Punish Me, Please Me

by Ashley Zacharias

  She complied and he wound the middle of the rope once around each wrist in loose knots that left her hands slightly parted but not far enough for her fingers to reach down and untie them. Her circulation was unimpeded but her hands were trapped. He knelt down and tied one end of the rope to the frame on one side of the bed, then walked around and tied off the other end to the other side. She could move about the bed but not far enough to reach the knots that held her there.

  Finally he buckled the blindfold over her eyes. “I know that you can reach the buckle, but you are not to remove the blindfold until after your mouth has been filled and the man who filled it has left the room. Do everything he says, work hard, and you may escape a beating. I hope you can satisfy him because he’s known to be the most brutal man in Las Vegas. I doubt that he’ll bother with a paddle. If you fail to impress him, he’ll take it out on your ass with his belt.”

  Celine was certain that Paul was exaggerating, but she felt a sharp stab of fear. Maybe she had offered too much. She had given few blowjobs in her entire life and now she had promised that a stranger would receive the best one ever. Was she a fool? Or did she want to get her ass beaten black and blue?

  At least, tied like this, she would be able to use her hands, one at a time, as well as her lips and tongue. That was a small mercy.

  It seemed like the door had barely shut before it opened again. Was Paul back already or had Master Exeter been waiting in the lobby?

  The ropes were long enough to let her kneel on the bed with her feet pressed against the headboard. She felt the bed shift with the weight of a second person and then a hand on the back of her neck forced her mouth down onto a rigid cock. She grabbed it at the base with her right hand and began to lick around the head. It was already wet and slimy and tasted a bit funky. She did not need to see to know that she was licking the precum from Paul’s dick – she had induced him to produce copious amounts during the cirque so it was only fair that she now be forced to lick him clean. She’d called the tune, offered to be the piper, and now was obligated to play his fleshy flute.

  She worked hard, licking his head, then plunging down his shaft until he was banging against the back of her throat, making her gag, then pulling back and licking him again. Around and around and up and down until her jaw was aching and her knees protesting being cramped. But she dared not quit until she had cum in her mouth.

  She knew that she had pushed him to a high state of excitement so she was surprised by the amount of time and effort that it took for her to make him cum. But eventually he had to succumb to her ministrations and reward her with his copious flow. When she felt him pulsing in her mouth, she pulled him almost out and, as promised, took his wad on her tongue. She resisted the urge to gag or swallow and kept licking until his pulsing faded away. It took longer than she had expected. When he finally stopped, she leaned her head back and thrust out her tongue, showing him the bountiful white gobs on it. She pressed it against her lips and then worked her tongue around to make certain that he could see that she was spreading the goo everywhere. Finally, she mostly closed her mouth and swished and slurped it around everywhere. There was little left to swallow. No matter what she did now, she’d definitely have the taste of his cum in her mouth for the rest of the night.

  He said, using his deep, clipped voice, “You were good but not the best that I ever had. Your bragging deserves acknowledgement. Ten strokes of my belt will remind you to be more humble about your mediocre skills next time. Turn around and present your ass to me.”

  She was not surprised that Paul sounded like the anal expert from earlier. If he were going to disguise his voice effectively, he had to learn a lot more accents. She presented her ass as instructed and counted out ten strokes of the belt. They hurt and she squealed pathetically after each stroke.

  She spent the rest of the night lying naked on the bed with no way to cover herself. As she had wished, her mouth still tasted like cum when she finally fell asleep.

  She might be the slave, but she had called this shot on her own initiative. She fell asleep satisfied.

  * * *

  “Good morning,” Paul said cheerfully.

  Celine’s mouth tasted like a swamp. “Untie my hands so that I can get myself cleaned up and then we can have a little fun. I need some regular style love so that I can get off, too.”

  As he untied her, he said, “You don’t have Master Exeter’s permission to have an orgasm. As his slave, you are only permitted to have an orgasm when he gives you the gift of relief. You are not to touch yourself sexually without asking first. I will tell him about your need the next time I see him.”

  She hadn’t anticipated this wrinkle. Her assumption was that a sex slave would have almost constant orgasms because she would be engaged in almost constant sex. She was as horny as she had ever been and didn’t intend to deny herself for long.

  “What are we going to do today?” she asked.

  “We’re going to relax. I told you yesterday that a sex slave should have some time to enjoy life, too.”

  “You’re not going to send a man up here to use me?”

  “Not today. If Master Exeter gives you permission to have an orgasm then you’ll have to use your own hands to do it.”

  Celine sighed. If she wanted to masturbate herself, she could have stayed at home. Now that Paul had thought about masturbation, he was almost certainly going to pretend to go consult Master Exeter and then come back and demand that she let him watch her play with herself.

  She had no intention of giving him that kind of show. She came to Vegas to get fucked royally by an experienced dominant man, not to amuse this little pervert.

  His words told her the truth. Yesterday she had been uncertain, had thought that she might have actually have a parade of strangers and ‘experts’ trooping through her hotel room, including the mysterious “Master Exeter” but today she had to accept that there was only Paul. He had been a horny young man, able to get it up three times a day for two days, but she had worn him out. He wasn’t going to give her an orgasm right now because he didn’t have enough left in him to do the job. Who did he think he was? She didn’t owe him anything. She was in this for her own amusement, not to make this dumpy kid happy.

  He had lied to her about who he was and she had been foolish enough to believe him. Well, she had been attentive to his lessons and now she was going to teach him a lesson in return.

  She was, after all, a properly qualified and duly certified middle-school teacher in the state of California. She taught snotty children lessons for a living.

  Teaching Paul a lesson, however, was going to be a little difficult considering that she didn’t have a stitch of clothing within reach, had not seen her purse with her identification and credit cards for days, and did not know Paul’s last name. For that matter, she didn’t even know if ‘Paul’ was his real first name.

  If he turned nasty, he could walk out of here and never return.

  Then she would have to phone the front desk and do a lot of explaining. She could claim that she had been raped and robbed, but it would be hard to make that story sound believable. How many hotel burglars stole a woman’s clothes and makeup and left her naked in her hotel room? Especially when the hotel security cameras had undoubtedly recorded her standing around the lobby in various states of semi-dress waiting for a man who was now nowhere to be found now.

  She recalled reading that there were more security cameras per person in Las Vegas than anywhere else on earth. And then there were her purchases at Victoria’s Secret and the Bad Attitude Boutique, the restaurant meals for two, and the two tickets to the erotic cirque. Trying to explain her comings and goings over the last couple of days while convincing anyone that she had been a victim of a rapist/burglar would be nearly impossible.

  Besides, letting Paul just walk away would be no fun. She had come to Vegas to have some fun. She had given him a good time so now, he had a duty to give her and equally good time. By God, she was going to get
it from him one way or another.

  She began to formulate a plan.

  When she finished drying her hair, she spoke to Paul in a low voice, “I’ve been here for two days and I haven’t even used the hotel pool yet. I bet you’d like to take your slave shopping and make her buy the smallest bikini in Las Vegas. When you’d like to make her parade around the hotel pool wearing that awful, immodest suit and let all the other men stare at her and admire her mostly naked, barely legal body. I bet you’d like watching the poor woman blush as red as a beet, wouldn’t you?”

  Paul’s eyes glittered. There was even a little bulge forming in his trousers, not enough to penetrate her, but enough to tell her that she had grabbed his interest.

  “I’m a naturally modest person. Very conservative about my body. I’d hate to have to have to display myself in public like one of those cirque performers last night. Really hate it.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes to take you shopping.” He could barely enunciate the words; he was already trembling in anticipation of a good show.

  “I’ll need underwear,” she said as he was rushing out the door. “The won’t let anyone try on bikini bottoms without underwear.”

  “Okay.” The door slammed.

  Suddenly, Paul sounded very young to her. It was easy to forget that he was barely in his twenties when he was lecturing her about being a sexual slave. At those times, he managed to sound confident and authoritative. But when she had made suggestions on her own, like at the Cirque last night and again this morning, he sounded like a teenage boy.

  She suspected that he had no real experience at all. When he was being “Master Exeter,” he was acting out some story that he had read on the Internet. But when she made suggestions that fell outside his prepared script, things were different. He had almost fallen apart at the cirque last night and now he was panting at the thought of seeing her in a bikini.

  Men were such odd creatures; he had seen her entirely naked and knew that he could see her naked in her room again any time he wanted but the thought of seeing her in a skimpy bikini in public was a bigger turn on than private total nudity.

  He was shockingly unsophisticated. And she had been equally naive in return, willing to believe that he was acting on behalf of a much more experienced man. But, all along, she had been little more than a prop in some Internet-inspired porn fantasy.

  Well she had a plan now and he was going to get a rude awakening. She was going to show him how the real world worked.

  On the other hand, her plan would be no treat for her, either. She had been telling the truth about being modest. She was not proud of her body. She was no bathing beauty, just an average twenty-eight-year old who spent too much time in front of the television instead of working out at the gym. She would hate parading around in one of the tiny bikinis that she had seen other women wearing at the pool. But it would be worth suffering considerable embarrassment if it delivered Paul into her hands.

  The most important lesson that Paul had taught her was that she could make herself act like a shameless slut, no matter how much she hated doing it. That was the source of the sex slave’s power and she was learning to love that power.

  She thought about the aesthetics of wearing a micro bikini in public and phoned the front desk. A few minutes later, she had an appointment for a bikini wax at the salon at the Bellagio Hotel across the strip.

  When Paul returned carrying her black dress, underwear and walking shoes, she informed him that she had to be at the Bellagio at twelve thirty to get her bush waxed. There was no way she was going out in public with hair hanging out the sides of her bathing suit. She added that she was sure that the suit that he would make her buy would require a severe waxing.

  He nodded like it was his idea.

  At the Bikini Bay boutique, she found a scarlet suit that was revealing enough to shock her and might be scant enough to impress Paul but did not actually show any part of her body that would get her thrown out of the pool. The back was not a thong, but was cut high and narrow enough to expose half of her cheeks. The small triangles that covered her nipples and half of her breasts were held in place with thin spaghetti straps. Large silver rings linked the sides of the bottom at the hips and linked the halter together at the front. She did not model the suit in the store for Paul, but came out of the change room fully dressed and whispered in his ear, “I think that you’ll like this suit a lot. It’s a lot smaller than anything that I’ve ever worn before. I really don’t want to wear it in public this afternoon to be ogled by every man in Vegas but I’m afraid of disappointing you and earning another spanking so I’ve going to force myself to do it regardless.”

  He nodded and tried to look severe, but she was getting wise to him. She caught a hint of blush in his ears.

  She picked out a matching cover up and a pair of waterproof scarlet sandals. They were basically flip-flops but were not too chunky; they had at a little style to them. They even had a bit of heel.

  Then she told Paul, “If you’re taking me to the pool, you’ll need a bathing suit, too. My treat.” He sputtered for a minute, but she quietly handed him a modest pair of jams and a tee shirt, both size large. “Try these on.”

  He came out of the dressing room a few minutes later with the swimsuit in hand. “They fit.”

  “Great. Pick out pair of sandals for yourself and we’ll be set to go. I have barely enough time to get to my appointment at the salon.” She kept her credit card after making the purchase because she would need it to pay for the waxing. As they were walking out of the store, she said, casually, “I’ll meet you back at my room in about an hour. While I’m screaming in agony because I’ll be getting most of the hair ripped out of my crotch, I’d appreciate it if you’d ask Master Exeter if some man might be allowed to give me an orgasm after our pool party. I deserve to scream in ecstasy a little, too. Tell him that I’m begging you. I’ll get down on my knees to beg for relief if I have to.”

  “You’ll have to,” Paul said, tossed his head, and walked away.

  She laughed quietly. She’d seen the bulge that she’d raised in his pants again. She’d bet even money that he wouldn’t have the self-discipline to wait for her. While she got her bush waxed, he was going to wax his knob.

  When she returned to the room an hour later, Paul’s face was flushed and then ends of his long hair wet with sweat. She knew what he had been doing, but said nothing about it. Now she was truly angry.

  He knew that she wanted him to get her off but he had selfishly wasted what was probably going to be his only decent hardon of the day. “Put on your new bathing suit,” she said, “and I’ll be with you in a minute.” She carried her Bikini Bay bag into the bathroom and changed, covering herself with the wrap before emerging. Paul was wearing his new suit, tee shirt, and sandals as well. He looked uncomfortable. Size Large was a little tight on him.

  “Show me your bikini,” he demanded.

  “I will do it now if you order me to, but you might not want to. It will be more humiliating for me if you wait to inspect me in public. Especially if you find it unsatisfactory and order me to come back up her and submit to a paddling for failing to please you. I think it only fair to warn you that making me show you now gives me are easy way out of that ordeal.” She reached for the tie that held the wrap closed. “If you see it now, then I’m sure that you’ll like it so much that we’ll never make it down to the pool. It’ll excite you so much that you’ll give me the good long fucking that I need so desperately instead of making me beg for it later.”

  “Wait.” Paul stopped her from untying the wrap.

  She’d nailed him good. He didn’t dare let her know that he was in no state to get it up right now.

  “If you’re that confident that your bikini will please me, then we’ll put it to the test. We’ll go down to the pool and see how well you can attract other men’s attention. If enough men stare at you when you walk around the pool, then I’ll bring you back up here and fuck you. If it t
urns out that you’re no more adventuresome than any of the other women down there, then I’ll bring you up here and beat your ass with my belt until you regret your timidity with all your heart. I only hope for your sake that you picked out the hottest bikini ever seen at the Flamingo pool.”

  Celine hoped so, too. Looking delectable was essential to her plan, but not for the reason that Paul thought.

  Poolside, she waited until Paul was sitting on one of the lounge chairs, then stood in front of him and slowly untied the cover-up. She watched his eyes when it slid from her shoulders.

  She had succeeded.

  He stared at her, his gaze traveling from her half-naked tits to the hip-hugging bottom that plunged halfway to her barely-concealed crotch. He liked what he saw, but, when they got back to her room, he would beat her anyway because, in his present state of exhaustion, he could give her a beating more easily than a fucking.

  Slowly she turned around to show him her half-naked ass. As she looked around, she saw that a few other men were looking her way as well. She was not the prettiest or youngest woman at the pool, and some of the other bikinis were just as small as hers – competition between babes is tough in Vegas – but she was hot enough to attract her share of testosterone-fueled ogling, especially from the middle-aged, paunchy men with wedding rings on their fingers and kid’s toys piled at their sides. Those were not the men she needed to impress.

  She began slowly strolling around the pool. At the Flamingo Hotel, the largest of the four pools is irregularly shaped. Circumnavigating it requires a long walk. She walked alone; Paul stayed in his chair and watched her wander away on her own.

  She attracted her share of stares but was surprised to find that she did not feel as self-conscious as she expected. She had to put on an act for Paul’s sake. Standing in a lobby in a dress with no underwear felt whorish and humiliating but wearing a bikini by the pool, even one this skimpy, felt natural. It was not as shocking here as it might be in Oklahoma City or Cincinnati or even at home in Glendale.