"Time for you to visit the powder-room," he said, "I want you wearing these when you come back. Oh, and you won't be needing panties. Bring them back in your hand and put them on the table in front of you."
Obediently she rose to her feet and walked across the room to the ladies. Whether by coincidence or design, she strongly suspected the latter in this strange community, their table was about as far as it could be from the entrance to the ladies powder-room and she had to walk past virtually every other table to reach it, encountering the knowing glances of the other guests along the way. Once there she examined the package he had given her. Inside were two small bulldog clips, of the sort used to secure bunches of papers together, tough tin jaws, closed by a steel spring to bite fiercely on anything placed between them.
She had no doubts about where he intended they be placed. The only real choice was labia or teats, and he'd made a very pointed reference to panties. Besides, her teats were fat, well defined cylinders of surprisingly gristly flesh, as he was very well aware, since he loved chewing on the tough little stubs during their nightly play, and it would be difficult to get them in the limited opening of the jaws. Below it had to be. She removed the condemned underwear and pulled out one fleshy love lip, sliding the jaws over it. With grim concentration she let the jaws close slowly on it. It was intolerable! She had braced herself for the bite, but hadn't expected this. The crocodiles on the 'hunt' had been bad, but they were as nothing compared with the grip these steel monsters had. This was going to be a real test of her determination and obedience, as he quite obviously intended it should be. Well, she'd show him she could do it. Biting her lower lip, hissing as the pressure came on, she slowly opened her fingers. For a moment she stood, half crouched, her hands wavering around her groin, as if not able to leave the clip in place, then she shook her head like a diver coming up from deep water and reached for the other clip. It was no easier for knowing how much it was going to hurt her. She hesitated just as long, before she could summon up the courage to set it in place but eventually, with much grunting, hissing of breath, a soft whimper as she absorbed the combined effect of two labia crushed so cruelly, the job was done. She straightened herself and her dress, took up the discarded panties in her hand, and turned to leave the room. Only then did she realise fully, what the effect of these devilish clips would be. On top of the hurt she suffered from just their tigerish presence on her delicate sexflesh, the motion of walking dragged them this way and that, amplifying the pain. All she wanted to do was stand as still as possible and not provoke further agony. From the moment she left the shelter of her stall to endure the speculative looks of the women standing at the basins, observing her red-face shuffle across the room, she was a-flood with shame and pain. And then she had to cross the dining room, her panties in her hand, under the knowing gazes of the men and, especially, the women who were seated there. She did her best, but could not bring herself to close her legs on the beastly biters. No female in the room failed to notice the wide-legged gait and riven face, as she made the crossing.
At the table, she placed the scrap of lace-edged nylon, scented with her body, on the table in front of her place, neatly folded as if ready for her lingerie drawer, and resumed her kneeling position. It was fortunate that the pose she had chosen, and Henry tacitly approved, left her with her thighs slightly parted, easing the pressure of the clamps that bit so painfully into her, and she made a good pretence of being able to ignore them.
Dessert had already arrived, a startling confection of chocolate, ice cream, cherries and, above all, whipped cream in snowy mountains. As Henry offered generous dollops on an exaggeratedly long spoon, she tried to take them with dignity and finesse, but the sheer height of each creamy pile defeated her. By the time the tall frosted glass was empty, her nose was smeared with chocolate, and a moustache of whipped cream adorned her upper lip. Henry let her blush beside him, as all around admired her besmirched state, including the waitress who smiled knowingly at the panties still lying in front of her. When he had placed his order for coffee and liqueurs, another, smaller, package appeared.
"You're a mess," he told her. "Go and clean up, while we wait for coffee. And while you're about it put this on. You won't have as much trouble this time as you haven't any panties, so don't be long."
Once again the long trek under frankly curious eyes, re-arousing the pain in her groin, forcing her to walk spraddle-legged to try in vain to ease it. This time the packet contained just one item, an electrical clip, just like those she'd worn on the treasure hunt, a tight little crocodile, with serrated jaws and a nasty bite. Well, not quite the same; this had a small silver bell attached, on six inches of chain, which tinkled merrily and audibly as she lifted it out. There was only one so she knew where it must go, though the thought made her cringe.
It was going to hurt whatever she did but she recognised that if she let its full venom engage merely the tip of her sensitive and delicate bud, it could crush, or even tear it. Better to bite the bullet and place it as deeply and firmly as she could. Locked in her stall, feeling like a guilty school-girl, sheltering in the loo for a furtive masturbationary session, she moistened a finger in the seeping gash of her vulva and began the age-old feminine ritual; a gentle circling, not touching the bud yet, closing in until the hood could be stroked back, finally rotating around the bared pink pea until it was hard and throbbing and answering warmth was pulsing in her belly, the first spasms collecting in her womb. Abruptly she checked herself, suddenly realising that she was so aroused that a few seconds more of this erotic frotting would bring her to orgasm. Panting a little she returned to the matter in hand. At least she had attained her object. The little organ was fully inflated with hot throbbing blood, and standing rigid enough so that she could get a good grip at its base, without putting dangerous pressure on the delicate tip. Clamping her teeth shut in a rictus of determination, she let the jaws close over it.
With the lancing pain of the bite her head came back, and she chewed on a gargling howl, never quite letting it escape her. Quickly she adjusted the dress, washed her face and set off back to base. A wave of horror and embarrassment flooded over her as she heard the small silvery tinkle of the bell swinging between her legs, a tiny sound in reality but sounding to her like the liberty bell, or Big Ben himself. This time the journey across the floor seemed really endless, each step an agony, each small tinkle like the clap of doom, each knowing glance from the women a silent accusation. Somehow she made it and took up her station again on Henry's left. He raised an eyebrow at her overt distress, but said nothing merely offering his glass to her bitten lips. The thick, strong syrupy liqueur burnt as it rolled over her tongue, but put new strength into her. Her thanks were full of sincerity, and she leant over to kiss the back of the hand that fed her.
Her gratitude was more mixed later that night when, seated naked on the bed she was allowed to remove the clamps. For some time now the throbbing agony had subsided to a numb ache, though walking still served to fan the flames anew. Now she was given permission to remove them herself, and wished he was doing the job. She was desperate to have them off her tender flesh, but fearful of what she knew would happen as they left it and the circulation was restored. She could never make up her mind whether it hurt more to put them on or to take them off. Freed from the constraints of the public room, she allowed herself the luxury of a heartfelt howl as each metal clamp came away and, for a moment, she writhed in agony clasping her abused vulva. The departure of the clip from her clit produced a display of contortions and vocal pyrotechnics worthy of an opera singer in a gymnast's body. Henry's amusement was as obvious as his erection, and she soon forgot her soreness in his very welcome sexual therapy.
Thinking of it later, she came to a decision. Henry had rebuked her for her fault and she had accepted his rebuke and its consequences, but she still had to make an act of contrition of her own, some gesture to show her formal acceptance of his discipline.
Friday night she would offer her confession, and seek formal penance and absolution. It would be the beginning of a new phase in their relationship.
Meanwhile she should give him a little present to make up for the missed meal. When Henry came home the next night he found not only a delicious meal already prepared and a drink poured ready to his hand, but a hostess dressed to his taste as spicily as the food, heels and hose, tiny silk briefs and a pretty bra that exhibited more than it concealed, the very essence of the power of imagination over total revelation.
That evening she served him like a Barbary slavegirl in her master's tent, kneeling to offer each dish, staying when he commanded to take the morsels of food he offered her, drinking from his glass, reliving again all the delights of being owned and fed by a strong man. Afterwards she caught Henry looking at her with undisguised lust.
"Come to bed," he said, holding out both hands to draw her to her feet.
She shook herself free gently.
"No," she said, "I want to do it properly. Sit and have a cigar while I clear away and wash up, as a woman should. You can think about what you want to do to me while I'm at it."
She was standing at the sink, just about finished, when she became aware of the scent of cigar smoke and looked over her shoulder to see him leaning against the door frame looking at her in a contemplative fashion, his gaze aimed somewhere south of her naked waist.
"Your panties are coming down," he said.
She dried her hands quickly and reached for the elastic of the tiny briefs, tugging them tight but feeling no slack.
"No they're not," she answered, feeling slightly foolish at her blushing reaction considering how she had behaved all evening.
Henry grinned widely.
"Oh yes they are," he told her, "I've just decided."
Before she could reply, she found herself bent over the sink she had just been using to wash the dishes, the silken scrap of her panties round her ankles, and something hard and insistent pressing between her bottom cheeks. An arm snaked past her and grabbed the jar of hand-cream she'd had been about to apply, and a cold gobbet laved her shrinking anus and was fingered deep inside.
"Oh, please Henry, not there," she murmured without much conviction and the iron hard prick returned to the creamed dimple and lunged into the tiny crater. She gurgled as it strained her reluctant sphincter but the battle was soon decided and the fleshy rod suddenly sank into her to the balls, his belly slapping against the firm pert rounds of her buttocks. With vigorous and irresistible strokes he commenced an enthusiastic buggery.
The violence of his assault meant it couldn't last. Such a speedy lust-driven attack can only end in one thing, an equally quick consummation. Within seconds, she felt hot gouts of his thick glutinous semen spurting into her entrails. Quickly come; quickly recover. For a minute or two he held her captive over the sink while his penis softened inside her and gently slipped from her anus, followed by a thin sticky trail that ran down into the welt of her stocking top. Another minute and his insatiable member was stirring again and she felt herself swept up in a gorilla-like embrace and flung over his shoulder. It wasn't particularly comfortable, with his hard collarbone pressing into her belly as she watched the floor and then the stairs passing below her eyes, but she didn't care. He flung her down on the bed and, in seconds the scrap of silk was rudely torn from around her ankles, leaving her lying on her back, legs spread, the air cool on a soaked and exposed feminine zone. He was tearing at his own clothes now and in seconds had exposed an impressively restored male organ of handsome proportions that bobbed and swung like a ship's bowsprit as he came to her on the bed.
Foreplay was redundant but too pleasing to be missed. He fastened his mouth on hers and pushed up the silky bra to place a firm hand on each milky mound that it uncovered, taking a turgid teat between the finger and thumb of each hand. As he pressed his mouth even more firmly on her own he squeezed and twisted the gristly nubs until she writhed and moaned beneath him in mingled pain and ecstasy. Without loosing his hold, he took his mouth from hers and slid down to apply it to another mouth, and from there to the little 'nose' above it. Not so little now. She had always had a significant clit, a prominent wedge of sizeable proportions, a fine roman nose which had flourished under the new regime she had entered into and under the stimulation of their erotic dinner, her anal rape, and his searching tongue stood out as big as the top joint of her little finger, pulsing and throbbing so hard he could feel it on his tongue. She squirmed and groaned even more wildly under the combined assault on her teats and tender feminine spot. It couldn't last of course, she was swimming helplessly on the brink, trying desperately to stop plunging over, but he was remorseless and forced her submission as she shrieked and howled in time to the massive waves of her first orgasm of the bout.
He eased off a trifle after she collapsed in sodden surrender, then began again more gently. This time, as she began to respond to his touch he found the quivering entrance to her vagina with the tip of his now iron-hard organ and eased it in an inch. She arched her back to draw him into her but he teased her a little longer, making her wait while he increased the pressure on her nipples back to aching agony again. Once he had her hissing with the pain of his grip, he thrust home in one swift motion, until he was buried to the balls again, his belly slapping on hers this time. As his prick slammed into her pulsing cervix, she screamed again and wrapped her legs around him, drawing him even deeper into herself. In a few frenzied pistoning strokes they reached the peak together and plunged down in mutual spasms, to lie spent and happy in each other's arms.
And then it was Friday night, and one question was foremost in her mind; not what would it be like, being disciplined formally for the first time or, even how she would be able to face them in the Trident, with everyone knowing she had just come from being thrashed but, woman-like, what should she wear for a beating? On the treasure hunt, whipped bare-arsed over the five barred gate, chance had dictated her costume and an inappropriate one at that. In the evening when she'd invited further punishment, she'd been wearing what she always wore to bed, that was a freshly washed skin, smelling of expensive toilet soap and on special occasions, a dab or two of something more exotic in the way of scent. Otherwise bare all over and not, she thought, really up to the formality of the occasion. In the end she settled for some rather superior underwear. It had seemed to attract Henry's attention and approval at their intimate dinners. Might as well build on success and, anyway it would be a good foundation for her outfit when they proceeded to the Trident afterwards; matching bra and suspender belt, with smoky 'thigh-high' nylons, hoisted taut as bow strings almost to her crotch, and leather pumps; sling backs with three and a half inch heels. No panties of course. Friday girls sat bare-arsed on their bar stools, their stripes in direct contact with the hard surface to remind them of their punished and pardoned status.
Of course she'd wear something short and revealing, to declare her chastised state and she put a satin mini-dress ready on the chair, demure scooped neckline to contrast with the pelmet-like brevity of the lower part. For now though she waited with her apprehensive nakedness barely covered by her undies.
Henry was his usual punctual self, but still she counted every second before he appeared, dropping to her knees when he entered the bedroom, placing her palms on her spread thighs, her chin up, but her eyes turned discreetly down, the very picture of the submissive sinner. It did nothing for her peace of mind or the butterflies in her belly that he left her there while he threw off his clothes and took a shower to wash off the grime of the city before starting to dress. Only when he was clad in the authority of trousers again, did he turn to the business that had brought her there. From the corner of her eye she watched apprehensively as he went to a drawer and extracted a long lean length of straw coloured cane. She hadn't seen this particular instrument before and guessed, correctly as it turned out, that he had purchased a p
unishment cane especially for these Friday sessions. It seemed he meant business.
"Right then," he observed, giving the rod a preliminary swish through the air, "let's get started. You wouldn't want to be late meeting the rest of the coven would you?"
That beast of a cane was making a distinctly depressing noise as she rose to her feet and went over to the straight-backed chair he indicated. His next words did nothing to dispel the gloom.
"This may be your first time, but I think it would be a mistake not to start as we mean to continue."
As he meant to continue, she thought resentfully then checked herself. After all, it was she who had instigated this new regime and she was honest enough to remember that and also, that she probably needed it.
Henry was still talking.
"So we'll have a little confession session, and then you can do penance. What have you to tell me?"
Though she'd realised on one level that this was how it was done, she'd not really thought about her answers. Now she racked her brains rapidly.
"First off there's the thing which started this," she said, "when I didn't have your supper ready. No," she corrected herself, "no, the real offence was not accepting your ticking off contritely. Instead I answered back like a bitch. I deserve a good beating for that."
"Anything else?"
She thought some more.
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