“When I can no longer speak to you, you should open the envelope and follow the instructions inside. I can give you a quick outline now, though. My penalty will be served in three parts. Each part will last about an hour, including the setup time. I should have completed my whole penalty by three o’clock or so. When you do open the envelope, you will find three smaller envelopes inside, marked ‘Part One’, ‘Part Two’, and ‘Part Three’. Obviously the inner envelopes should be opened in order as required. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“We begin in the basement. This way.” She led her friend out of the living room, through a door in the hallway and down to an unfinished basement. She was noticeably unstable on her high heels but did not appear in any danger of stumbling.
On the stairs, he commented, “Down to the dungeon, my lady,” but she ignored his weak quip.
The basement was unfinished. Her house was new, so the basement had high ceilings. First, Craig noticed two ropes attached to leather cuffs dangling from a joist in the middle of the room. Then he noticed another two ropes and attached cuffs laid across the floor. Leslie marched resolutely toward a small table in the corner of the near wall, not far from the stairs. Craig followed.
Assorted items formed a neat line across the table. Leslie immediately picked up the first item, a red ball gag, inserted it in her mouth, and buckled the strap behind her neck beneath her long brown hair. She pulled the end of the strap hard so that it was buckled on the tightest possible hole, the ball forced well past her front teeth and the leather strap stretching the corners of her mouth back into a forced grimace. She was giving herself no mercy.
She could no longer speak. Craig wondered if it was time to open the envelope but it was clear that there were still things that she could to do for herself. Without a pause, she left Craig and walked back to the centre of the room, turned to face him, bent over and buckled a leather cuff around each ankle. These cuffs were attached to ropes secured on opposite walls – ropes that were too short to allow her to move her feet together. As long as her ankles were cuffed, her feet would remain spread at least four feet apart. It was an effort for her to buckle them on herself she looked like she was doing some kind of yoga stretching exercise. The navy skirt pulled halfway up her thigh as she stretched and Craig enjoyed the view of her leg. She had nice legs and Craig, despite being ten years older than her and happily married, did not feel guilt about merely looking at a woman.
When she finished the second ankle and rose upright, she was left her standing in the middle of the room with her feet spread, ball gagged, and two cuffs dangling above her head. She grabbed the rope attached to the cuffs to steady herself because it was difficult for her to maintain her balance on her precarious heels in that spread-legged position. The natural next step was to buckle one cuff about each wrist so that her hands were hanging loosely, just high enough that she could no longer touch her head.
She stood there for a minute, waiting, and then grunted through the gag. Craig got the hint. It was his turn. He knew that Leslie was exceptionally well organized but she continued to surprise him. She had thought to include a letter opener as the next item on the table. Craig used it to slit the envelope and, as promised, found three smaller envelopes inside. He chose the one marked “Part One” and slit it open. A single sheet of paper slid out.
A heading at the top of the paper read, “Stretching and Stripping”. The rest of the page was a list of numbered instructions.
The first instruction read, “Follow the rope from my wrists to the back wall. Hook the loop on the lowest hook on the wall. Take a few moments to enjoy the view.”
Craig walked behind her, then followed the ropes from her wrists up to the joist. They were threaded through pulleys and continued along the ceiling. Halfway across the room they were joined to a single rope that was threaded through another pulley at the corner of the ceiling and back wall. The rope continued down the back wall along a stud with three steel hooks screwed into it. The hooks had safety catches so that, once on the hook, the rope could not slip off again unless the catch was held open. Currently, the loop was held by the topmost hook. As instructed, Craig unhooked the rope and tugged it downward until he could fit it onto the bottom hook. There was resistance because he was pulling against Leslie’s arms at the other end of the rope, stretching them upward and forcing them apart so that she could no longer reach the buckles on her wrists. She moaned and stretched as best as she could to help him. When he finished, he turned and looked at her. Her arms and legs pulled straight, stretching her into a vertical spread eagle so she was available for close inspection. He approached her and walked slowly around, liking the way that the pleated skirt stretched across her widespread legs. He followed each leg up with his eyes, imagining the magical spot underneath the material where they came together. He looked at the blouse pulled taut across her breasts. She had an averaged-sized bust, but dragged upward by her up-stretched shoulders and arms, they looked smaller than they were. Even so, they were still full enough to push back against the white broadcloth, forming a pair of satisfying mounds. When he looked at her face, she was a slight shade of pink. He could not tell if that was a result of the strain of her position or if she was blushing under his scrutiny.
He returned to the table and consulted the paper for the next instruction. It read, “Take one of the weights from under the table and hook it to the loop in the rope halfway up the wall, then set the timer for 10 minutes. Turn the timer away so that I cannot see the dial.”
Craig looked under the table. There was a pile of barbell weights stacked there. Each had a rope tied through the centre. A steel hook was tied to the other end of each rope. He lifted the first weight. It was heavy – a big number “20” was molded into the side. He carried it back to the far wall and hoisted it up so that he could slip the hook it through a loop that had been tied at eye level in the rope connecting Leslie’s arms. He grunted when he hoisted the weight to hook it on the rope; she groaned when he released it. Twenty pounds was not so much, but, if the pile under the table were any indication of what was in store, it was just the beginning.
He returned to the table and found a pink plastic kitchen timer. He turned the knob so that the dial was pointing to “10 min.” It began ticking loudly. The ticks seemed to echo in the empty room. Leslie moaned softly through her gag at the sound. Though she was not suffering any real distress yet, she knew that she would not get any relief as long as the ticking continued. He turned the dial to face the wall.
He read the next instruction: “Use the scissors to cut away my blouse and discard it. Enjoy your improved view while the timer runs out.” There was a large pair of tailor shears on the table.
Craig carried the shears back to Leslie. She looked resigned. He thrust the shears through his belt like a dagger so that he could use both hands to untuck her blouse and undo the buttons. It was a wasted effort because he was going to have to cut the material to get it off her outstretched arms. The broadcloth had been opaque and he had not been able to detect the color of her bra before he actually saw it. When the front of the blouse was parted, he could see black lace peeking through.
Withdrawing the shears from his belt, he opened them and slid them across Leslie’s collarbone to take the first nip of material. She shivered at the touch of cold steel to her warm skin. One snip at a time, he cut the blouse from the top button across her right shoulder and followed her arm up to the cuff. It fell away on that side, dangling from her left arm and shoulder, revealing a lovely expanse of white skin on her chest, arm, and back. He cut the other side and the shredded blouse fluttered to the floor, ruined beyond repair. He looked at Leslie and she looked back, but the ball gag that she had so savagely pulled into her mouth distorted her face. He could not interpret her expression.
A drop of drool overflowed the corner of her mouth and dribbled down her chin. Craig thrust the shears back into his belt, swept the remnant of the blouse from the floor and used it to wipe the
drop from her face. It would not matter in the long run – there was plenty more drool where that came from. He dropped the cloth back to the floor. She grunted irregularly through the gag, but he could not tell if she was trying to form a word or not; could not tell if she was trying to say “Thank-you” or “Don’t bother.” Most likely she was merely trying to swallow some of the saliva that was floating freely around the ball.
Looking closely, he could see the outline of an engorged nipple through the black lace cup of the bra.
The timer dinged.
Craig returned to the table and read the next instruction. “Hang the second weight from my rope. Set the timer for another ten minutes. Cut off my skirt. Enjoy the view.” Craig could see the pattern.
It took him a minute to pull the next weight out from under the table, hoist it up and carry it back across the basement to the rope on the far side. The second weight bumped against the first with a dull clank. Forty pounds and Leslie groaned a little louder.
He started the timer to ticking for another ten minutes.
When he returned to her, he had to examine her skirt for a minute before he found the button on the waistband at the left side and a hidden zipper tucked behind the pleat below it. He undid both. When the skirt gaped, he saw two wide swatches of black lace against the white skin of her hip. He started cutting the skirt from the hem at her left knee. The material could have been acrylic, but he suspected that he was cutting fine-spun wool. He guessed that part of the Leslie’s punishment was to have to buy expensive new clothing just to have it destroyed the first time she wore it. Brushing his fingers against her thigh as he cut upward, he could feel her muscles taut and straining against the ropes that pulled her ankles apart and the weights that pulled her wrists skyward. As he cut upward, he avoided the zipper; there was no sense dulling the expensive shears by trying to cut through any metal parts. When the last bit of cloth at the waistband parted, the ruined skirt fell away to join the remains of the blouse on the floor.
To his delight, Leslie was not wearing pantyhose. Her black stockings were supported by a garter belt. He walked around behind her and noted that the black panties underneath the garter belt were a bikini cut, but not a thong. Her full, round, white cheeks swelled halfway out of the black lace. If he strained, he could make out most of the crack between them. Walking back in front and bending over for a better look, he could see her mound of Venus pressing against the crotch of the panties. There were no stray hairs to be seen – not even stubble – either Leslie had just shaved this morning or she had had a recent bikini wax.
Above the panties, there was a slight gap between the garter belt and the skin on Leslie’s abdomen. She had a slight stomach when she was relaxed, but stretched as she was, her abdomen was pulled taut to the point of being concave between her hip bones.
He looked at her face and saw drool flowing from both corners of her mouth, across her chin and dripping down her chest. Her bra was noticeably wet.
The timer dinged.
The next instruction was, predictably, “Hang the third weight. Set the timer for another ten minutes. Cut off my bra. I hope you enjoy looking at my tits.”
Increasing the weight to sixty pounds made Leslie groan loudly. When Craig returned to her, he found her eyes screwed tight. She was gripping the ropes above the cuffs and pulling with all her might. The tiny biceps and triceps in her arms were clearly defined little knots as she strained to pull the weight with her muscles and take the pressure off the ligaments in her elbows. Her chest was heaving from the effort.
He stood beside her and unclasped the bra at the back with one hand, the better to watch her breasts drop loose within the cups as they lost their support. Because she was stretched by the rope and weights, they did not move as much as he expected. The bra had not been supporting much after her arms were raised almost to the ceiling. He used the shears to snip the shoulder straps, one after the other; the scrap of black lace joined the scraps of white broadcloth and navy wool on the floor.
Her breasts were beautiful, the engorged nipples and areoles a rich rose color against the white curves of flesh. They were heaving with every breath in a most entrancing fashion as Leslie struggled against the heavy ropes that pulled her taut.
She was drooling so much that the saliva flowed around both breasts and began to form drops on their undersides. Just before the timer dinged, a drop let go and a long strand of drool stretched from the bottom of her left breast across the concavity of her abdomen to alight on her left hip.
When he added the last weight, the total increased to eighty pounds, Leslie managed to scream despite the ball gag. Her hands were too tired to keep fighting against the ropes and she had to release them and take all the weight with the ligaments in her shoulders and elbows. She was a slight person, she could not weigh more than one twenty, so when she was trying to hold eighty pounds, she was holding more than two thirds of her body weight.
The instruction said that he was to sever her panties at the sides and put them back on the table. He slid the fingers of his left hand underneath the waistband to grab it while he cut the sides. He could feel hair against the backs of his fingers – she had not shaved herself completely. When the sides of the panties were snipped, they fell away from her crotch and he saw a perfect bikini wax. The skin between the edges of the remaining patch of hair and her groin were tinged red. The waxing had been recent maybe Friday evening, maybe even first thing this morning. Waxing hurts. She had begun suffering her punishment even before he had arrived.
Craig spent the next eight minutes watching Leslie’s face, fascinated. Her head had dropped forward as though the effort required to keep holding it upright was too much for her. Her long brown hair was half covering her face. She had begun to cry. Copious tears overflowed her lids and down her cheeks to mix with the saliva that was flowing freely from her mouth. Clear mucus was flowing from her nose over her upper lip and around the ball gag. She was making a loud, rhythmic singsong sound through the gap between the ball and the corner of her mouth where the leather strap ran.
He watched her breathing carefully, aware that the danger of crucifixion lay in suffocation. Crucifixion could take days, but that assumed that the victim could use his legs to relieve the pressure from his diaphragm for brief periods. Leslie did not have that luxury. The weights on the pulleys kept a constant pressure on her arms and shoulders no matter what she did with her legs. Her breathing was labored, but she seemed to be getting sufficient oxygen. There was no sign of a blue tinge in her fingernails or lips.
The mucus in her nose and saliva in her mouth worried him a little more. She could drown on her own fluids if she inhaled them. It helped that her head was thrown forward because that helped drain her mouth and nose.
He was also worried about the strain on her joints. He did not know how much weight her elbows, shoulders, and wrists could take for how long before they were torn or permanently damaged. He glanced back at the timer but could not see the dial because it was still turned to face the wall. He hoped that it was about to ding and end this phase.
So did Leslie.
It was the longest ten minutes in both their lives.
He walked to the table and read the next instruction. It said to remove the weights when the timer sounded. Then he looked at the dial. Still five minutes left. He casually walked back to Leslie and circled around her. Then waited. And waited.
When the timer finally dinged, he almost ran to the rope and unhooked the weights, one, two, three, four, as quickly as he could. Leslie groaned with relief, her loudest sound since her scream when he had added the last weight.
He returned to look at her, to make sure that she was all right. He scooped the white broadcloth from the floor and wiped the tears from her face, the saliva from her chest, and then held it to her nose for her to blow.
Then he walked back to the table to read the next instruction. Surely this phase was over.
It was not. The next instruction said that he
was to set the timer for twenty minutes and enjoy the view. There was no more stripping. No more weights. Now she was merely standing with her arms up and her legs apart, waiting. No big deal; just boredom.
He picked up his novel, sat in the chair next to the table, and began to read.
But after a few pages, he glanced up at her and realized the subtle cruelty of her new predicament. Her legs were quivering. The four-foot gap between her ankles was a huge distance for a person trying to stand upright. In high heels, it was even more difficult for Leslie to support herself. When she had been fresh, almost an hour ago, it had not been a big problem. She had been able to use her arms to help support herself. And then when he had added the weights, they had taken a substantial amount of the pressure off her legs, sixty and then eighty pounds during the last twenty minutes. Now, though, she had to support her total body weight with her thighs and calves when she had no way to relieve the pressure. The muscles in her arms and shoulders were exhausted from fighting the weights. Her shoulder and elbow joints must be screaming in pain.
As he watched, she tried to pull herself up with her arms, at least to take a little pressure off her thighs, but she screamed quietly behind the ball gag and let her legs take her full weight again.
Her eyes rolled toward the timer, ticking quietly away. Twenty minutes is a long time when you are in pain. Craig looked the dial and saw that only five minutes had passed since he had removed the weights. Fifteen minutes to go.
Craig glanced at the two envelopes that contained instructions for Phase Two and Three of Leslie’s punishment. This was only beginning of her afternoon.
* * *
Leslie’s predicament was less boring than he had thought at first; it was certainly more interesting than his novel. He put his book aside and pulled the chair to the middle of the room, only a few feet from her and sat down to enjoy the show.
A Lady Pays Her Penalties Page 2
