by Laurie Mann
“Begin.” Madam commanded.
I waited for the strap across my forehead to be removed so I could obediently bob my head up and down the throbbing shaft filling my mouth. I hated my mouth being filled as it was but relished the chance to show how well I’d been exercising.
The swollen manhood cut off my howl as a blazing line spread across my shoulders.
“Begin.”
I couldn’t move my head so how could I? I searched desperately for the answer.
Another swathe of fire spread across my shoulders, another truncated howl. The search for the answer became more desperate.
More fire, another howl and with tears in my eyes I began moving my lips. I must have looked like a fish, the way it moves its mouth, only mine was full of cock. I felt it twitch as my tongue began exploring its weeping end and blissfully the whipping of my shoulders stopped.
My mouth ached and I felt thoroughly miserable as I was made to perform what I still consider a most onerous task, especially as I could feel Madam watching my efforts. If I slackened, I could expect another streak of fire and immediately redoubled my efforts, hoping it wouldn’t come. Breathing had become almost impossible and the sweat on my body itched as it ran everywhere as I fought against the tired ache in my lips and tongue. After what seemed an eternity, I felt the hot sticky slime begin its journey up the shaft and into my throat.
I sat, doubled up, gasping for breath. The foul taste filled my mouth but despite, or because of, my misery, I trembled as the craving for a touch, any touch, to relieve the frustration between my legs grew ever more intolerable and the sweet scent of my own sex wafted to my nostrils.
The whirring interrupted my thoughts and the chair straightened, then bent backwards in an arch until the straps across me dug deep into my skin. I felt the warmth of Madam’s thighs and tasted her juices as she straddled me. There was no need for command, I stretched my tongue as deep into her pussy as I could, pleased when I induced involuntary spasms as my tongue found and teased her clit. Pleasure turned to ecstasy when I used all my tongue’s strength to squeeze it. She shuddered and moaned as her juices flowed freely into my mouth. My own confusion at the pleasure of being so abused by a woman swept away as the tides of orgasm swept through my body.
“It’s an improvement on last time. Keep up the exercises. You’ve a long way to go yet.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I knew I’d pleased her, I’d felt her orgasm transmit through my lips and tongue - I KNEW it was real. I’d tried so hard and my only thanks was more condescending criticism. Despair flooded my senses.
Would I ever be able to please her or was my service to her destined to be never good enough? Would she then tire of me and then use the journal to reduce me to a street-walking whore as she’d threatened?
The lounger was turned over, leaving me hanging, straps cutting deep as my own weight added to their tightness.
“I think we’ll have lunch. We’ll carry out the other tests later.” The sound of retreating footsteps told me I was alone again, left to ponder and then begin to panic as Madam’s last words echoed around my head.
What new tests did she mean? What new torment would I have to submit to? Would I ever satisfy her demands of me and be put to work as she planned? In the enforced darkness of the blindfold my imagination ran riot, becoming more and more outlandish - and the juices continued to flow. They were eating, no doubt in pure luxury, with silver tableware and pure white damask cloth, they were sampling haute cuisine and I had only my own saliva, my bondage and my thoughts.
Journal - they were enough!
Madam’s footsteps broke the silence and a shudder ran through me from head to toe as she spoke.
“I think we’ll start with Its rear, don’t you?”
“Yes, she’s already positioned that way anyway.” The man’s voice spoke for the first time that day and, as before, it was in softer, kinder tones than Madam’s acerbic words.
“I’ve told you before, It’s no more than a lump of flesh, don’t start humanising It or you’ll go soft. We’ll test Its back door before we begin to harden It to the whip.”
The words struck terror in my heart. I had heard the expression ‘blood running cold’ but never thought it actually happened - I can state categorically it does. I assumed that hardening me to the whip could only mean more thrashings but what did ‘testing my back door’ mean? I felt my buttocks clench involuntarily but, squeezed through the wire mesh as they were, to no avail. Fingers placed on my cheeks startled me, then thumbs positioned either side of my anus before they squeezed my flesh apart, opening my most private possession for the inspection I was powerless to stop. My face burned as I blushed with the embarrassment of this new indignity, but worse was to come as Madam’s cutting, unfeeling words filled my ears.
“It’s nothing special but acceptable.”
Her finger pushed against my ring, forcing it to relax and allow it entry, long fingernails scratching as it wriggled and explored my inner sanctum. My humiliation flooded me, deeper and more bitter than I had ever anticipated or expected, it was almost a pain in itself. No one had ever touched me there before.
“It’s very tight, never been used, except for shitting, I’ll wager. It’ll probably need stretching before you can use it, but at least it’ll probably not need surgery.”
My humiliation plunged to new depths as the worry over what permanent damage the surgery, whatever it was, would do sunk in. But there was also the fact that, if Madam decreed, it would be done. I would accept without question. The shudder which rippled through me was as much sexual as fear.
“Nonsense. Virgin tightness is not to be wasted on a stretcher. If she tears she’ll soon mend.”
“Be careful then, oil it first.”
“No. I won’t forsake the exquisite pleasure of a tight burrow by diluting it with oil and as for being careful - certainly not. Hard and furious is the only way.”
“I don’t want It damaged.”
“What if she is; she’ll mend. As you keep reminding me, she’s only a piece of flesh.”
I don’t know even now whether the conversation was carefully rehearsed play-acting or for real but it filled me with dread. It would have been better to have taken me unawares rather than make me suffer the mental torment of waiting for the rape of my back passage, which their words had convinced me would be quite the most excruciatingly horrid experience of my life.
I contracted every muscle, strained my neck against the band holding my head still, as the weight of somebody climbing onto the frame told me it was about to begin. Fear far worse than the humiliation hit every cell in every part, I wanted to be sick, to shout, to yell, to fight - to obey.
“Spread the cheeks,” I heard, as the weight moved along my back. Fingers dug into my buttocks to challenge the strong clench I had no control over. Her nails cut into me and as my spasm relaxed, my cheeks parted, allowing no defence to the threat of rampant manhood.
The words ‘hard and furious’ raced through my mind as his touch made me shudder, then immediately I began to scream until my lungs felt fit to burst as my rectum was torn open by his violent thrust to the hilt. He pumped viciously, harder than any man had ever taken me before. His animal lust was manic, pure savagery and as my rectum burned hotter and hotter, I screamed louder and louder. My lungs ached for the breath denied them by the straps across my ribs, every muscle cramped with the force of my struggles, but rising above all the agonies was the most intense pleasure ever experienced throbbing through my pussy. Within minutes his breathing quickened, he tensed and as his hot semen filled me, my pussy unleashed the explosive waves of raw lust to my every extremity before crashing through my skull to the room beyond.
I was left hanging as pain and pleasure used me as a battleground and stars danced behind the blindfold. What had happened to me? If the rape of my be
hind had produced such violent pleasure, why did it feel so utterly abhorrent? Why hadn’t my fantasies even hinted at the brutality of the reality? Why did the reality produce such unimaginable pleasure? Where had the humiliation and fear gone - was the pleasure that powerful to sweep it all away?
Then fear returned, nudging its way into the fuzzy aftermath of orgasm. Fear of Madam and her sadistic plans clouded my devotion to her. Fear of myself. Why had I found such pleasure from such abuse? Would I ever get pleasure from love again or had I learned something about myself that would have been better left unknown?
Doomed to a life of abuse! was the frightening prospect that invaded my mind.
I hung from the frame for an eternity, the harsh brutal pain slowly subsiding to a deep all consuming ache which had a curious warmth, gently nursing the frustration back into my pulsating pussy lips.
What’s happened to me?
The hardening to the whip began. Something wide and supple struck my cheeks, spreading warmth rather than expected heat. Slow, methodical strokes spread from knee to shoulder as though I was being tenderised like a piece of steak. Every stroke increased the temperature, as the hot sun warms deliciously before it burns agonisingly. Stroke after stroke until, with incomprehensible pleasure, I stopped fighting it and relaxed, absorbing the heat deep into my body and satisfied moans replaced gasps of pain.
A brief respite, which I soon discovered was merely to change implements, rather than in deference to my hide, and the ‘hardening’ continued. A much narrower, more stinging strap blazed trails of fire across my back, thighs and buttocks. Not hard, but on my already sensitive skin, it was enough to turn my moans to howls as I desperately but unsuccessfully tried to prevent the humiliating drooling.
Then it was over. I was released from the frame and left lying on the cold, hard floor. The footsteps marched away in unison, a door slammed somewhere. I lay there sobbing, paralysed by the whipping. My fingers felt for the blindfold as something deep in my mind registered I was free and this was my chance to escape from the darkness. I screamed, partly from frustration but mainly from the torture of thousands of needles attacking my fingers from within, as the blood made its vengeful way back to places it had been denied access for so long.
In total silence, before my fingers had regained enough movement to release the buckle of the blindfold, someone grabbed me. How long they had been there, I had no idea, who they were was even more of amystery. They must have worn felt slippers or something of that kind, for I heard no footsteps, felt no presence. My first knowledge that they were there, whoever ‘they’ were, came when I was pulled upright. Had they watched the entire humiliating experience I had just lived through? I was roughly dressed, hands retied and an audiocassette forced into my mouth, stretching my lips agonisingly wide.
The car ride home proved to be yet more torture. Forced to kneel on the floor because of thighs too sore to take my weight, I could only sway as the car rounded corners, which further strained tired muscles. Clothes felt like sandpaper as they brushed against burning skin.
After being tossed from the car as unceremoniously as before, I staggered home, each step taking every ounce of willpower to make my tortured body move. I put the cassette into the player and as I collapsed into a heap, Madam’s voice boomed from the speakers.
“Two weeks today - Don’t be late - Keep up the exercises.”
Just three short commands and already my juices were flowing again. All the way home I’d hated her but now, hearing her voice, I knew I wouldn’t be late.
Why? Why? Why? I cried over and over again before running a bath to soothe away another Sunday of relentless torment. Who is she? What more can she want? How can I escape her hold? WHY? WHY? WHY? DON’T I WANT TO?
I lay in the bath, scared but excited by the red weals left by the straps, stark against the fairness of my skin. Scared by what I’d endured but excited and proud I’d taken it without complaint. Or was screaming a complaint? As a finger began gently caressing my clit I drifted into a confused but satisfied doze.
***
This morning I was so stiff I could hardly move, so I telephoned the office to tell them I’d be working at home that day, if there were any problems I would be by the phone. I spoke briefly to Lisa to check how she was and to arrange a meeting for ten o’clock the next morning. At least that gave me a day on my own to work out how to get Lisa to accept that I wanted Rock on the team.
I also badly needed time to consider my relationship with Madam, though in truth I doubted that any sense I made of it would make even the slightest difference.
I thought back to when I was Lisa’s age. I’d had dreams of being a slave since adolescence, so I was aware of my needs.
What if I’d met Rock at Lisa’s age?
The shudder that ran through me irritated the pain down my back, but I realised exactly what had happened between them. She was receptive to the aura he exuded. She had simply reacted as I would have done at her age - run. I was ten years older than Lisa, had ten years longer to come to terms with myself, but still Rock had blasted through my defences like a missile.
God. If that missile had hit me when I was only twenty five!
He hadn’t deliberately upset her; he’d just been himself. It was her self-defence mechanism had told her to run.
The more I mulled it over the more secure I became in my assessment and slowly I realised that if she was ever to accept Rock, I’d have to shield her. It was time for a baring of souls sisterly chat.
Besides, I was convinced that Mildmay Fabrics would benefit from Rock’s experience, just as I was beginning to think that Frankie Mildmay needed him as well. I know he’d shown no interest in me, but I can work on that.
Given time he’ll be mine and I’ll be his slave.
That delicious thought sent waves of undiluted pleasure through me and my fingers began slowly massaging my pussy. Well, they were still stiff from being tied yesterday, so exercise would be good for them, wouldn’t it?
I turned my thoughts to getting Rock on board. I agonised over him flatly refusing to even speak to me after I’d so publicly walked out on him. There was only one thing to do.
“Hello.”
“Rock, it’s Frankie.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt and that the tremor had been absorbed by the telephone line.
“I thought there wouldn’t be a next time.”
“I know, Rock, I’m sorry about that. I’d like to talk - can we?”
“We already have. You didn’t like it and as far as I can see, nothing’s changed.”
“No, we didn’t really talk. I’ll be straight with you. I want you to be part of Mildmay Fabrics. I want to talk about re-negotiating the terms and conditions.”
“I’m not interested.”
“You’ve disappointed me. I thought you’d at least be prepared to listen.”
“There’s no need. Nothing’s changed.”
It was infuriating, I was getting nowhere, but somehow I had to get through.
“If you need to eat this evening I’ll be at the Royal Oak at eight o’clock.” I put the phone down before he could reply, desperate not to hear him refuse. The clock said eleven forty five. By three forty five the suspense was becoming intolerable.
With a pounding heart I walked, a little stiffly, into the Royal Oak. Will he - won’t he? went through my head like picking petals from a daisy, along with would he notice I was not walking properly, or sitting easily and if he did, how would I explain it ...
“Mineral water, please.” It was the same cheery barman as before. It seemed the same people were huddled round the same tables, too. Maybe they never went home.
“There you are, madam. It’s already paid for.” My eyebrows lifted with surprise. “Rock’s waiting at your table, if you’d like to go through. The table’s accounted for a
s well. Enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you.” The relief that Rock was in the dining room was as great as the disappointment had been when I hadn’t seen him in the bar.
Seeing him sent an odd thrill through me. Eccentric he might look, eccentric he might be, but there was a presence that could not be denied. He didn’t need Madam’s caustic tone or authoritarian air to reduce me to a quivering submissive heap. He simply had to be.
And for a moment every stripe, every weal and every twinge was forgotten.
“Hello, thanks for the drink and the meal.” Discovering that he’d arranged to pick up the tab had relaxed the tension that had been building all afternoon.
“No problem. Nice to see you. Don’t think hanging up will work too often, though.” He’d made his point, despite the pleasant manner which did nothing to lessen the sexual frisson surging through me as his gaze stripped me naked, almost as if he could see my badges of honour from yesterday.
“I didn’t think you did anything for nothing. Does this mean we’ve nothing to talk about?” I suddenly realised my bargaining power had gone, along with the tab.
“No. I just don’t like the idea of ladies paying. You were prepared to and that’s good enough. Now let’s eat, we can talk business later.”
“Thanks.” Something in his words had a humbling effect and I was unusually stumped for words. Thank goodness for being able to take refuge in the menu.
As before the meal was excellent. I wondered briefly why so few people seemed to patronise the place when it had such a talented chef, or maybe I - and Rock- picked the quiet nights. We didn’t talk business over food, just enjoyed what had been cooked for us.
I was surprised by the pang of jealousy as I watched Rock leer unashamedly down the waitress’s front as she leaned over to take our plates. In an effort to divert my mind, I blurted out: “Can we talk about you and Mildmay Fabrics now?”
“Yes, but nothing’s changed.”
“Why not, what’s wrong? Please be frank. I know you think something’s wrong and, knowing your experience, that worries me. I trust Lisa implicitly but I don’t want anything to go wrong.” The businesswoman always came on top of the submissive when Mildmay Fabrics was involved.
