Punish Me, Please

by Reese Gabriel

  “Is there a problem, my little slut?”

  “Yes, Master. I am not sure...what you want me to be.”

  “Be yourself. That will be fine.”

  “Yes, Master. May I ask, how did you arrange it?”

  “That isn’t your concern.” Actually, Stone had yet to go back to Johnny and ask him to take Sheila out. He planned to do so in the morning, under the guise of offering him the chance to learn more about Sheila’s supposedly abusive home life. “You will limit yourself to being pretty and sexy.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Good, I’m glad we’re in agreement. That leaves just one matter to resolve for the day. Do you know what that might be, Sheila?”

  “Is it about where I sleep, Master?”

  “Good guess, yes, it is. You recall there was an option?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Leashed to the foot of my bed...or outside, depending on your behavior. Do you think you’ve been a good slut?”

  “I’ve tried, Master.”

  “You think I should let you stay inside, then? You think you’ve been good enough? But how do you know if I am pleased with your pathetic attempts?” he asked reasonably enough.

  Confusion flashed across her face.

  “How would you begin to compare yourself to the hundreds of dog sluts before you, all of whom have been reduced to trained animals in my sight? Have you some manual at your disposal? Can you be in my head? What makes you even begin to think you’re worthy to lie on my bed?”

  She lowered her eyes, overwhelmed. It was a combination of the physical pressure on her body from the clamps and weights and the psychological pressure of the impromptu interrogation. “I—I don’t know, Master.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” He lifted her chin. “Are you playing games? Do you need a beating?”

  “No, Master, I swear.”

  “Slaves do not swear.”

  She broke down, “S—sorry, Master.”

  He smiled coldly. “What do you deserve, Sheila?”

  “Nothing,” she sobbed. “Nothing, Master.”

  “Have you any idea the incalculable honor I would bestow you in letting you in my bed?”

  Tears continued to flow.

  “Do you?”

  She shook her head no, head in her hands.

  “You may not cover your face.”

  Sheila revealed her misery.

  He decided to deal her the ultimate blow. “I shall leave the choice up to you. Bearing in mind what you are. A sex animal, Sheila, a pet that does my bidding at the simplest level. Unfit for freedom, unable to comprehend the first thing about how a Master makes decisions and why. Given all that, Sheila, tell me where I should put you? Are you prepared to take that responsibility, to vouch for your being a good girl?”

  She shook her head in the negative, the motion one of slow, incalculable defeat.

  “What is your choice, then?”

  “Outside,” she said almost imperceptibly.

  “Outside, Master...I want to be outside.”

  “Want? That is a strong thing in a slave.”

  She put her head to his feet with a jingle of her punishing metal. “I beg it, Master. Your slave begs to be outside.”

  “It’s raining, Sheila,” he reminded. “The grass will be a bit uncomfortable.”

  “It’s what your slave deserves, Master.”

  “If I do grant your wish, there won’t be any playing with yourself all night,” he warned. “I know how little slave bitches are.”

  “Sheila won’t do that, Master.”

  “You will try. You’re a slut. It’s in your nature. The very experience will arouse you. You’re wet now, just thinking of it.”

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered.

  “You’re aroused.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Because I am strong enough to thwart your will, because I can and will put you in chains and deny you a roof over your head.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Lie on your back, Sheila, and spread yourself.”

  She winced from the pain of movement as she lowered her body before him on the floor.

  “Is that how you spread for your Master?”

  Her ankles scissored painfully. “Forgive me, Master.”

  “I want you to masturbate, Sheila.”

  She flashed an expression of dread though she dared not object. With the clamps on, even in a horizontal position, she was facing a bittersweet prospect indeed.

  “Begin with your nipples. Caress them through the clamps.”

  She did so, inducing a hot, sexual scream. He cautioned her against the noise. “Nasty, noisy little sluts get things in their mouths, Sheila, equally nasty things to keep them quiet.”

  Sheila did her best to restrain her agony. He made her manipulate both of the swollen, pinched little buds, and then he had her work down her belly, to her gaping pussy, the lips angry red and exposed, the fluids dripping out obscenely onto his carpet.

  “Johnny is in love with you, you know.”

  She reacted with a stiffened spine.

  “I spoke with him. He is the proverbial knight in shining armor ready to ride to your defense. Of course he has no clue who truly holds your puppet strings.”

  Stone ordered her to stop so the frustration could set in. “Do you want to know why I am arranging for you to date him?”

  Sheila was silent, too absorbed in her own sensations to speak.

  “It’s two fold, really, though they go hand in hand,” he continued. “My amusement and your torture. I shall enjoy immensely manipulating your emotions, making you play with him, give yourself to him. And give yourself you will, Sheila. When I told you that you must be yourself, I meant your true self, which is a mindless slut who fucks on command and knows her value is between her legs, lips and ass cheeks.”

  Sheila was writhing, suffering the sudden loss of stimulation.

  “What’s wrong, dear?”

  “I need to come, Master.”

  “Would you like Johnny to make you come?”

  Sheila whimpered.

  “How about Mr. Jones?”

  “Master, please...”

  “Spread your lips wide.”

  She did so with her fingers.

  “Whose cunt?”

  “Yours, Master.”

  “Put your finger in my cunt. Tell me whose clit.”

  “Yours,” she moaned.

  “You are denied permission to orgasm.”

  “Yes, Master.” She was beside herself; her emotions torn and twisted.

  “Remove the clamps from your nipples.”

  She cried out, the pain no doubt excruciating as the blood rushed back into the tortured nubs.

  “Remove the clamps from your labia.”

  Her breath came in short, quick stabs. Her face was a white sheet, beaded in sweat, temples throbbing. How beautiful she looked in agony.

  “Let me see.”

  She put her hands over her head, palms up. He regarded her, completely naked now, free of all restraint. “You’ll be cuffed overnight. Hands behind your back to prevent masturbation.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “You may thank me for the time I have spent with you this evening.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Fetch the handcuffs from the coffee table,” he ordered. “And the collar and leash. It’s time to get you to bed...before the rain lets up.”

  Sheila went to do his bidding.

  She did not waste a single second on the way.

  How could she—when her time, like her breasts and pussy were not her own? They were his. Jeremy Stone’s for the owning. And soon they would be Johnny Tremaine’s...for the renting.

  The question was could the young man afford the price?

  ***

  Sheila was chained to a stake, set in the middle of a tiny grass area on Stone’s penthouse roof. The stake was iron, decorated with the head of a lion, a huge ring se
t between its teeth. Her metal leash was attached to it. She was collared, in wet black leather, studded. Rain pelted every part of her exposed body. It was not cold, but she shivered nonetheless. No matter which way she shifted, on one side or the other, she had parts of her unprotected. And wherever her skin touched the ground, it was slick and moist.

  The worst part was not having her hands. Her Master had deprived her of these, using the handcuffs. They were leather lined, which saved her skin from being cut, though her arms already ached from the confinement. She was so damned vulnerable. Straggly, wet hair, drops of rain drizzling into every orifice, a continual pelting on her oversensitized body.

  Her pussy was so needy. She longed for a man to come along and take her. A punished, available little slave who would willingly obey any command, taking a hard dick inside her. She wanted to be fucked in the grass, in the black night, in the downpour, high above the busy city, taken from behind, her face pushed down into the ground, or on her back, arms pinned at her ass, rudely used, a helpless, defenseless slut, unworthy of even the tiny kindnesses bestowed a whore.

  Johnny had wanted to do many nice things for her. Would he still make such offers to take her to concerts or movies? Would he trot around after her, seeming so grateful for every little attention she gave? He was going to take her out, whatever that meant. He already knew, or thought he knew, about her dominant boyfriend. So what could he hope to gain? Did he want to free her from her situation? Claim her for himself?

  Honestly, she didn’t know how she would obey her Master. She was supposed to be a slut for Johnny; she was supposed to please him. Certainly she would owe him for his time and for dinner. A girl like her had nothing to pay back with but pussy. And yet she didn’t even have that. Master owned the space between her thighs and all the rest of her.

  That’s why he beat and tortured her, and that’s why he sent her to others, too, like the powerful Italian and the dark, sadistic Mr. Jones. He had known what they would do to her; he had shown her what her place was. She wasn’t even worth taking the time to deflower. She was a low girl, an annoyance, and she hung by a thin thread in his life.

  But that thread was golden to her, glistening with life. It was hope and love and possibility. She had endured Jones and exposure to the rain. She had taken on anything, because it only brought them closer.

  She loved Master and wanted to be pure for him.

  If only she were stronger. Not so fragmented into different parts, each of which belonged to a different man. The Italian held her innocence. He would always be the one she associated with her official awakening, her naked possession by elemental cock. His was the first her pussy had opened to, and she was sure she would know him again, just by feel.

  The thought of him, strong, arrogant and indifferent would always make her wet and ready. She would crawl without hesitation, and she would lay for him, even without the threat of a beating. He had mastered her pussy and taught it submission.

  Mr. Jones held the key to the locked box of all her darkest terrors. By him she had been defiled, in ways she did not wish to dwell on, even in her imagination. The fact that he took orgasms from her only made the acts more shameful.

  He would never be Master like Stone or even the Italian, but he would always have her at his beck and call. Her tail would wiggle, and she would run to him to suffer. Fear would drive her, terror in the face of his depravity, but also an unspeakable hunger inside of her breast.

  As nebulous as this hold of his was, that of Johnny Tremaine was even more so. The man had never been with her, never taken his pleasure with her, though she had openly begged him. She had been left scorned, confused, and even more curious about him. What kind of lover would he make? He seemed aware of things, more confident than he had first appeared. Could he be a dominant male, masquerading as a meek and mild co-worker?

  Her own Master was indeed cruel to put her in this position. She could not win here. She was going to have to give herself to Johnny or face punishment. Johnny might well get angry with her. He might reject her. She might face the wrath of both men.

  But what did it matter? To a female chained on a leash, her stomach empty and gnawing. She had begged Master for food as he chained her. Even another dog biscuit. He had held his crotch. “We’ll see about some more protein in the morning.”

  She had to thank him, choking back more tears.

  Why, oh why wouldn’t he just fuck her himself? Things would be easier if he would, she was sure of it. She would be more centered in him, at peace, and she wouldn’t worry so much about things. She would be Master’s girl and nothing more.

  A clap of thunder in the sky as if to mock her pretensions. The lightning illuminated her briefly. Pale and pathetic. Owned and useless.

  She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. She wanted to sleep, but she was afraid of her dreams. They were no longer hers to control, anymore than her body.

  Sheila thought of Master, inside in his warm bed. One day she would be worthy to sleep there, chained and cozy at his feet. His good little slut.

  One day.

  But not today.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sheila was sitting at her desk, half past nine the next morning, when Johnny walked in. She was intent on her work, anxious to finish her current assignment on time. Her Master had given her fifteen minutes to make changes to a document and e-mail it to him.

  For every minute past fifteen, she would receive one smack on her naked ass cheeks with a yard stick. Her behind tingled in dread anticipation. She was in a difficult enough spot, sitting on her leather chair, deprived of any covering below the waist.

  Master had taken her skirt earlier as punishment for failing to line up the mail on his blotter in a properly centered manner. Now she was stuck with a naked cunt and ass below her blouse. Sitting at her desk was fine but what was she supposed to do if she had to get up? And how would she get him coffee?

  Upon seeing Johnny Tremaine, she pushed her belly as close to the desk as she could manage, hiding herself. “Oh...it’s you,” she croaked.

  “Hello, Sheila.”

  “I didn’t expect you,” she said, though in truth she had.

  “I understand you would like a chance to talk with me,” he said, his face expressionless.

  The change in him was disconcerting. He had been so eager towards her, so pleasant, and now he was just...aloof.

  “I...yes,” she replied.

  So that’s how her Master did it, she thought. He had told Johnny she wanted to talk, figuring he would do the rest.

  “Are you free for dinner? Will your boyfriend allow that?”

  “He works very late,” she said, spinning the lies as she went along. “So, yes, I’m free.” She pressed her thighs together, hoping he couldn’t smell her. Being like this, open aired, in the man’s presence was doing strange things to her. Leather sticking to her ass, pussy lips throbbing—she was coming undone.

  “Why don’t you meet me at the Regent’s, around the corner. Can you do that? I would pick you up, but that’s probably not a good idea.”

  “No, I can meet you there, that’s fine.” She wondered if he could see her nipples through the blouse. Master hadn’t given her a bra today and they had remained stiff, all through the night and into this morning.

  “All right,” he nodded. “I’ll see you then.”

  “Johnny?”

  He stopped at the door. “Yea?”

  “I—I just...” She trailed off, her thoughts a rabbit warren, one tiny cotton tailed bunny running, pricked here and there by brambles, wolves hot on her trail. “I wanted to say thank you, Johnny.”

  He frowned, though his eyes showed a variety of emotions. “You don’t have to thank me.”

  Just like that, he was gone, leaving Sheila to her work.

  She was late. Quickly, she dove into the document. One, two, three minutes past her deadline. Simultaneously, the impending number of hits with the paddle increased.

  It was a delicate b
alance. If she sent it to him with uncorrected mistakes, she would suffer even more. Finger trembling, she hit the send key. Six minutes had elapsed past the deadline.

  Now she would sit here and wait. The next few minutes were worse than the punishment.

  She jumped when the intercom came on.

  “Report to my office, Sheila.”

  Sheila closed the door behind her and went immediately to her hands and knees. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  Stone was sitting at his desk, studying his computer screen. “I’m curious,” he said, showing no particular regard for her predicament. “When Mr. Jones brought you inside this morning, did he make use of you?”

  “Yes, Master.” She was still quite sore, in fact.

  “In what orifice?”

  “He took me in the ass, Master.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He clicked several keys in succession. “Your work level has declined, Sheila. You are aware of this?”

  Sheila’s heart seized in her chest. “Master, please let me explain.”

  “Explain?” He pushed back his chair. “And exactly what,” he gave her his full attention, “could you possibly offer as an explanation?”

  Sheila hung her head. She had forgotten her place. “I have no explanation.”

  “And why is that, Sheila?”

  “Because I’m a slut, Master. A mindless animal,” she said glumly.

  “And what do we do to correct animals who misbehave?”

  Visions of Mr. Jones danced in her head. His eyes as he had come to unchain her, the words he had spoken, like a violating hand across her soul...and then the taking. Dragging her across to the wall, bending her over so her head hung down, fifty stories, so he could have her ass, unencumbered.

  “We beat them, Master. We punish them.”

  “And what do we give when they do good?”

  “Rewards, Master.”

  She was so hungry. And tired. And horny.

  “That’s correct, slut. Go and fetch the yardstick.”

  She went on all fours to the closet.

  “In your teeth,” he reminded.

  She presented it to him, like a puppy with a newspaper.

  “Take off your blouse and lay over the arm of the couch.”

  Sheila stripped naked, leaving her shoes on. She put her wet pussy right over the leather, letting her breasts hang, her cheek on the cushion. She was completely exposed for a beating or a fuck.