by Tessa Wanton
“The first thing you must always do when you play with rope is to make sure you know where the safety scissors are. Always. It doesn’t matter how often you do this—always, always know. Understand?” She looked expectantly at him, punctuating always with a jab of her finger. He thought she had the air of a schoolteacher as he slowly nodded his assent. Definitely sensible. Maybe these people aren’t as silly as they appear.
“Are you ready? Good. Now, pull her arms behind her back—that’s right, take the center of the rope and loop it just below the crook of her elbows, yes—they need to touch together completely.”
He drank up her words, concentrating carefully to make sure he followed her instructions and got it right. “Not too tight,” “check the blood flow,” “check the ropes are straight and neat.” After about five minutes of careful binding, looping and straightening, he looked back to Isabella, hoping for some validation for his efforts. She made a show of checking everything carefully, and then turned back to Johnny, studying his face intently.
“Well, Charles, it appears we might have a promising rope novice here. He’s definitely better with hemp than you ever were.”
Johnny beamed as Isabella gently ran her hand down his shoulder before squeezing his bicep. He thought she sighed a little wantonly when she said, “Good work, Jonathan; she’s a lucky woman to have you.” She turned away and went to the wooden box in the corner and rummaged through it. Returning to him, she held a large ball gag in her hand. He knew what this item was for sure, even if he hadn’t recognized some of the other items that had been used today.
“Would you like to do the honors, my dear?” she asked as she proffered the red rubber and black leather item to him. Taking it from her, he turned it over in his hands, shivering as he was left with no doubt as to what was expected of him. As he moved in front of Tessa, he took her face gently in both of his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. She was flushed, her eyes still glazed over as she attempted unsuccessfully to focus on him. His heart tried to escape his ribcage and he forgot other people stood nearby watching. Only Tessa and himself mattered. Leaning into her, he placed a delicate, chaste kiss on her lips, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. The need to please her was an ache deep within him; he would endure anything for her, as long as it made her smile.
He thought he heard her whimper into their kiss as he pulled away. He held her unfocussed gaze a little longer and mouthed “I love you” so only she could see what he pledged to her. When he held up the gag in front of her, she opened her mouth to accept the huge ball, and he placed it past her teeth, moving around behind her to buckle it securely in place. Remembering at the last minute, he pulled the red rubber ball out of his pocket that Charles had passed to him after her last gagged episode. He’d said that if she was to be gagged at any point during the session that he should make sure she held it in her hands. Should she drop it at any time, the scene would have to stop. It was his responsibility to make sure this happened. Charles had obviously made sure the last time, so he would damn well make sure his girl was safe this time.
Holding the ball up in front of her, she nodded, and he thought perhaps she tried to smile? Taking that as assent, he walked behind her to place the ball in her hands. He took it into her palms and grasped it tightly, holding on to it like it was her only lifeline.
Isabella sidled in front of him, pushed Tessa to her knees, and strutted around her, placing a velvet cushion on the floor. Resting her hand on Tessa’s head, she pressed her forward so her cheek was pressed into the pillow, leaving her still-red bottom proudly presented to everyone in the stall.
The little butt plug was still in place, and Johnny could see the tail of the egg continuing to buzz away deep inside her too. He could only imagine what she must be feeling at that moment. His own erection had subsided somewhat with the concentration of the rope lesson and the lull of sexual stimulation, but he had to admit, seeing her there presented as she was, totally exposed, had him hard again in seconds. What could they have in mind for her in that position? Surely not more spanking?
“I think the cane, Izzy. Our girl seems to enjoy the spankings, and all things considered, I believe it’s time for her to graduate to another level.”
Chapter Seven
Johnny’s attention drifted to the old man sitting cross-legged at the other side of the stall; he’d poured himself a glass of champagne and was smiling smugly. The cane? He thought she didn’t like pain—had things changed that much for her since the last time they’d spoken about her submissive activities? Sadness weighed heavily inside him. How had he fallen so out of touch with her? He would make it up to her, though; if she wanted the cane, then he’d prove to the others he could provide for her just as well as they could. Anything they could do to her, he could do better.
Isabella produced a longish cane from the wooden box. It seemed supple, from a young wood stock, and she was swinging it dramatically. The whooshing sound it made as it sliced through the air set his hair on end. Any contact with bare flesh would most certainly cause a great deal of pain, and could even break skin. He hoped he wouldn’t make her bleed with his actions, but what if that was what she wanted? In his research before this session, he’d seen countless pictures and testimonials from subs who attested their love of broken skin and bruises as badges of honor—happy memories of times with their Dominants. He resigned himself to the fact that he really had to be guided by Charles and Isabella. It seemed they knew her deepest sexual triggers way better than he did. But that fact would only stand for this session. In future, it would just be he and his Tessa exploring these new experiences. Now he knew he was capable of the things she wanted most in the world, there would be no need for her to ever see these people again. He would prove to her he could do exactly what she craved. What she desired. What she needed.
Holding out his hand, he waited for the lady to stop her flourishes and pass him the cane. She halted abruptly, a wicked smile forming on her lips and she put her hand on her hip, handing the flexible rod to him. He wrapped his fingers around the end of it, amazed at how light it felt in his hand. But there was absolutely no doubt it would inflict considerable pain, even with only a flick of the wrist.
Standing off to Tessa’s side, he swung the cane a few times to gauge how it felt. He looked at Isabella for reassurance; she nodded and he brought it down on Tessa’s bottom quite lightly, or so he thought. He had tried to keep the strike to the fleshiest part of her ass, but where he struck, a bright red line was now forming.
Isabella purred. “That’s good, Jonathan. Just remember to keep them within the fullest part; definitely do not hit anywhere that’s not well-padded.”
Sucking in a deep breath, he laid a few more blows on her behind, careful to strike her appropriately. Tessa’s silence was eerie considering the obviously painful nature of what he was doing to her, but he took this to mean he was doing it right. Neither the lady nor the old man were stopping him, and she wasn’t screaming in agony. Plus, her glistening lips showed she was still aroused.
“It’s a good start, but she can take more, you know.”
Johnny glared at Charles, who was looking disinterested in the whole scene. His laissez-faire attitude really grated on Johnny; he was currently taking his first steps into this crazy world, and all the old jerk could do was point out the things he wasn’t doing correctly. Take more? Damn it, he would give her more! Bringing his arm back he struck her hard. The red welt that was left appeared much angrier than the previous ones, and Tessa stiffened, threw back her head, and wailed in response. His reaction shocked him deeply: arousal. How the hell did the pain she was feeling make him hard? He pushed that thought to the side as he felt energy course through him—he felt alive, alert, every scent and every sound coming sharply into focus. He struck again, but this time he criss-crossed previous welts, and where they intersected, the cane broke skin. Blood welled up, gleaming as it oozed from the cuts. There was no mistaking the muffled scream that came
from her this time. It was one of real pain.
“That’s more like it,” he heard the old man comment in a matter-of-fact fashion, but he ignored him and dealt out a series of five more strikes, completing the cross-hatch pattern on her behind. He was marking her as his. No one else’s but his. He was in a frenzy now, completely focused on the job in hand. He could hear her sobbing when he completed the last blow, but her body convulsed with another orgasm. She had come from the pain he had inflicted? He was baffled. Pleased, but completely confused. She had been screaming in genuine pain, and if he’d gone on his own instincts, he’d have stopped a long time ago. It seemed her Master did in fact know her tolerances and sexuality better than he did. But he was learning, and he’d succeeded in this task. He felt something break free within him, deep down inside. He was enjoying himself. He was enjoying giving pain to the woman he loved. He was the one who had made her come. Yes, maybe not with his tongue—he had done that many, many times before—but through his actions, hitting her so hard she bled. He’d given her the ultimate pleasure.
Moving around to help Tessa onto her knees, he stooped and placed his hands on her shoulders, taking the full weight of her upper body onto his as she struggled to sit upright. She visibly winced as her heels made contact with her tortured skin, but she seemed okay. She didn’t have that glazed look, so obviously he must have done something right. Kissing her gently on her forehead, he stood upright once more, and with a look of fire, he triumphantly met Master Charles’ gaze.
If only he knew how his days as her Master were numbered.
Chapter Eight
“Hit her, Johnny—slap her across the face; she likes it,” Master said.
As he stood before her, she looked up at him from the floor. Indecision was written across his naive features. He so wanted to please everyone, almost sub-like in his need to please; she understood this need so very deeply. She supposed she should be happy he’d finally found a connection with her Master, but things felt like they were careering out of hand much too quickly. Master was being vicious and brutal. It seemed to be a recurring pattern of late and getting crueler with each session. However, this was His ultimate malevolent act to date, using her innocent boy to inflict pain on her, and she felt a deep foreboding terror that none of this was going to end well. Tessa’s whole body was throbbing from the blows rained down on her so far. Johnny had quite clearly never done anything like this before but he’d an unnerving way of finding exactly the right place to really cause intolerable pain. Perhaps he was a sadist and didn’t know it? The huge gag in her mouth made pleading for mercy absolutely impossible, as Master would’ve known when it had been buckled in place earlier, and she’d long given up the idea of pleading with her eyes, as although Master might have known what she was doing, Isabella and Johnny would have had no idea. They were both innocent in Master’s Machiavellian manipulations; she wasn’t going to hold that against them—they couldn’t know.
Turning her head to the side, she watched her Master idly picking dust specks off His suit as though bored. What hurt her most was that Master did know. He knew exactly what He was inflicting on her, and He stood by watching the show, drinking and directing, like He was enjoying her torment. He probably was. She had absolutely no idea why He hated her so much after all they’d shared together. She wished she could cry, but she was so numb no tears would come. Her emotions were locked away while she awaited her fate, watching as though from outside her body; she was no longer present in the hell she now inhabited. Isabella gripped her hair tightly, painfully turning her head back to look directly into Johnny’s eyes. Dropping the red ball crossed her mind, but at the thought she held it tighter. The idea of what might happen after was more terrifying than what Johnny was preparing to do now.
“Give her what she wants, boy. We haven’t got all day,” her Master chimed from His seat, sighing in mock boredom as He examined His fingernails.
Tessa observed in fright as Johnny set his jaw and lifted his right arm across his body, the back of his hand positioned to crash down on her. She watched the slight hesitation as she could see him panicking at this prospect, and just as he was about to hit her, she felt the egg buried deep inside her kick up to its highest setting, causing her to lose focus and moan softly at that unexpected pleasure. It was then she saw his resolve form—he quite clearly thought she loved this. She screwed her eyes tightly shut when she saw his hand coming down towards her face.
The slap was hard, head snapping to the side despite the iron grip Isabella had on her hair. Her scalp screamed almost as much as her cheek. As she struggled for breath through her nose, she looked up to see Master sitting there, observing her distress, the architect of her pain and discomfort. But she saw the shadow of concern in His face—yes! Could He see too that this whole idea was a mistake? Would He stop this? But He didn’t move, He watched and her hopes faded.
There could be no crossover between her vanilla and BDSM life and she should never have asked her sweet Johnny to do this for her. It was so wrong of her to have ever suggested it—purely evil to have ever desired to corrupt such sweet innocence. His lust for her was clear; he may indeed have been enjoying it, but he couldn’t understand the nuance and subtlety of the situation. Was he trying to “prove himself” to Master? She was terrified now, more than she had ever been. She feared the man she loved. He was out of control. She couldn’t even scream to her Master.
The second blow made contact with the other cheek, snapping her head again. A long string of saliva dripped from her mouth—the humiliation dropping her to new levels of despair as it ran down her naked breasts—a silvery trail falling where her tears could not. The burning pain in her scalp simply throbbed, and in a way she was grateful Isabella held her steady. If she hadn’t, she probably wouldn’t have been able to remain upright. She swooned dangerously from the lack of air; her desperate attempts to breathe became more and more difficult as her only option was to breathe through her nose. Struggling to unclench her fingers from the rubber ball held tightly in her hand, she made the decision to stop this. She felt the soft sphere bounce free from her hand.
She whimpered anxiously. None of them reacted to her signal.
She had no choice now—she was trapped. She had called her safeword in the only way she could, yet the horror continued. She was at their mercy; she had to just kneel there and wait as the love of her life battered her relentlessly, observed by a woman she now considered a friend, and her Master whom she thought she loved once upon a time. Neither seeing the terror that was now in progress. Finally tears welled up in her eyes and her vision swam. She couldn’t even feel the egg as it buzzed angrily for attention deep within her. She felt nothing but pain, every inch of her pleading for the torment to stop, begging for an end to it.
As the third blow landed, she felt agonizing pain accompanied by a sickening crack which reverberated through her body. The blow glanced off her nose with a stabbing sensation so intense that Tessa collapsed and recoiled into a ball on the floor, as much as her securely tied bonds would allow. She had reached the end of her willpower. She had failed them all. The pain grew more and more intense as the tears rolled down her cheeks, and then she felt a warm fluid trickle over her lips. Forcing her left eye open in curiosity, she felt it run down her chin and drip onto the floor beside her. Her head spun faster than a child’s top, and the last thing she remembered before she passed out were Johnny’s horror-struck eyes as he fell to the floor next to her. He appeared to be shouting something unintelligible, reaching out to touch her, hesitating, and then frantically turning from Charles, to Isabella, and then back again. As darkness finally took her consciousness, she just barely made out his words.
“I’m sorry.”
’Tis Better To Have Loved And Lost…
Chapter One
He hadn’t heard from Tessa at all since she’d left hospital. He didn’t blame her one bit. That fateful night he’d broken her cheekbone and her beautiful nose. She’d trusted him to
protect her in any circumstance. He’d even given her the safe signal, which she’d even used. But he had missed it. In his bloody-minded stupidity, he’d followed his own pride and vanity and gravely hurt the most precious person in the world to him. Images flashed through his head of Tessa sobbing wretchedly and blood streaming freely from her nose. Gritting his teeth to the bile that rose in his stomach, the haunting memory of the pliancy of her cheek when he hit for the third time taunted him yet again. Her face had caved beneath his fist so terrifyingly easily, and how the blow had glanced off her nose—he’d felt the bone break, not to mention the sound. And then…the morbid shock of seeing her red ball had rolled to the corner of the stall. The fact she’d signaled to stop the whole thing some time earlier and he had missed it…The one she’d entrusted her life to had let her down in the worst possible way. Yet he’d been the one who’d gagged her, restrained her, beaten her, and done all of it willingly, thinking she craved it. Maybe she had wanted it?
Johnny hadn’t cared about the shocked looks exchanged between the paramedics when they’d examined her bottom and seen the damage caused there. They’d worked efficiently and silently on her, never making eye contact other than to tell the three bystanders to keep back. Had those kind strangers known there were monsters standing over them, watching their every move as they tried to fix the broken woman they’d destroyed? Numbness and deep guilt had consumed him as the police had asked endless questions about abuse, consent, and other things that he couldn’t recall and didn’t really matter anyway. They’d finally cautioned him for assault, and Charles too. In fact, that was the thing that had surprised him the most about the entire situation in the end. He’d fully expected Charles to disappear in all of the kerfuffle, and yes, he would have hated him for it, but he would’ve understood too. A scandal like that could only serve to damage his business, and he hadn’t actually inflicted any of the damage on her. When the paramedics had arrived, he’d taken him to one side and said they should remove Isabella from blame in any of it and say she wasn’t there, to which he’d agreed. He didn’t know why Charles wanted to protect Isabella—maybe he loved her? He simply didn’t know. In all honesty he would’ve agreed to anything at that point, taken the blame for it all and accepted a custodial sentence for grievous bodily harm. The devastation he’d felt and was still feeling consumed him totally. He’d single-handedly destroyed the woman he loved.
