Punish Me, Please

by Reese Gabriel

  Her pussy moistened as she gave a little pull with her arms and legs, trying in vain to free herself. The bondage was real. Soft and elegant as her condition was, she was a prisoner, just as she had been in the box.

  How long had it been anyway? She was a little hungry but not as much as she thought she might have been. Could it be she hadn’t traveled halfway across the world but somewhere closer to home?

  Sheila’s mystery lover was moving on top of her. She felt his naked hip brush hers. His lips were at her shoulder. He took little nibbles and then moved lower to the slope of her breasts and all the way up to her nipple. She clenched her bound fists as he suckled, raising the pink nub to a tight, respondent little point of raw pleasure. Sheila thrashed her head. No. No. No. He shifted to the other nipple. It was like an attack, awakening her senses, doing things deep down.

  She didn’t know how to take pleasure anymore; she was groomed to give it. She was a slave. A slut.

  He kissed her belly, tickling it with his tongue. She was gushing, her pussy dripping. She needed him, god help her, she needed him to get on top of her and get inside her. She wanted him to make love to her. Was it wrong to have a wish for herself?

  If only he would get on with it, be the man and vanquish her.

  Yes...he was taking up his position, climbing between her tied open legs, finding his place as a man. She pushed herself up against him, welcoming his cock. Thick, long and hard, but not invasive. It was just right. She clenched her muscles tight around him, welcoming.

  Again, the sense of familiarity overwhelmed her.

  She wanted to see him, but then again, she didn’t. In and out went his cock, staking a claim, profound and magical. She gave herself over to him, feeling the rising tide. She would be coming before too long. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind that. She didn’t want to be punished, not yet.

  She just wanted to be a good lay. A good hole, a body to lie on top of, to exploit. His speed was increasing. His strokes were getting more decisive. She could feel what a specimen he was, an athlete and young. Damn it, who was he?

  It was time. He was swelling, heating up. She could hear his breathing. She braced herself, ready to come with him.

  They exploded together, his spurting semen filling her quaking canal, on and on, their bodies rising together to a hot and sexy crescendo. She didn’t want it to end, and she was so afraid he would leave her. She tried to cling to him, to hold his cock inside her. But she had no power, no strength to compel him.

  She was a slave, and he was a master. She knew that now, as surely as she knew he was a man. The question was what did he intend to do with her, aside from what he had just done?

  To her amazement, he did not pull out, but lay with her, his body on top of hers, covering hers, but not smothering. She felt electricity everywhere his skin touched hers, her own softer body against his muscled one. Not being able to kiss and touch and worship him as she wished was agony.

  Was that his intention? More torture?

  His cock shrank of its accord, the blood naturally redistributing itself. Sheila received more kisses now, up and down her arm. She reached for him, stretching her slender fingers.

  He repeated the action on her other arm. Up and down, slow and delicious. She felt incredibly spoiled, like some kind of queen. If it wasn’t for the hood, the bondage.

  The hood. What was he doing? Sheila tensed; her body on instant alert. Oh, god, don’t, you’ll ruin everything, she thought. He had the little key, the one that fit in her zipper. Why would Master give this man the key? No one else should be doing this.

  He was opening it. Opening the lock. So he could work the zipper. Sheila shook her head, trying to get him off. His hand moved over her belly again, palm down, until it rested over her pussy. She inhaled, ragged, razor sharp. Her breasts rose and fell. She was paralyzed. He had her full attention, her full acquiescence.

  Dear god, don’t let him let go. She would plunge over the brink into the depths of a black, black hell.

  Sheila was grateful for the ropes, to tie her down, to keep her grounded. She wondered if the light would burn her eyes; she wondered if she would be able to focus on anything or move her lips and talk anymore. She wondered a whole bunch of things, not one of which she could voice.

  And what about the noise? She wasn’t used to hearing things. Suppose everything deafened her?

  His second hand stroked her forehead through the rubber, taking a break. A short respite and then he was working on the hood again. She remembered when Mr. Jones had done this, freeing her neck, terrorizing her. This time she felt like she was hanging on a precipice, caught between good and evil.

  It was all up to this man. To make the experience, to make her.

  Her neck was exposed first. Sweaty and pulsing, but oddly cold in the open air. Next came her ear as he peeled the halves of the hood, one from the other. A whoosh of sound overwhelmed her. With excitement, she realized it was the man breathing.

  He pulled forward, gently urging her to open her mouth. She strained to work her jaws. Drool drizzled from her numb lips. She felt so weak. The gag was coming out, very slowly.

  At the same time, he was tugging at the hood from the top. This was it, he was going to take it off completely, in one smooth motion, delicate but decisive. And nothing she could do was going to stop it.

  All kinds of long forgotten sensations flooded her brain, feedback from her own body. Strange, odd awarenesses. Like the feeling of her hair, sopping wet. And her skin, tingling, prickling sensations dotting her forehead.

  He raised the back of her head. This was it. It was coming off. She clamped her eyes tight shut against whatever light would come.

  She wasn’t ready to see. More importantly, she wasn’t ready to be seen. She was sure to look hideous, mottled skin, no makeup, and red eyes. Like a troll, some kind of monster. And her hair would be so dirty and unkempt, too.

  The man had a solution to her dilemma. Whether to save her modesty or her vision, he did not immediately expose her to the environment. Removing the hood, he placed over her face a piece of silk, blood red. It was like heaven on her skin, falling over her lips like a kiss. He made the switch so fast that she did not get a clear look at him.

  Through the material, she saw him only in shadow.

  So familiar.

  “Don’t try and open your eyes,” warned a voice. Her ears strained to place it. It had been so long since she had heard anything much beyond her own thoughts. Was there still an outside world with people in it? With a man, who seemed to be trying to help her?

  She wanted to see more, but the man had taken off the silk and replaced it with the palm of his hand, warm and caressing. Soon this was replaced with a towel.

  Gradually, sensations came to her. He was being very soft and gentle. Using warm, wet towels. She smelled perfumed soap, shampoo. He was cleaning her up. Her skin tingled everywhere. She wanted so badly to see who was doing this to her.

  Eventually, he toweled her hair dry and blotted her cheeks. She felt clean, surprisingly refreshed. It was time...

  Sheila blinked now, her eyes gazing about, curious. The shapes began to coalesce, translated by her brain into familiar, remembered objects. A lamp, a door, a dresser. A painting on the wall.

  And the man himself...

  A square jaw, reliable, broad shoulders. Deep penetrating eyes.

  She tried to form the syllables with a mouth too weak to talk, a mouth too used to confinement, to perpetual sucking of either the plastic cock gag or real ones.

  “John...ny?” she croaked.

  He shielded her eyes, protectively. “Don’t try and look at me,” he repeated. “Let your eyes get used to the light. Squint a little at first.”

  Sheila gasped. She was really hearing him...his voice coming to her through her very own ears. It was all too much to comprehend. Was she in his bed? Certainly that had been his cock inside her.

  At last...

  “Johnny...what...happened?”

&
nbsp; His hand massaged her forehead. He was still shielding her eyes. “Don’t try and talk, either.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, content to follow his bidding.

  Johnny lifted his fingers. “Okay, look, but just a little.”

  She saw his face, clean in the light. She closed her eyes again and then took another peek. It was him. It was Johnny. Wide eyed, she smiled. Quickly, however, she remembered what had happened the last time they were together.

  He must have seen it in her face, the sudden change from wonder and joy to overwhelming guilt. “You have nothing to feel sorry for, Sheila. It was all out of your control. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. I didn’t see how vulnerable you were. It isn’t fair to put a slave girl in the middle.”

  She blinked, still clueless. Why wasn’t she with Stone anymore?

  “You were Jeremy’s at that point, and you did right to go back to him. I had no right trying to encourage you to disobey your Master.”

  She shook her head. “But...”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Just listen, Sheila. I have much to tell you. My thinking was so confused before. Jeremy set me straight. First, as I said, I should never have leveraged you against another Master. Second, I should never have left anything in your hands. When you told me about wanting other men, I got scared. You seemed so sure you were meant to be a whore of some sort and that just fed into my own insecurities that I couldn’t handle you.”

  “But I can, Sheila, and I will. The answer was so simple; I don’t know why we didn’t see it before. You’ll marry me because it’s my will, because you are now my slave and you will live exactly as I choose. As for your sexual desires, you will find no conflict there, either. I own them, you see, like I own you. You’ll find I’m not like Jeremy or his man, Jones. I’m insatiable, I will never get tired of you, and I’m a greedy jealous bastard. You so much as look at another man and I’ll punish you. Hard. You won’t masturbate, and you won’t fantasize. But if you’re needy, you will find you can always come to me for relief. You are my one and only girl, Sheila, I will never deny you, till death do us part.”

  Sheila felt a long overdue lump in her throat. “I love you, Johnny.”

  “You must call me Master now, Sheila. Assuming you consent to be my slave.”

  “Very much, Master.”

  “This is a serious thing, Sheila. I am not an easier man than Jeremy. Just because I take you for my loving wife does not mean I will be soft. You will wear my chains; you will taste my whip. I’ll spoil you as I choose, but I’ll also cage you and beat you, and if I decide, to give away your sexual favors to anyone I choose.”

  “You would do that, Master?” she whispered shyly, but with deep arousal. “You would force me to serve other men?”

  “I’m not sure there would be much forcing in your case,” he arched a brow teasingly. “But, yes, such things are possible.”

  “Oh, Master, I love you,” she sighed.

  “I love you, too, angel.”

  She felt the warmth pervade her. Calling her angel was the sweetest, most intoxicatingly dominant thing he could have done.

  “Master, one thing I don’t understand...well, one of a lot of things. How did you come to, um, own me? I can’t imagine Master—I mean Mr. Stone letting me go.”

  “We worked it out. A gentleman’s agreement you could call it. He wanted an arm and a leg for you, but I talked him into a wager. All I have to do is train you better than he did, and I get you for free.”

  “And if you can’t, Master?”

  He shrugged. “Then it’s the Arab slave traders.”

  “Master!”

  Johnny angled up his lips. “Yes, girl?”

  She tingled all over seeing the rapacious look in his eyes. “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?”

  “Do what?”

  “Own me.”

  “It’s a done deal.” He put his hand on her breast, caressing. In seconds, he had her squirming.

  “Master, may I be untied?”

  “No, slave girl.”

  Sheila shivered, her will thwarted. “Yes, Master.”

  Johnny straddled her face. “I want you in bondage for your first time sucking my cock.”

  “Yes, Master. I will try and please you.”

  “Of course you will, my love.” He ran his fingers around the edge of her lips. “Because if you don’t, you’ll be punished, won’t you?”

  “Mmm, yes, Master,” she sighed, opening her mouth for him.

  He pushed his finger inside, between her teeth. “Slaves are punished for disobeying and displeasing. Can you tell me some of the ways I might punish you?”

  His cock was resting on her chest, between her breasts, thick and hard and ready. She wanted it bad so she could show him what she could do. She would be the best he ever had. He would know he was doing the right thing, claiming her exclusively.

  She tried to speak around his finger. “You could beat me, Master. Confine me. Deny me privileges, food, water. I might have to do extra chores.”

  “Personally, I think you would look adorable standing in the corner,” he proposed. “With your pants down around your ankles, waiting on a spanking, or holding your skirt up in the air, your nose pressed to the wall holding up a coin.”

  “I’d be so excited, Master, standing there, like a bad little girl.”

  “I’m going to explode in your mouth,” he told her, letting her suck his finger. “Do you know that?”

  She nodded, eager, thankful.

  Johnny chuckled, low and devilish. Retracting his fingers, he settled his thighs on either side of her head. She took his cock like the slave she was, sucking it fast and hard.

  He reached around behind him, slapping her breast, a short, stinging blow with his hand. “Slow down, girl. It’s your Master’s cock not an ice cream cone.”

  Sheila sought to correct her technique. The man’s hard discipline to her helpless tit made her hot. Her new Master was strong, willing to take her in hand, literally, to get what he wanted from her. She looked at him with pliant eyes, trying to do better.

  She did not want to gag, and she certainly wanted to take him straight to the back of her throat, swallowing his issue as it spurted from the tip of his hot, hard penis.

  “You’re going to have the rest of your life to practice,” he told her. “Imagine the long evenings, me watching television, you curled at my feet, your head in my lap, your sweet little body, naked and collared. Nice and tired from cleaning my house, your ass smarting from whatever little disciplinary actions you’ve had done on you for the day. Hours at a time, Sheila, that’s how long I’ll want my cock sucked.”

  She moaned as she mouthed him, indicating her submission. She wanted nothing more than to belong like that, to be used and treasured.

  “That’s a girl,” he sighed. His come came hot and fast, shooting straight to the back of her throat.

  She took it all down, gulping and gulping.

  Afterwards, she licked him clean. She thought he might let her up finally but he had another surprise in store. She cried out in shock and excitement as he took up a place no man ever had before. She had no idea a slave could receive this. It seemed so servile for her Master to go between her legs like that with his tongue.

  But it was not an act of surrender on his part. He kept control of the situation, control of her. His tongue was like a cock, pricking and pleasing, torturing, lifting her high, sending her soaring and crashing back down, hurtling, nearly to earth only to raise her again. He knew how to find her clit, oh, god, did he ever. Swelling it, titillating it, moving it about until it made her sing. Her juices leaked out on her thighs, on his mouth, and on his tongue. She kept coming as long as he wanted her to, one orgasm after another. Her body wound tighter and tighter, grunts and groans, rhythmic cries of yes, yes, yes, and then no.

  No more, no less, no, nothing at all. Total dissolution, unwound like a corkscrew. There could not be any more climaxes left in her, she was
sure. But he found more, because he was Master.

  Johnny laughed when it was done. He enjoyed seeing her in such exquisite, sexual torture. Untying the ropes at last, he carried her to the bathtub. Filling it with warm soapy water, he cleaned her body, very slowly and lovingly. She was on the brink of sleep, but also charged and ready for more, whatever he wanted.

  Leaning forward, she begged a kiss. He put his lips over hers, and soon, they were in one another’s arms. He ran his hand over her back, stroking. Her long, soapy hair, her smooth skin, covered in welts, along her spine and down to her ass.

  The mix of soreness and arousal was perfect, her nipples peaked in the water, her pussy open, slowly dripping. In a flight of mischievous fancy, she reached for Master, pulling him over the side. She exclaimed in joy as he came in after her, fully immersing himself. The water sloshed across the floor.

  Johnny maneuvered them both, so that he was on the bottom, sitting, legs extended, and she lying over him on his lap. He delivered some firm swats, sending more water spraying. Before long, the tub was empty. Sheila was laughing, which Johnny thought a sign of poor slave discipline indeed.

  She recognized the play in his voice as he emerged from the bath, slinging her over his shoulder. Not surprisingly, she wound up back in bed, the man’s slippery limbs intertwined with hers.

  They had sex another time, incredibly. He had the resilience of a teenager. And she was perpetually horny it seemed. When they finally fell asleep, she was drunk with her sated desire. She whispered for him to bind her before sleep, to bestow on her some token of her slavery. He took a pair of handcuffs, attaching one end to her wrist and the other end to his.

  She felt so much more at peace this way, connected by metal, by steel links. It was a strange thing, perhaps, for a slave to ask the Master for bondage, but she didn’t see this as a sign of her trying to control things. It was out of her weakness she had made the request. Johnny was too strong himself to need chains. He knew he had her, he was supremely confident. And that was what made him most sexy.

  Sheila felt grateful for the Master she had gained. Johnny had been strong enough to claim her. She could never have made it work out on her own. Johnny had made it work, and she trusted him. She loved him, always had, from the moment she saw him though she fought it so hard. Preferring her fantasies to the possibilities of reality, however, she had resisted seeing him for the dominant man he was.