Archive-name: Slaves/slut.txt
Archive-author: Joseph A. Brabet (c) 1993
Archive-title: Slut
She opened the door and pensively looked up at me. She had
long, brown hair and was wearing a dark green sleeveless linen
dress that came down to just above her knees. "Ah, hello..." she said,
somewhat unsure of herself. "Good morning," I replied. I surveyed her
figure critically, then stared deep into her eyes until she lowered her
gaze, a little surprised. "You are- I mean you must be..." she trailed
off. "Yes," was my answer. A shadow of fear crossed her face. She
looked as if she were having second thoughts about letting me in.
Just as she was about to speak, I held up my hand to stop her and
reached down to my briefcase. Opening it, I withdrew a piece of paper
that I presented to her. "This is an agreement," I said, "which you
must sign before I enter your house." This surprised her, since she
was undoubtedly about to present me with a demand, and so was
taken off-guard by my pre-emption. "What sort of an agreement ?" she
asked, a look of worry on her features. "It is an agreement I have had
drafted for me by my lawyer, which is designed to protect me from
any charges of rape or assault, should you foolishly decide to change
your mind halfway through the proceedings." She blanched at the
mention of rape and assault, the reality of what she was about to
embark upon suddenly dawning on her. "It says, in essence, that you
knowingly now give your consent to sexual acts between us that may
appear non-consensual at the time, and to associated acts of bondage
and discipline, which although they will involve quite some pain on
your part, are not later to be construed as assaults of any kind, since
they are part of the same temporary sexual relationship to which you
now consent."
"Temporary?" she asked. I thought I detected a note of
disappointment in her voice. "Yes, temporary, beginning when you
allow me to walk through your front door and ending when I leave.
However, if you feel that you require further disciplining at my hands
at any time in the future, you may renew the relationship as required.
Generally speaking, a slave requires regular reminders of her status,
a fact of which she is well-aware." A timid half-smile of relief crossed
her face, in spite of her attempts to suppress it.
"You may take as long as you wish to decide. I don't want you
claiming that I forced my way into your house," I said, smiling a little
now myself. "Oh no, that's ok, really, I'll sign your agreement, I mean,
that's you know, that's why I rang you," she blurted out, anxious now
not to offend me. "You understand fully what you are signing ?" I
questioned. "Yes..." she said softly, as if afraid to give utterance to
her true desires. I handed her the sheet of paper, a stiff folder on
which to rest it and a fountain pen I carried in one of my inside coat
pockets. Her hands were trembling slightly as she accepted them,
barely pausing to read the written agreement before uncapping the
pen and putting her signature to the document. She handed them back
to me, saying, "There now, that's done." I did not reply to this, but
merely examined her face more closely, an act which appeared to
disconcert her. She stood there, expecting me to say something more.
Realising finally that she needed to invite me in of her own free will,
she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, please come in," getting a bit flustered as
she moved aside to let me enter. "Thank you, " I said politely, then
stepped through her doorway.
As soon as I heard the sound of the door being closed behind
me, I felt the blood surge in my veins and a silent animal cry of power
and blood lust rang in my head. Oblivious to all this, she walked past
me and said, "Would you like a drink or something ? Let's go into the
lounge room and I'll get you a drink." I scarcely heard her say this for
the blood pounding in my ears, the sense of power that filled my
entire being. She turned to check that I was still following her down
the hall, but when she saw the look on my face gave a little cry of
alarm. I said nothing, so she turned and kept walking. Gathering my
willpower, I said, "No, I don't drink. We'll go straight to the lounge
room anyway, though." This time she did not turn around, but said,
"Ok." The hallway led past the kitchen and dining rooms and onto the
lounge room, which was sparsely but tastefully furnished. There was
a black leather lounge suite and a glass-topped coffee table of
generous proportions.
She turned to face me. "Um, can I get you anything else,
something to eat, maybe ?" she asked. I ignored this question and
said coldly, "Since I came in, you have made two severe mistakes,
for which I shall punish you equally severely. Do you have any idea
what they are ?" She quailed before me as her mind raced
desperately for an answer. Moments passed as she strove for a
reply. When at last it came, she breathed a sigh of relief and smiled
sheepishly. "Oh, I know," she said, "I forgot to call you master."
"Yes you did, but you have just made it three times." I replied.
"Oh," she said, as if considering a perplexing intellectual
problem.
"Four times," I said, my voice hardening further.
"I'm sorry I forgot, um, master, um, it won't happen again." she
said, feeling the strangeness of the word 'master' as it came from her
lips. "That's really not good enough, SLUT!" I shouted, angry now.
She gasped and took a step backwards.
"I'm sorry, master, I'm really sorry, master!" she cried.
"No you're not, but never mind, I'll make sure you are," I said in
a voice low and full of threat. She clasped her hands nervously before
her, wondering what would befall her.
"Take your clothes off now, slut," I ordered her. Afraid now, she
began to comply, reaching around to the back of her dress where it
was fastened near the neck by a button. She struggled with the
awkwardly-placed button for several moments until she managed to
free it. "Hurry, slave," I warned in a menacing tone. She began to
panic, in her haste almost tearing the dress. Even before she had
slipped the dress off her shoulders, I realised that she was not
wearing a bra, for I could see her now-erect nipples outlining
themselves against the rough fabric. As she wriggled her arms out of
the dress it fell to the floor, revealing her naked body completely,
since she wore no underwear whatsoever. In a reflex feminine action,
she attempted to cover her breasts and sex with her arms and hand. I
smiled inwardly at the futility of this move, but outwardly I ordered,
"Uncover yourself, slut. Your body is mine to do with whatever I wish.
You no longer own it. You earn yourself further and harsher
punishment with each second you cover your body. Perhaps this is
what you want, slut."
"No!" she protested, letting her hands drop to her sides as she
looked beseechingly at me. "No, what ?" I reminded her.
"No, master!" she cried. I said nothing, enjoying the sight of her
standing there, naked and awaiting my command. Her breasts were
medium-sized and attractively rounded, while her hips flared gently
out from her waist and her softly-curving belly plunged into the dark
triangle of hair between her thighs. She had a woman's body, a body
to stir a man's blood, not the breastless, hipless body of an anorexic
model, so beloved of homosexual French fashion designers.
"On your knees now, on the coffee table; sit back on your heels
and spread your knees apart; back straight, hands on your thighs with
your palms facing upwards; look straight ahead." I ordered. "Yes,
master," she said, though she looked a little uncertain at the prospect
of kneeling on the glass top of the coffee table, in case it should
break. It was very thick glass, so I doubted this would happen. I
smiled as I regarded her assuming this position. When she was
settled and had stopped moving, I finally permitted myself to touch
her. I reached down and brushed the palm of my left hand across one
of her erect nipples. It was as if she had received an electric shock.
Her body jumped at the contact. "Be still!" I reminded.
"Yes, master," she answered obediently. When I touched her
nipple again, she began to try to push her breast against my hand
before remembering my last instruction. Moving my hand away, I said
to her, "Clasp your hands behind your head." She obeyed, and the
pleasant result was that her breasts were lifted up nicely, presenting
themselves to me like ripe fruit. Kneeling as she was, with her thighs
spread and her hands behind her head, she was in the position most
appropriate for the slave, in which her body is completely displayed
and exposed for the master's benefit. In contrast to her natural
inclination to close her legs, thus preserving her feminine modesty,
she must keep them open, revealing and exposing the entrance to her
womb, which offered its soft secrets to me. Her bosoms too, instead
of being covered by the white lace of a brassiere or by a chaste
forearm, were raised up pertly for my consideration and delectation,
their erect nipples betraying the slut's own arousal. I took them in my
hands, feeling their firm, soft weight. "You have lovely breasts," I told
her.
"Thank you, master," she said. I reached down between her
legs, where I found she was already hot and moist. I thrust a finger up
inside her and she gasped in response. She began to let her arms
drop. Without removing my left hand from between her legs, I slapped
her right cheek with my other hand. "Oh!" she cried in shock, tears
springing to her eyes. "Did I tell you to lower your hands?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, master," she said, blinking furiously and clasping
her hands once more behind her head. I continued to move my finger
about inside her a little longer before suddenly withdrawing it. Her
sex made a wet sound as I removed my finger and she blushed.
"Lick my finger," I told her as I put my other hand behind her
head to ensure she obeyed. Expecting resistance, I was surprised to
find her taking my finger between her lips and into her mouth and
gently sucking at it with apparent relish. Pleased, I told her to lower
her arms. This she did, letting them fall to her thighs once more. "Are
you right-handed?" I asked. She answered that she was, so I ordered
her, "Put your right hand between your legs and caress yourself, and
with your left hand, caress your breasts." She appeared to baulk at
this instruction, and obviously wanted to protest, but her fear of being
slapped again stopped her. Her right hand crept slowly and
reluctantly to her sex and with her left hand she cupped her right
breast. I could see how deeply this humiliated her, a situation which
pleased me intensely.
She began to caress herself as I had ordered, rubbing her
clitoris with her thumb and piercing herself with a finger
simultaneously. Immediately she began this, she lowered her eyes in
shame to the floor before her. This was a dignity I would not permit
her. "Lift your head and look me in the eye!" I commanded harshly.
Reluctantly she obeyed, but was unable to meet my gaze for more
than a second as she caressed herself. Whenever she did look up,
the intense shame and humiliation written in her eyes was plain to
see. Annoyed by this lack of obedience, I slapped her face hard,
jerking her head to the side. She cried out in pain and shock and
began to sob. Tears trickled down her cheeks and fell off her chin,
landing on her breasts. I decided I would not slap her face next time I
disciplined her, but instead I would strike her breasts. Fortunately for
her, she had not stopped toying with her sex. I found it very attractive
to witness the tableau presented before me, the slut crying at the
same time as she caressed herself, so I ordered her to continue with
both. This time, she obeyed well, tears streaming down her face as
she continued to move her hand faster and faster, all the while
watching me with her tearful eyes, unable to avoid communicating her
deepest shame through them. As she became more aroused, her
sobbing ceased. I did not wish this cessation, so I fulfilled my earlier
promise to myself and struck her across the left breast. The bright red
imprint of my hand appeared on her breast and she began to cry
anew, which was the desired result. I prevented her from touching the
breast I had slapped so that she would experience the pain a little
longer.
A couple of times more she stopped crying, so I reminded her
by smacking her breasts again. She started breathing more deeply
between her sobs as her sexual excitement mounted. This soon
turned to panting, and I did not punish her for failing to occasionally
cry. The tempo of her hands increased steadily until she suddenly
uttered a long moan as she entered her climax. Her body froze then
began to shudder deeply, though she continued to rub her sex
furiously with her hand. When she was in the midst of her release, I
struck her another violent blow across the face. She cried out, feeling
as if she were being punished for her orgasm, yet unable to stop it.
She kept sobbing and shuddering as her climax ran its full course.
When she had subsided, I could see she wanted to collapse forward
onto the floor, but she knew I would not permit it, so she kept her torso
upright. "Do not move, slut," I ordered her. I walked into the kitchen,
where, as I had expected, I found a box of tissues. Taking the whole
box with me, I returned to the lounge, where my slave was still
kneeling dutifully where I had left her.
With a couple of tissues, I began to gently dry the tears from
her face, breasts and belly. She visibly relaxed as she perceived me
to have suddenly become less harsh. When I had finished, I put my
left hand between her legs and found her still dripping wet. She
moaned slightly when I touched her but did not move. I placed my lips
over her mouth and kissed her softly. Before I had removed my
mouth, she had opened hers and let her wet tongue touch my lips,
expecting me to do likewise. Immediately I pulled away from her,
slapped her face again and said, "You are too forward, slut. I will
punish you for your forwardness now." Too stunned to cry, a look of
consternation and dismay crossed her face. Had I not just now kissed
her tenderly ? What she did not realise, however, was that a
combination of cruelty and tenderness is most effective in
disorienting and confusing the girl who is new to the whip and chain,
and more quickly renders her helpless and abject than cruelty alone
will.
"Stretch your arms out in front of you, with your wrists close
together," I ordered. When she had done this, I next said, "Rise up on
your knees." This was pleasant to watch, as the muscles in her
flanks, thighs and buttocks contracted and relaxed throughout her
movement. Her breasts jiggled slightly too as she steadied herself in
this new position. Turning away from her, I opened my briefcase,
finding the items I wanted, two pairs of chrome handcuffs. She could
her the noise they made, but dared not turn her head to see what
made it. I held them in front of her face and said, "I am going to put
these on you before I punish you severely for your forwardness." She
swallowed nervously but said nothing. One pair I placed around her
wrists, clicking them shut tightly, while the other pair went around her
slim ankles.
Next I took a broad leather collar covered in metal studs from
my case. I placed about her slender neck, adjusting it so that it fitted
without excess space between the collar and neck. A padlock, whose
key I retained, prevented her from removing the collar herself. "This
collar signifies the fact that you are owned by me as a slave, and is,
of itself, totally symbolic of your state of bondage. Also, it provides a
convenient location for the attachment of a leash, should I decide to
use one." She quailed visibly at this, but knew well enough not to
speak out of turn.
"Get up," I instructed her. The first time she attempted this, she
fell over on her side, barely remaining on the coffee table. On her
second attempt she was more successful, standing upright before me.
I amused myself by looking at her for a few moments, displayed
naked and bound before me, the silver of her handcuffs contrasting
against her creamy skin. When I had finished, I put my arms about
her waist and hoisted her bodily off the coffee table. I deposited her
on her knees on the couch, facing towards its back. When I gave her
back a little push, she fell forward so that her arms hung over the
back of the couch and her breasts were crushed against it. She knelt
there with her back to me as I reached into my briefcase in search of
two most crucial items, a gag and a riding crop. I held the riding crop
before her face. "Kiss it, slut," I commanded her. She obeyed
tremblingly. Putting it down on the coffee table, I took the gag in my
left hand. The gag consisted of a plastic ball fitted with a short chain
on either side and a leather strap which fastens behind the slave's
head. I moved forward and put my hand over her mouth. This
surprised her, for she was not able to see me, and she began to
panic. I held her head firmly until she had calmed down and I could
feel her breathing through her nose. I wanted to check that she could
breathe freely, for I did not want her to suffocate from the gag being in
her mouth. I did not tell her this, however, for I wanted to increase her
fear as much as possible. Satisfied, I prised her mouth open wide and
inserted the gag. She struggled as I did this, but the job was quickly
done and I fastened the leather strap behind her head snugly, so that
no amount of struggling could dislodge it.
Next I took some rope from my case, and walking around to the
other side of the couch, where her terrified eyes regarded me, I
passed it over the chain between her handcuffs. One end I tied to one
leg of the couch as it protruded from the upholstery and the other end
I tied to the opposite leg. This had the effect of pulling her arms down
so that her armpits were hard up against the top of the couch's
backrest. So well did this secure her, I did not think her legs would
require any further restraint than the pair of handcuffs that currently
bound her ankles together. I moved around to the other side of the
couch so that her back was facing me. Her buttocks quivered slightly
in anticipation of their fate, for she must have been well aware of what
I was about to do to her. I caressed them with my left hand, admiring
their softness and smoothness that I wanted so much to mar with red
welts. This made her whimper in fear, for she had learnt that after
tenderness comes cruelty.
Not wanting to disappoint her, I raised my right arm and
delivered a stinging blow to her buttocks with the riding crop. Her
shrill scream of pain and shock was muffled by the gag, else it would
have been heard for a mile. Her sobbing recommenced, making her
shoulders heave against the black leather of the couch. A horizontal
pink stripe crossed her derriere where the leather flap of the riding
crop had struck her. I continued to flog her, raining blow after blow
upon her bare backside. Though I could not see her face, I was sure
that it was covered with her tears. She tried to move her body so as to
avoid the blows, but I had trussed her too efficiently. When I had
judged that her punishment in that area was sufficient, I stopped.
Sobs racked her body and the sight of her, nude, suffering and
helpless, made me want to throw her to the floor, thrust her legs apart
and rape her without any further ado. However, I had a plan in mind to
which I wanted to adhere, so with some difficulty I restrained myself.
Removing another pair of handcuffs and a short length of rope
from my case, I walked around to the other side of the couch and
began to untie the knots in the rope that passed through her
handcuffs. When it was free, I placed my hands under her armpits,
lifted her body off the couch and turned her so that she was kneeling
on the seat, facing forward, away from the back of the couch. I took her
wrists and pulled her arms over her head. I undid one of the cuffs, and
on this wrist I locked the new one. Now she had two pairs of handcuffs
on her wrists, one on each wrist with its other cuff empty and dangling
free. Pulling her left arm over the back of the couch, I tied one of the
pieces of rope through the empty cuff and attached its other end to the
left-hand leg of the couch. Next I took her right arm and did likewise.
Thus she was fastened firmly, unable to move her arms. I was a little
concerned that she could move her feet, but since she was kneeling
on the couch, sitting back on her feet, she probably could not move
them unless she could first move her arms, which was now
impossible.
I walked around the couch once more so that I faced her. She
was still sobbing softly and the occasional tear trickled from her eyes.
Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed, drawing my eyes to their
soft shapes. Her thighs were pressed firmly together, hiding the
entrance to her body, but I did not draw her attention to this lapse of
obedience, for she would be punished for her transgression anyway. I
smiled at her cruelly, then lifted the riding crop in my hand again and
made it hiss through the air, striking the side of her left breast, where
it left a bright red mark. She stiffened and a stifled scream came from
her mouth, but no tears fell. Annoyed that she had not begun crying
immediately, I struck her again, but this time managed to connect with
the nipples of both of her breasts. This must have been excruciating
for her, since a woman's nipples are so sensitive. I was pleased to
note she began crying immediately, torrents of tears coursing down
her face. Flushed with my success, I continued belabouring her bare
breasts. Her tears found their way onto her bosoms too, as before,
and I soon noticed that the leather flap at the end of the crop was wet.
The breasts, like the buttocks, are excellent places for whipping,
since they are soft and sensitive, yet conceal no easily damaged,
vital organ like the kidneys beneath their tender skin. This may or
may not have been known to the girl, for she continued crying as if
her life were at stake. This was not the case, but I was certainly
inflicting a prodigious amount of pain on her breasts with my violent
attentions. When I had flogged her enough so that they were entirely
red from the crop I stopped. Needless to say, she did not stop crying
at this point, for her breasts were still stinging. Some of her tears had
made their way down her body to her belly, where they became lost in
the tangled hair of her sex. Putting down the crop, I forced her thighs
apart so that some of the tears should enter the crack between her
legs, a poignant piece of humiliation. When she felt her cooled tears
enter her sex, she cried even harder. Sometimes it is the smallest
detail that is the most humiliating to the slave, rather than the largest
gesture.
I put my hands behind her head and began to unbuckle her gag,
but her crying did not cease. This suited me well for what I had in
mind. The plastic ball of the gag came out of her mouth with a pop,
and she cried loudly. She had a lovely voice, so it was pleasant to
hear her cry. It is pleasant to listen to beautiful women cry, so long as
one's own treatment of them is the cause of their tears. Otherwise it is
simply tiresome.
I stood upon the seat of the couch before her and unbuttoned my
fly. Doubtless she expected this at some stage, and therefore, she
did not stop sobbing. With my left hand I took hold of her long hair,
bunching it in my fist, while with my other hand I forced open her
mouth, then guided my entire length into it. She gagged involuntarily
several times but I allowed her no respite. Finally she calmed down,
though tears of pain still ran from her eyes. Pulling at her hair with my
left hand, I tilted her head back a little so that she could see my face.
"Listen carefully," I instructed. "When I am done, you had better
swallow everything, for I shall not withdraw from your mouth. If you
don't swallow, you will choke. In fact, I shall not withdraw until I am
hard again. Is that clear ?" Since her mouth was full with me she
could not of course answer, so she nodded her head to the small
extent that she could.
I put both hands behind her head and began to thrust
rhythmically and deeply into her mouth and throat. I could feel her
breasts crushed against my thigh muscles as I steadied myself. She
had stopped sobbing, but tears continued to fall, much to my
approval. The play of her tongue and the muscles in her throat excited
me and I slapped her right cheek hard, then continued thrusting. Her
eyes were wide with fear and pain. I let this go on for some time,
purposely holding back in order to prolong both my pleasure and her
pain. When at last I allowed myself release, I pulled her head to my
loins and felt myself jet hot liquid down her throat. She began
swallowing furiously, afraid of choking on my seed. Finally I stopped,
exhausted now myself. I wanted to sit down, but remained inside her
mouth as I had planned. After she had finished swallowing all there
was to swallow, her breathing began to stabilise and her crying
stopped. My member, still inside her mouth, remained hard for a long
time. I was briefly tempted to take it out and use it elsewhere in her
body, but I had already made up my mind. Several minutes, almost a
quarter of an hour passed, and my member grew softer. She took it
into her head to begin licking it clean while it was still inside her
mouth. I approved of her action, and stroked her face tenderly as she
performed this duty.
As I had expected, the action of her tongue made me grow hard
again, and I could feel myself expanding in her mouth. When I was
fully hardened, I thrust once deeply and was rewarded with a fresh
torrent of tears. She was afraid I would repeat my performance, but I
had no intention of doing so. The single thrust was merely to remind
her of her slavery. Withdrawing wetly from her mouth, I stepped off
the couch, not bothering to button up my trousers and letting my
erection bob threateningly before her.
She bowed her head submissively before me. Mollified and
pleased, I rounded the couch and began releasing her bonds, first
untying the ropes which bound each pair of handcuffs to the
respective legs of the couch. Next I removed the pair of handcuffs
from her left wrist, leaving one of the cuffs on her right wrist still
attached. Discarding the second pair of handcuffs, I proceeded to lock
the empty cuff around her left wrist, manacling her securely. During
this whole procedure she said nothing and moved little, appropriately
quiet and obedient. In fact, most females are very quiet while they are
being bound, as if they have already abandoned all attempts at
resistance, believing it futile. Like lambs to the slaughter, they watch
fascinated as they are rendered helpless by a strong master.
Now that her wrists were bound behind her, I rose to my feet
and took hold of her upper arms from behind, pulling her up. With
some difficulty, she stood upright on the seat of the couch, her knees
a little wobbly from kneeling for so long and from the pain of my
discipline. In this position, her derriere presented itself as a tempting
target, so I delivered it a stinging blow with the palm of my hand. She
cried out in surprise, so I smacked her again. This time, no noise was
forthcoming from her. Walking around to the front of the couch, I put
my arms beneath her armpits and lifted her down to the floor. Weak,
she collapsed against me and I allowed her this liberty for a while,
holding her in my arms. Growing stern once more, I thrust her away
from me, demanding of her, "Go into the garden." Through sliding
glass doors I could see a small, neatly-kept garden to the rear of her
house. She walked over to these doors then halted, unable to open
them since her hands were bound behind her back. She stood there
docilely until I moved over to her and opened the door. I pushed her
outside, speeding her progress with a smart slap to her bare
backside. "Oh!" she exclaimed as she exited pertly. Fortunately for
her, the garden was surrounded by a high timber fence on all sides,
so the sight of her naked humiliation was not available to any save
myself.
The air was refreshingly cool, yet not cold, and I could see that
almost immediately it raised goose pimples on her skin. A pleasant
autumn day, the sky was clear and the air still. She stood there on the
brick paving, nude, bound and awaiting my command. "Turn and face
me, and keep your feet together," I ordered. She obeyed, her back
straight but her eyes downcast to the ground, shivering slightly. I
paused, partly for dramatic effect and partly to drive home her
servitude to her, to reinforce the understanding that even her smallest
movement was dependent upon my command. When at last I spoke, it
was to tell her, "Urinate, slut."
She paused in disbelief for several moments, then as the import
of my command sank in, she gasped in trepidation. "No, please..."
she begged me. "Do it now, right where you stand, or I will whip you
into unconsciousness," I menaced. Dejection slumped her shoulders
as she protested, "I can't, I can't." Looking around, my own eyes
caught glimpse of a garden hose coiled up on a reel. "Perhaps this
can help you," I smirked. I took up the hose's end in my right hand
and turned on the tap with my left. The hose was dry, so there was a
delay of a few seconds before the water actually came out of its end. I
let it squirt out onto the brick path, away from where she stood.
"NOW!" I commanded her. I was about to slap her face when she
began to cry, before I had even touched her. I couldn't understand
what had precipitated her tears until I looked down her body, and saw
that, encouraged by the sound of the water, she had released her
bladder and pale urine was gushing forth from her sex, coursing down
her thighs and calves, gathering in a small puddle at her feet. Sobs
racked her slim frame as she continued to wet herself while I watched,
savouring her humiliation and shame. Doubtless this had never
happened to her before, even as a small child, when she would at
least have had the benefit of the privacy of clothing when certain little
accidents occurred.
Long after the flow stopped she continued crying, her wails
becoming so intense I grew concerned lest a neighbour decide to
investigate. On the other hand, if a neighbour should see her thus,
she would be doubly shamed, which would be a generally good
outcome. "You little slut, you've wet yourself," I mocked as I walked
around her. Gratifyingly, my jeers made her sob harder as she stood
in her own little pool of shame. "Now you've wet yourself, you're all
dirty-you dirty whore." This last taunt so affected her that she fell to
her knees in front of me, seeking to redeem herself in the uniquely
self-abnegating and feminine way, heedless now of what she knelt in.
"I would not even let a dirty whore like you caress me with your
mouth," I said, cruelly pre-empting her attempt to redeem herself.
Fortunately for herself, her knees were appropriately spread apart. "I
shall clean you like an animal, slut," I informed her. True to my word, I
turned the water pressure up quite high and directed the stream of
cold water against her breasts. The shock of its chill at her bosom
made her gasp. The stream struck her softness with some force,
indenting her flesh where it hit. Still she did not dare to move,
allowing me to play the water where I wished on her body. I moved it
lower, aiming it between her legs. It struck the dark triangle of hair
that covered her womb, but did not properly penetrate.
"Thighs wider, and lay back so your head touches the ground," I
instructed sternly. She complied immediately with both directives,
and I could see the pink lips of her sex framed between her thighs.
When I sent the cold stream of water pounding against the entrance to
her body, she cried out loudly in shock. This warm, soft and sensitive
part of her anatomy was not accustomed to such cold temperatures.
Also, her clitoris was being abused by the water, creating what was
probably a complex yet exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain. She
squirmed considerably under this treatment but I did not allow her
respite for some time. Still hosing her nude form, I directed her to get
to her feet. Again she had some difficulty achieving this because of
her handcuffs, but also since she was still being buffeted by the
stream of cold water. As she rose to her feet, I noticed that shivers of
cold shook her body. When she was standing upright, I hosed down
her legs and feet, removing the last vestiges of her own liquid. She
was still dry from the neck up, so I said to her, "Bow your head now,
slut." She did so and kept it bowed. My last act with the hose was to
wet her head thoroughly, so that her long, damp hair would remind her
of this humiliation long after her skin had dried. Still shivering and
sobbing, she was permitted to stand straight as I turned off the water.
I walked behind her and unlocked her handcuffs, placing them in
my pocket. "Put a finger inside yourself," I told her. She stopped
rubbing her wrists and obeyed instantly, thrusting her right index
finger between the lips of her sex. "Now withdraw it, and hold it up to
your nose, slut." She did this, and I asked, "Has the smell of your
shame been washed away ?" She nodded tearfully and stammered,
"Y-yes, master." I grabbed her wrist and sniffed her finger myself,
checking she was not attempting deceit, but at the same time,
shaming her deeply. Satisfied of her truthfulness, I let her wrist go
and directed, "Lick that finger well, whore." Obediently, she did as
instructed. Glistening drops of water covered her skin, now even more
goosepimpled from the added chill.
Over to one side of the garden stood a wooden trellis, mounted
against the timber fence, on which some small vines were growing.
"Slut, walk onto the grass and kneel down, with your knees apart, of
course," I told her. She did this, wincing as sharp blades of grass
stabbed at her open sex. "Do not move a muscle," I said, then turned
on my heel and re-entered the house. I collected my briefcase and the
equipment, namely the gag, crop and manacles of which I had
previously made use. Returning to the garden, I found her still
kneeling as I had left her, hands resting palms-up atop her smooth
thighs, not that I had expected anything different. She was quite an
obedient slut, generally speaking.
"Stand," I ordered. She rose with relative ease, for her hands
were now free. Droplets of moisture still beaded her skin and her dark
hair was still completely wet. "Walk over to that trellis and stand right
in front of it, facing it," was my next instruction. "But that's off the
grass, in the earth," she protested, then added, "...Master," realising
her omission. I considered, for a fraction of a second, explaining my
intention to her, but decided against it, and instead struck her
violently across the face with the back of my hand. Her head was
flung to the side by the force of the blow and she began to sob, almost
tripping over her own feet in her haste to obey now. Soon she stood
with her feet in the dirt, facing the trellis. I strode over to her with
slow, measured paces. Roughly, I placed the gag inside her mouth
and fastened it tight. What I was about to do to her would certainly
attract the attention of the entire neighbourhood if they could hear her
screams. She trembled in fear as I inserted the gag, for she knew that
I was going to beat her, although she probably was underestimating
the severity of her forthcoming whipping. "Stand with your legs wide
apart, slut," I commanded her. Each ankle I locked in the steel
embrace of a separate handcuff, locking the respective empty cuffs to
the trellis. Causing her to lift her arms, I did a similar thing with them,
leaving her standing in a spread-eagled position against the trellis.
For the final touches, I locked a chain around her waist, then attached
another chain to it, which was then fastened to the trellis. Her collar
was also attached in a like manner. Now not only her hands and feet
were locked to the trellis, but also her neck and waist. This was to
prevent her doing herself permanent damage by excessive struggling
against the rough timber trellis, but also because it was simply good
discipline and tends to increase the girl's fear and general discomfort,
and subsequently the pain of the whipping.
I stepped back and admired my handiwork. "Yes, you are a well-
trussed slut, aren't you," I smiled. This was indeed the case, for she
could barely nod her agreement, so well was she bound. She
probably imagined I intended to beat her with the riding crop again,
whose pain she believed she could bear. In order to disabuse her of
this misconception as soon as possible, I went to my briefcase and
removed the implement I intended using. It was a fearsome leather
whip, made up of a stiff wooden handle about two feet long, to which
were bound several long, black leather strips, about an inch wide, the
actual striking parts. These leather strips were soft, so as not to inflict
permanent injury on the female slave, though they would raise broad
welts if applied sufficiently hard. Walking over to her, I wrenched her
head as far to the side as it would turn, given the constraints of her
binding, and held the whip before her. At first she whimpered fearfully,
but this soon turned to frenzied screams of panic, which were well-
muffled, naturally, by the gag which I had applied. I was pleased that
the sight of the whip alone had inspired such fear in her, even before I
had actually begun to use it on her.
Stepping back, I regarded her with satisfaction. Her soft, naked
body was trembling in fear at the prospect of her whipping. I could see
that she wanted to clench the cheeks of her buttocks together as
tightly as possible, but the position of her legs was keeping them
spread apart slightly, exposing her intimately to the kiss of my whip.
Desperately she attempted to twist her head around in order to
observe me, hoping not to be taken unawares by the first blow, but the
chain which locked her collar to the trellis was too short, and her
efforts were in vain. For a few moments more I savoured the sight of
the helpless, panicking, nude female who was bound before me.
Pleased, I raised my right arm and swung the whip. Because of its
several strips of leather, it made quite a distinctive noise as it hissed
loudly through the air. For the same reason too, the sound of the
leather making contact with the bare skin of her buttocks was rather
loud. Her scream, though muffled by the gag, was shrill, expressive
of her pain as well as her fright, since she was not able to see the
stroke coming. Instead of a single red stripe across her derriere, the
whip left a series, inflicting the same amount of pain with a single
stroke that would otherwise have required several strokes of a single
crop. She struggled wildly in her bonds, panicking greatly now that the
full extent of her physical bondage was being made evident to her. I
suspected that feelings of absolute terror were suffusing her being,
making her desperately cast her mind about for some way out of the
pain and humiliation I was inflicting upon her. Still, it was for this
purpose that she had admitted me into her home, placing her destiny
in my hands, if only for a few hours.
I applied the whip vigorously to her buttocks, leaving another
set of red welts on her agonised flesh and bringing forth more
screams which were stifled, fortunately, by her gag. Momentarily I
regretted having forced her to wet herself just a short while earlier, for
it would have been enjoyable to have made her do it under
persuasion of the whip. This thought must have settled in my mind,
for unconsciously I swung the whip upwards towards her naked body,
instead of from one side to the other. It struck her between her legs,
some of the strips of leather hitting her in the crack between her
buttocks and others creeping further forward and making violent
contact with the half-open lips of her unprotected sex. In an instinctive
reaction, her body jerked upwards sharply, but her movement was
severely constrained by her bonds. Then she slumped in her chains,
and I thought she had passed out. Lowering the whip, I moved closer
to her and taking her hair in my hand, pulled her head backwards and
to the side a little. She had not fainted, for her eyes were open wide in
terror, and from them poured tears of agony down her lovely cheeks.
Relieved that she had not collapsed at such an early stage of
the proceedings, I moved my face near hers and placed a kiss on her
brow. She stopped crying at this, and her eyes were filled with a
plaintive yet grateful look, so I stepped back a pace and smacked her
face with my left hand. This precipitated a fresh torrent of tears,
naturally enough, and desperate sobs shook her nude figure. Just
when she thought that a respite might be in sight, I had reminded her
that mastery was mine alone, and that servitude and suffering were
hers. I reached around to her front and cupped her left breast, which
was bobbing in time with her sobs. Again she gave pause to her tears
as I toyed with her nipple, hardened with a combination of fear and
arousal, but when she caught the look in my eye she resumed crying
even more enthusiastically.
Standing back once more, I plied the whip against her soft,
innocent flesh, tormenting her with more pain than she had ever
experienced before in her life. The sense of power I felt over this
helpless, crying slut was deeply intoxicating, and seemed to drive me
on towards further cruelties. When I had flogged her buttocks, the
backs of her thighs and the parts between her legs to a degree I
regarded as sufficient, I paused, breathing heavily from my exertions.
She was slumped in her chains and I wondered if she were
unconscious now. Taking her hair in my hand, I pulled her head back
and saw that her eyes were still open, although they streamed with
tears. She looked at me plaintively, beseechingly, so I simply
slapped her face hard, once. Taking the keys from my pocket, I began
to unlock the chains that bound her. Still gagged, she sobbed mutely.
When all her bonds had been removed from the trellis, she
collapsed into my arms, thinking herself delivered from her ordeal.
Laughing quietly and sadistically to myself, I hoisted her upright
again and spun her naked body around to face me, holding her by the
upper arms. "Not so soon, slut!" I smiled. She shrank back in horror,
then began wriggling desperately as I raised her arms high and
commenced chaining them to the trellis once more, only this time with
her body facing me. For a second time I bound her waist and neck to
the wooden framework, severely restricting her struggles. "Don't
worry," I said to her, "I am only going to whip your lovely breasts a
little; but not so badly that you pass out." As you might expect, this
did not seem to reassure her a great deal. I took a couple of steps
backwards and raised my right arm to strike. She closed her eyes
tightly and averted her face as the whip's leather thongs whistled
towards her bare bosom, which was trembling in fear. Just before it
struck, I noticed that her nipples were again erect, evidencing her
arousal in the face of extreme pain. Reneging on my promise, I
continued to flog her breasts brutally as she squirmed in her bonds,
since a promise made to a slut like her need not be kept.
When at last her breasts were covered with the red marks left
by my whip, and I had flogged her to my satisfaction, I stayed my
hand and dropped the whip on the ground. I unfastened her chains
where they were attached to the trellis, leaving their other ends still
attached to her body as a reminder. Forcing her head around, I
removed the gag from her mouth. Weak sobs came from her throat.
She collapsed on her knees in the garden bed, clutching my legs
suppliantly. I let her kneel in the dirt, at my feet, enjoying her
weakness. She began to feverishly kiss my thighs through the
material of my trousers as her trembling fingers attempted to open my
fly, even as she continued to cry. I smiled at her attempts to please
me, to assuage the fury of her master in the only way she knew how.
She may have been unsure of her place in the world before I had
entered her home, but now had confirmed her new status as a
helpless slut, whose wellbeing was wholly dependent on the will of a
man. I permitted her to unzip my fly and take me into her mouth, only
moving to rest my hands atop her head as she ministered humbly to
my pleasure.
Growing excited, I muttered hoarsely to her, "Now I'm going to
rape you, slut." With this, I kneed her to the grass where she
sprawled on her back. Falling to the ground myself, I spread her
thighs, at the same time striking her face hard with the back of my
hand. The force of the blow whipped her head to the side, but instead
of crying out, she spread her legs wider to receive my violent
attentions. I pinioned her arms to the ground and penetrated her
roughly. As I had expected, she was already hot, moist and receptive,
responding in the typically submissive feminine way to the
domination I had exercised over her. She began to sob, but at the
same time also moved her hips in response to my own brutal thrusts.
As I ravished her, I wondered how many times in the history of
the human race that a man had thrown a naked woman to the grass,
kicked her legs apart and raped her, just as I was doing. Even as the
tears trickled from her eyes, she gasped in pleasure as I roughly
made use of her body. "Easy slut," I murmured, licking at her salty
tears. "Yes Master," she sobbed in reply. I placed my lips over hers,
and forced my way into her mouth with my tongue. She responded
feverishly, silently inviting me to rape her mouth with my tongue as
violently as I was raping her sex with my phallus. My excitement
mounted rapidly, so arousing was the act of taking this nude and
humiliated slut. I decided to give pause to this excitement and
withdrew from her sex, which made a wet noise as I did so. She
uttered a keening note of desperate disappointment, so urgent was
her own need. "Shut up, slut," I muttered. "I need you, Master," she
anguished. I simply smacked her face with the back of my right hand,
which sufficed for an answer. After that she was silent, except for a
few whimpers of self-pity and thwarted female lust.
I rose to my knees and moved to her side. Placing one hand
under her left buttock and the other around her left shoulder, I flipped
her body over expertly so that she was lying on her front. She uttered
a small cry of surprise and frustration at this, so I slapped her bottom
hard, leaving a red hand print across her cheeks. Taking hold of her
wrists, I locked her cuffs together with the metal clips which were still
attached to them, so that her hands were bound behind her back as
she lay on her stomach. She wriggled in frustration at her helpless
plight. I grasped her ankles and spread her legs. Her parted thighs
revealed the lips of her sex which were still moist, red and swollen
from her arousal. "Are you ready for me, slut?" I asked.
"Yes Master," came the muffled response from her. I reached
under her hips and pulled them upwards. This had the pleasant result
of raising her backside up and displaying and proffering her sex to
me more prominently. She was like any female primate who offers her
rump to a male in order to placate his wrath. The slut whined a little,
for since her hands were tied behind her back, she could not support
herself on her elbows. This meant her face and breasts were grinding
into the grass. Her suffering pleased me as I put my right hand
between her legs to spread her moist nether lips, facilitating my
penetration of her womb. With my right hand, I grabbed her long hair
and pulled her head backwards. She cried out in pain as I
simultaneously thrust deep into her body and tugged hard on her dark
tresses. Her back arched and she lifted her buttocks to push against
me. "You're an excited little slut, aren't you," I said to her.
"Yes Master, I'm an excited slut," she gasped as I drove yet
deeper into her womb. I began to slap her soft derriere in time with my
thrusts, one slap in between each thrust, on alternating cheeks. Her
bottom was still red from her whipping, so my smacks did not
increase its colour greatly, although it increased my pleasure greatly
to abuse her thus. It was stimulating her slave's body and mind too,
judging by the sounds coming from her mouth and the pressure of her
rear against my hips. I drove so hard into her sex that she cried out in
a mixture of pain and pleasure, unsure herself of which was which.
Her breathing became short, gasping pants for breath as I raped her.
"Whore! Slut!" I grunted and she replied immediately, "Yes, Master, I
am a whore, I am a slut. I am your whore and your slut!" This
admission seemed to arouse her even further, for a red blush
suffused her skin and she began bucking her hips furiously at my
onslaught against her womb. She began to utter short, sharp cries,
whether in pain or in ecstasy I knew not, nor cared. I could feel myself
losing control, and with a final loud grunt of "Slut!" I drove deep into
her body.
Her body spasmed as she felt me discharge my seed inside
her, and she arched her back spontaneously, crying out in her
release. For some long moments I shuddered, then collapsed atop
her soft, prone form. She sobbed quietly beneath me as we both
caught our breath. Ignoring her tears, I reached under her front to cup
her breasts in my hands, feeling their still-erect nipples. I remained
inside her body, seeing no need to leave. I stayed like that for a time,
then withdrew wetly from her sex, my member still hard.
"Don't go please, master," she said softly. My only response
was to roll her body over so that she was now supine, her hands still
bound behind her back, being crushed awkwardly behind her. "Never
you mind, slut," I told her. With my knees on either side of her body, I
moved forwards until my organ was poised above her face. Still wet, it
was covered in the commingling of my seed and her juices. "Clean
me with your mouth, slut, now," I ordered her. Placing my left hand
beneath her head, I helped her by raising it, while I used my right
hand to guide myself between her parted lips. Her tongue flicked out,
then she received my organ into her mouth as instructed and slowly,
obediently and carefully sucked and licked it clean. As before, I let her
continue longer than necessary, enjoying the most humble service
that a slave can render to her master. When I was satisfied that she
had done her job properly, I pulled out of her mouth and wiped myself
on her cheek a couple of times. Lastly, I used her hair to dry myself.
Unbidden, she bestowed a kiss on my thigh as I did so.
I stood up and pulled her to her feet. Somewhat tired, she was
not standing up straight, so I smacked her buttocks once. She needed
no further reminder to improve her posture. "Go inside, slut," I
commanded her. Fearing physical encouragement from me, she
moved hastily as I watched, amused. I gathered up all the
accoutrements of our little scene and followed her indoors. She was
waiting docilely just inside the sliding doors, her body straight but her
head slightly bowed. "Good," I approved.
"Now go over to the kitchen area and stand near the stove, " I
instructed firmly. She did as I bade, turning to face me with eyes
downcast to the floor and hands still bound securely behind her back,
a perfect picture of nude feminine obedience. I turned and walked
outside where my briefcase was still lying open on the grass, the
whip casually thrown half-inside. Gathering up the case and whip, I
returned indoors, where the slut awaited me expectantly.
"Turn around," I told her. I removed her handcuffs and threw
them into the briefcase, which now lay on the cork kitchen floor. From
the briefcase I take two leather cuffs which lock snugly into position
around her slim ankles. Next I join the two cuffs with a stout piece of
chain about a foot long, locking it to each cuff with padlocks. This has
the effect of limiting her to taking only small steps when she walks. To
the middle link of the chain between her ankles, I attach another,
much longer chain. I took this chain upwards, between her legs, over
her still-damp sex and up along the front of her body, between her
naked breasts and up to her neck, where I fastened it to the leather
collar locked around her neck. This chain served no particular
physical purpose, since it did not effectively constrict her movement
in any way, but its mere presence against the tender skin of her inner
thighs, against the triangle of hair covering her sex, and between her
swinging breasts would serve to remind her constantly of her state of
total bondage and subservience.
Judging by the way in which her nipples slowly became erect,
this chain and the bondage it implied excited her too. To another
metal ring sewn into her leather collar I attached a second long chain,
but this time its end was connected to a different location, one not on
her body. It was connected to the steel grille of the gas stove before
which she stood. She was literally chained to the stove. "Now, slut, I
assume you can cook ?" I asked her brusquely. "Yes Master," she
quickly replied. "Good. Cook for two people now. If the food is not to
my satisfaction, you will be whipped until you pass out. Is that clear,
slut ?" Stunned and panicking, she blurted out, "Yes Master, it will be
good, I promise." When she said that, I swung my arm around and
delivered a mighty backhanded blow to her cheek, snapping her head
to the side. Immediately she burst out crying, so I smacked her face
again, which successfully stemmed the flow of tears, although she
continued to sob softly. "Your promises, slut, mean nothing to me. If
the food is bad, you will be whipped. Cook now, slut." This time she
simply nodded her head humbly and turned to her task.
I pulled up a kitchen chair from the other side of the bench and
sat down to watch the naked slut at her cooking. The sight of her
standing there, nude, going about her feminine duties was most
fetching, and ultimately, most natural. As I studied her, the occasional
bob of her breasts and movement of her hips stirred my blood and I
was tempted to suddenly push her against the bench and rape her
from behind. The poignancy of the tableau she presented prevented
me from doing such a thing, so instead I merely observed her.
Some thirty minutes or so later she had finished cooking and
had taken two plates from the cupboard in preparation to receive the
food. I stood up and told her, "One large plate will be sufficient, slut."
Knowing the penalties for questioning an order, she replaced the two
dinner plates with a single large one, onto which she placed the food.
"You will serve me food and wine," I explained to her. I went and sat
on a sofa, with the coffee table, the scene of one of her earlier
humiliations, before me. "Place the food in front of me on the table,
slut, and then get me some red wine." First she came out of the
kitchen holding a knife and fork. She knelt beside the table and then
put the utensils down. Next, in the small steps made necessary by
her chains, she walked back into the kitchen area and returned
carrying the plate of food. Once more she knelt down before me, then
placed the food on the low table. I approved of her behaviour in
serving me, so I said to her, "Good slut," and stroked her face. She
smiled shyly before standing up and heading back in search of some
wine for me.
I began eating the food she had cooked, which was in fact very
good, fortunately for her own well-being. When she returned with the
wine, again she got down on her knees before putting a glass on the
table and serving me wine. I made no sign that she could herself eat,
so she knelt there waiting, her knees together. "Put your hands on
your thighs and spread your legs apart, slut. Just because I am eating
does not mean you are any less a slut and deserve to close your
legs. The only time your sex will be hidden from me is when I order
it." She blushed a little and said, "Yes Master," before hastening to
comply, parting her thighs and obediently and submissively revealing
her sex to me. I ate well because I was hungry, but the sight of her
kneeling there before me aroused me to the point where I considered
raping her again before I finished my food. As it was, I ate my fill but
found I could not finish the food.
"Come here, slut and kneel facing away from me," I commanded
her. Smiling, she rose to her feet and complied eagerly. Reaching
behind myself, I found a pair of handcuffs which I fastened securely
around her slim wrists. "Turn around," I told her. When she did, I took
some of the left-over food in my hand and held it out to her at a height
level with her breasts. Consequently, she had to bend forward,
bowing her head to take the food from my hand with her mouth. I
continued feeding her in this manner, as a master might feed a
favourite animal, and the experience no doubt impressed upon her
the role I expected of her. When the food was almost finished, she
licked her lips clean, and I wiped her face with her long, brown hair.
She expected that she would be ordered to clean up, but some
food still remained. On the plate of food she had cooked there were
four baby carrots and a couple of sticks of raw celery. "Move closer
and kneel straight, with your thighs well-spread," I commanded her.
She complied, although not without some difficulty, as again her
wrists were encircled by steel. I took a small carrot in my hand, held it
between her thighs, and pushed it against the entrance to her womb.
She looked at me in surprise. With some difficulty, since she was not
especially moist at this moment, I forced it into her body. She made a
sharp intake of breath, then I removed it. I held the carrot, glistening
with her juices and betraying her body's quick response, before her
face. "Open your mouth, whore," I said. With obvious reluctance, she
did so, and I proceeded to place the carrot upon her tongue. "Eat it,
slut." She obeyed, eating the food flavoured with the moisture from
her own ravished sex. She must have found the humiliation
especially poignant, for the next carrot I inserted between her nether
lips slid in with the greatest of ease, testament to her extreme
arousal. Each remaining piece of food I introduced into the wet
opening between her legs, let her squirm for a short while, then forced
her to eat it. When no food remained, I wiped my hand on her pubic
hair and had her lick my fingers clean. She knelt back on her heels.
"Stand up, slut." She obeyed, albeit with some difficulty since
her hands were bound behind her back. "Go into the bathroom," I
commanded, accompanying the command with a sharp smack to her
pert, bare buttocks. She obeyed with alacrity, bouncing into the
bathroom. I followed her in and said, "Get into the bath and kneel down
in it." She complied, but was obviously distressed by her inability, in
the relatively narrow bath, to spread her thighs to my satisfaction. I
said nothing but let her continue in her discomfort. As she looked up
at me, I unfastened my fly and pulled out my organ. However, I did not
thrust it in her general direction. She moved forward, expecting she
would have to take it in her mouth. Instead, to her horror and surprise,
I began to urinate on her, directing the hot yellow stream against her
naked breasts and face. She gasped and twisted desperately, hoping
to escape, but she was unable to avoid it. I revelled in my power as I
soiled her beautiful, nude body with my urine.
When I had finished, I paused and looked at her. Liquid still
dripped from her wet body, especially her erect nipples, and beaded
on her skin. "Look at me, slut!" I told her. "Clean me with your mouth!"
Horrified, she did nothing at first, then realised she must comply, so
moved her head forward and opened her mouth. Her hot, wet tongue
laved my organ. I watched her performing her humiliating, degrading
tasked and found myself grow erect. She took my entire length into
her mouth, expecting me to take advantage of the convenient
availability of her soft, warm mouth, but instead I withdrew and stood
back, enjoying her obvious confusion.
Distressed at not being able to serve me in the way to which
she had become accustomed, she began to cry softly. "Oh, be quiet,
slut," I muttered darkly. Without waiting for a response, I reached past
her towards the bath taps. Expecting a blow from me, she flinched
violently and knelt there cowering with fear. This amused me, and my
quietly derisive laughter brought fresh tears to her eyes. My only
intention was to take the handheld shower attachment and turn the
cold water tap on. Needles of icy water streamed forth, and standing
back, I directed this against her nude body. She gasped loudly
several times at the shock of the cold water on her bare skin. "Oh no,
please stop, please," she begged me. I turned off the tap angrily and
threatened, "Would you rather remain as you are, dirty slut ? Perhaps
I should urinate into your mouth and make you drink it." Her face
blanched with shock at this suggestion, and she hurriedly said, "No
Master, I am sorry, please forgive me."
Mollified, I turned the water back on and continued washing her
down, playing the water over her quivering breasts with nipples stiffly
erect from the cold. I bade her stand up and spread her legs as widely
apart as she could. When she had done so, I held the shower rose
between her legs and drove the stream of cold water up into her open
sex. This made her cry out, so I smacked her face and she desisted,
apologising for her misdemeanour.
At length I was finished and instructed her to turn so her back
was towards me. To her surprise, I unlocked the handcuffs that bound
her wrists. Next I put my hand between her legs and felt the opening
to her womb, uncharacteristically cold from the water. She moved her
legs a little further apart in order to accommodate the further
explorations of my fingers. Pushing deeper inside her body, I
discovered the hot core was still on fire. Pleased, I removed my
fingers from her sex and wiped them on her soft buttocks. Placing my
hands upon her shoulders, I turned her around.
"Slut, you will clean me completely and then massage my
shoulders. After that, I will decide your fate." She looked pleased to be
able to be of some direct service, and she replied, "Yes, Master" with
appropriate humility. I had her run the bath, then disrobed without her
help. Lying in the bath, I closed my eyes as I felt her gentle hands
soaping my body, then rinsing the suds away with warm water. Nude,
she was kneeling humbly beside the bath on the floor, all her
attention focussed on her task, her breasts bouncing as she moved
her arm. When she had finished, I stood up and had her towel me dry
and empty the bath. I dressed again and watched her bent over the
bath, pulling the plug from the plughole. "Good slut," I approved,
slapping her bare backside. This praise made her glow with pride.
"Stand in the bath and put your hands around the shower where
it comes out from the wall," I told her. I then handcuffed her to the
shower pipe, with her breasts pressed up against the wall. Stepping
back, I admired her slim waist and the smooth flare of her hips. Her
soft, rounded buttocks were temptingly helpless and trembled slightly
with the fear of what she knew must come next. Using another pair of
handcuffs, I shackled her ankles together, then used another short
chain to lock these to the plughole in the bath, preventing her from
moving her feet. Only one more thing remained. I placed a broad
leather belt around her waist and fastened it tightly. It was the sort
commonly worn by weight lifters who wish to protect their kidneys. In
this case, it would serve a similar purpose, although not in quite the
way in which the designers of the belt had intended. I used another
chain to fasten this belt to the shower taps to restrict the movement of
her torso.
Aware of her immediate fate, she began to whimper in
trepidation, her whimpers interspersed with pleas for mercy, begging
me not to hurt her too much. Tiring of these tearful entreaties, I
retrieved a roll of duct tape from the other room and stuck a piece
firmly over her mouth, thereby silencing her. She looked up at me
plaintively with large, tearful brown eyes, attempting to wordlessly
dissuade me from my next action. In a quiet, serious tone I said to
her, "Whipping is good for you. It agrees with you. It improves your
obedience. It humiliates you, and the profound sense of humiliation
arouses you sexually and at the same time makes you feel
worthwhile. Worthy of whipping, worthy of suffering, worthy of
pleasure, worthy of being a woman. Deep down, you know you need
to be whipped." She stared at me in horror at these words, then after a
few moments, slowly nodded her head in reluctant but inevitable
assent. "Good girl," I said, stroking her smooth cheek. "Good girl."
Stepping back, I reached down and unbuckled my belt from my
trousers. Since I had never used this particular belt on a slut before, I
swung it through the air once in order to see how it moved. She
jumped in fright, and uttered a shriek that was effectively muffled by
the tape over her mouth. I laughed cruelly, then before I had even
finished laughing, delivered a heavy blow of the belt right across her
buttocks. A bright red mark appeared and she began sobbing
immediately, twisting her head around so that she could see the next
blow as it descended. I smacked her face hard and pointed to the wall,
indicating that she should face it for the entire duration of her
punishment. Crying twice as hard now, she obeyed.
Her buttocks looked so soft, so helpless and so attractively hurt
by my belt, the way they flared out from the wide leather belt
protecting her kidneys. I delivered two more heavy strokes of the belt
to her derriere, one to each lovely cheek. Her nude body shuddered
deeply with her sobs of pain and humiliation. Forgetting her previous
transgression and its penalty, she turned her head around to look at
me sidelong, tears streaming from her eyes. She recoiled in fear at
the terrible gaze I bestowed upon her.
"Spread your thighs apart, slut!" I commanded. The unfortunate
slut had some difficulty doing this, since I had shackled her ankles to
the bath's drain hole. She managed to flex her knees enough so that
she could open her legs a little. It was not much, but it was enough.
All I needed was the width of my belt between her legs. Using a
flicking motion, I struck the opening to her womb with the belt. She
jerked up violently in her bonds, then sagged limply, so painful must
it have been. I wondered if she had passed out. I moved closer and
grabbed her hair in my left hand, pulling her head back roughly. Her
open, lachrymose eyes showed her to be still conscious. Still
maintaining my grasp on her hair, I rubbed the leather belt between
her legs against her burning sex. She stiffened in agony but I gave
her no respite. A fresh torrent of tears poured from her eyes and I
laughed. My excitement increased dramatically at her response.
Pulling my member from my trousers, I used my other hand to part
the cheeks of her quivering, sore buttocks. She trembles in
anticipation as I threateningly caress the opening to her rear
entrance with the tip of my organ. Not bothering to lubricate either of
us in any way, as I did not wish to lessen her pain, I thrust my
member deeply between the cheeks of her derriere. She uttered a
scream of agony, so I grabbed her head by the hair, pulled it
backwards and with my other hand, smacked the side of her face
smartly, quietening her immediately. "You are to speak only when
spoken to, understand, slut ?" I cautioned her. With tears running
down her face, she managed to nod her head in assent. "Do you think
you should speak now, slut ?" I asked. She shook her head to say no.
To test her, I drove into her body with increased force, forcing my
member in to the hilt. A muffled scream came from her throat and
silent tears streamed from her eyes. I laughed at her discomfort and
humiliation. Each time I thrusted, her body tensed up in suffering. She
tried to spread herself wider to accommodate me, but without success.
When at long last I discharged in her rear opening, she shrieked in
whatever extreme combination of pleasure and pain she was
experiencing herself under my harsh attentions, then slumped in her
chains.
I removed her bonds after a short interval of time, whereupon
she sank to her knees in the bath. My member needed cleaning,
covered as it was with both our juices, so I thrust it at her face and
said, "Lick me clean, bitch." She quailed visibly and said, "Oh please
no, master, please, I beg you, I don't want to do it, oh please, I
promise I'll do anything else, but not that, master, oh please..." A
strong backhand slap across her face cured her intransigence very
quickly and sobbing, she took me into her mouth and began to clean
me. After I while I said, "Enough!" and she halted her obedient but
reluctant ministrations.
"Stand up, slut!" I shouted. She obliged with appropriate speed.
I attached a leash to the steel collar around her neck and led her by it
to the kitchen. She looked the very picture of a nude, obedient slave
with her hands bound behind her and a collar and leash around her
throat. I brought a sturdy wooden kitchen chair into the central area of
the kitchen. "Bend over that chair!" I commanded her. Although it was
with some difficulty that she obeyed, thanks to the fact that her hands
were tied behind her back, nonetheless she did so. I unbound her
hands and pulled them down. She lay across the chair on her
stomach. I fastened each of her arms and legs to a leg of the chair so
that her limbs were completely immobilised. She wriggled a little in
discomfort until I smacked her soft, bare behind admonishingly.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Joseph A. Brabet
s880755@minyos.xx.rmit.edu.au
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