submitted to both.

  I stretched my bound wrists forward and lay prone along the slatted wooden bench. The cool hard wood pressed against my nipples. I dropped my full weight down and lifted my buttocks.

  ‘I see you have paid for six,’ he said to the young man. ‘Good. Begin when you want. But, remember, only six.’

  I tensed myself as I waited. The young man shuffled his feet. Then I heard the swishing sound as the bat was brought down. It smacked loudly across both cheeks of my buttocks. I pushed my tongue forward against the chinstrap in my mouth. I wanted to cry out but, even as I felt it erupting from my throat, it was stifled in a heavy bubbling burst of breath.

&
nbsp; My heart was pounding as I heard the swish of the next. It smacked again - loud, sudden and painful. My buttocks stung. I pressed my tongue hard against the chinstrap and sucked air in through my flaring nostrils.

  There was a pause, then the swishing sound again, and, in the next moment, the flat dimpled surface of the bat struck me again. My body lurched forward against the slatted bench, but there was nowhere for it to go and it simply pressed harder against the unforgiving surface. I had sharp pains in my nipples and, as spit filled my mouth, I gulped as well as I could with my tongue pressed against the back of the chinstrap.

  I tightened my buttocks together and, as I did, I felt the pressure of the tops of my thighs against the soft flesh of my cunt. I could feel its wetness and warmth. I squeezed at tight as I could.

  The bat came down again.

  ‘Four!’ shouted the man.

  The stinging set me on fire. I breathed in heavily through my nostrils and pressed my tongue as hard as I could against the back of the plastic chinstrap. My mouth was full of spit.

  ‘Five!’

  I lifted my bottom to meet it. The sting was more than I could stand and yet I rose towards it, squeezed my buttocks together to absorb it and, as I realised that there was only one to go, I felt a pang of desperate regret that there would be no more.

  I pressed my nose between two of the wooden slats of the bench. My nostrils were tight against their edges. I listened to my heavy laboured breathing. Spit started to bubble from the corners of my mouth. I lifted my bottom.

  ‘Six!’

  The smacking sound filled my ears. A heavy surge of heat exploded from my cunt and blasted through my whole body. Every nerve was on fire. My head spun. I heard myself blubbering spit from the edges of the chinstrap. As the sound of the smacking bat slowly dissipated, I felt the heat of my own joy filling me with ecstasy. It overcame me and I was lost to it.

  I stayed lying across the bench after he had gone. Every few seconds I jerked with a fresh shuddering wrench that, although the product of my own pleasure, was stirred from the pain inflicted by the smacking bat. I knew how reddened my bottom was, and I knew how sore it felt. I longed to reach around with my hand and rub it, but the tight binding of my wrists, and my inability to move unless instructed, only sent fresh jolts of joy through my trembling body. I licked the back of the chinstrap and felt spit running onto my chin.

  I waited. The man carried on with his story as though nothing had happened. I felt another wave of pleasure run through me as I revelled in his ignorance of my pain and humiliation.

  ‘Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the first time Marcia brought a young man to the house. Well, you know, as soon as she started to suck him I just took out my cock and jerked off there and then. I let my semen run down my hand. It was great and, after she had sucked the young man’s cock, and taken all his semen into her mouth, she came and licked mine and swallowed that too. Some of it stuck to her face and she rubbed it off with the back of her hand then licked that as well.

  ‘After that, we did it all the time. She would pick up a young man, bring him back and I would watch. She always took a small fee, nothing too much, more to cover expenses really, but they were always glad to pay for their “instruction”.

  ‘Most of all, I liked watching them spank her. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed seeing her fucked, or watching her suck cocks, but seeing her bottom raised up, round and taut, and watching it redden as she took her punishment - that took some beating. To start with they would use the flat of their hand but soon she introduced them to other methods. She would bend over a chair and they would smack her with a flat bat or a wooden paddle. She bought different things for them to use, she kept a real nice selection - riding crops, short and long tailed whips, canes of all varieties. She said the riding crops were the most painful but she never asked them to hold back. She said it was her mission in life, to “educate” young men in the ways of sex, and she must be prepared to sacrifice herself.’

  Suddenly, the louvered doors swung open again. Another young man stood there anxiously holding a receipt in his hand.

  ‘Come in, my boy, everything is ready for you.’

  The man looked at the young man’s ticket.

  ‘Good choice. Very good choice.’

  The young man walked over to me, wrapped his arm beneath my hips and lifted my buttocks up high. He put his foot on the bench and dropped me across his knee. I hung draped across it, unable to support myself in any way. My face lay sideways against the slatted bench.

  The first one came suddenly - hard, jolting and loud. I didn’t have time to breathe in again before the next came down. I drew breath in through my nostrils just as the next landed. My bottom burned and the next came down and set it on fire. And the next made me press my tongue hard against the chinstrap, and the next made me tighten my whole body as if I was having a seizure, and when the next came I realised that this time there would be more than six.

  I don’t know how many times he spanked me, but it was hard and fast and, when finally he did stop, I realised my body was jerking in time with my punishment. I carried on twitching like this for ages after he had gone. It subsided only slowly and, as it passed, and I gradually regained my senses, I realised that I had been hung back on the coat hook and the man was again recalling the story of his experiences with Marcia.

  I don’t know how long I hung on the strap around my wrists - it felt like hours. I had my eyes closed when the louvered swing doors opened again. My eyes were wide in an instant. I expected to see another young man but, this time, it was a woman -the young woman with the umbrella who had greeted me outside the shop. She stood just inside the changing room as the doors swung to behind her.

  ‘Marcia! About time! On your knees!’ shouted the man. ‘You’ve kept me waiting long enough. But you can answer for that later - I’ve got something in mind already. But now, take those wet clothes off! And get on your knees!’

  This was Marcia! How could this be Marcia?

  The man undid the straps at my wrists. My arms dropped suddenly as the binding came undone. My shoulders ached. I rubbed my hands. My wrists had red circles around them. He did not even undo the elastic straps of the chinstrap; he just pulled it up roughly over my head. It tugged painfully at the corners of my mouth. I coughed the chinstrap out - it was covered in gluey spit.

  I stretched my mouth, it was stiff and sore. I looked up at the man. I had to speak.

  ‘I don’t understand. How can this be Marcia? I thought she was your mistress. I thought you did as she instructed. That’s what you told me.’

  The man threw his head back and laughed.

  ‘So easily duped. You’re a joke. What was your name? It doesn’t matter. Go on. I’m finished with you now. Marcia needed a break, but she’s back now. Go on, clear off! What an idiot!’

  He flopped down on the sofa and undid his trousers. He took out his burgeoning cock and held its stiff shaft in his hand.

  ‘Come on Marcia, do your stuff. I’ve got a living to make.’

  For a moment, I was confused, then I realised. Of course, it had all been a trick. How could I have imagined that the man was Marcia’s slave? Of course he wasn’t - he was the master and she was his slave. It was obvious now, and he had used me to fill in while Marcia was taking a break. How could I have been so foolish! My face flushed red - I was so embarrassed, so shamed. I just wanted to run away and hide.

  I pulled on my wet T shirt and jeans. They were freezing cold. I shivered all over. I pushed the swing doors open as another young man was walking towards them clutching a till receipt. Marcia was already on her knees, naked, bound by the wrists and hanging hopelessly from the coat hook on the changing room wall. I bit my lips and ran out of the shop into the pouring rain.

  SLEEPY HOLLOW

  THE PAIN OF ATHALA

  I stayed for a night
at the Colonial Inn. It was my special treat, but I did not enjoy it - everything was too quaint, too much of a set-up, too fictitious. I sat on the edge of the bath and masturbated before breakfast. As I finished, I bent my head down between my knees and licked the side of the bath - it tasted of bath oil.

  My heart was still thumping when I went down to breakfast. As I ate my toast, I smelled the silky wetness of my cunt on my fingers, and I couldn’t stop myself pushing them back down the front of my jeans. One of the waiters saw me and smirked. I licked my tongue out at him and carried on. I finished again, still with toast and marmalade in my mouth, and I licked my tongue out again as the waiter brought his supervisor and pointed at me.

  I booked out and walked down to Monument Square. I stared up at the needle-like commemoration of the ‘Concord Fight’, the battle which had taken place about half a mile away at North Bridge in 1775. It had been the beginning of the armed conflict against Great Britain which, eventually, had led to American Independence. It made me think of the conflict which was inside me - the never-ending struggle between pain and satisfaction - and wondered if that would ever be resolved.

  I strolled out of the town on Monument Street to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery - resting place of, amongst ten thousand others, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Louisa May Alcott.

  Five athletic girls wearing brief silky shorts and singlets ran past me in a group. Their breasts - firmly enclosed in tight sports bras - hardly declared themselves beneath their shiny tops. Each had a mass of long hair tied at the back in a ponytail - standard style for female cross-country runners in the US. Their heavy swatches of hair tossed from side to side as they ran- three striking the same rhythm, the other two adding an exciting, random syncopation to the regular pattern of their urgent movements. The leading girl, a delicately featured Oriental, smiled as they came to a halt. She pressed a button on her watch, nodded to the others and they began to run again.

  I noticed how the thin material of her shorts pulled tightly into the crack of her cunt. I smiled back. She knew I had noticed. She was, above the others, supremely delectable. Her delicate features, pale skin and perfect proportions blended together into a representation of beauty beyond compare. I just stared at her as she ran on - her mouth closed, her cheeks revealing only the slightest blush, her thick, black, heavy mass of hair wafting from side in time with her muscular yet easy strides.