Lure of the Killer Heels

by Ashley Hind

  ‘So, now that I have the face and the body and the unique mind to make all slaves beg for my attention, what other little tricks can you teach me?’

  ‘Well, not many. Each individual will require a different focus. But I can teach you some of the psychology and the necessity for control. For example, some scholars think that masochists gain pleasure by exerting invisible control, by having safe words, specific kinks that they respond to and so forth, so although apparently at the mercy of another, they are actually calling the shots but remain guilt-free, as if it is all being forced upon them. You need to learn to balance this to earn their adoration and yet still take pleasure yourself. Also, some think that pre-set boundaries are essential, but I think this dulls the potential. If they come to you by their own choice they should bow to some of your choices too. It’s all about choices. For instance, if you are still here in five minutes I will be spanking you, hard. If you choose instead to leave you will do so without learning perhaps the biggest lesson in becoming a true goddess. It’s your choice, but my options.’

  ‘What is this lesson?’ I ask, trying not to concede to her.

  ‘It is a secret that you will need to learn. Your next choice will be between wrist clamps or a blindfold.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  I hadn’t actually agreed to the first choice!

  ‘The blindfold robs you of seeing what is coming your way - which many find essential for the anticipation, but affords you freedom to move. The wrist clamps take away that freedom, plus you will have longer to dread what is to befall you. And you will be gagged, giving you no chance to say no. So - blindfold or wrist clamps?’

  She is actually asking me! She is there with eyebrows raised, awaiting my answer, with that devil’s mind of hers full of ill intent upon my person and that plastic cock ready at her waist. I’m meant to be learning power and she just wants to make a submissive of me again. It’s not on!

  ‘You can stick all that up your arse,’ I crow with defiance. ‘I think instead I’ll whip you crimson until you are screaming for forgiveness, and I might just fuck you with the biggest dido you own and then cut the balls off your ridiculous spouse.’ That’s what I tell her.

  Not really! What I actually say, a little unsteadily if truth be known, is:

  ‘The blindfold, I guess.’

  ‘Good. Come this way,’ she tells me, and leads me off by the hand towards her dungeon, informing Drummond to write her a 500 word essay on why she shouldn’t make him suck a gay man’s cock, and not to leave the room unless instructed. I am wilfully trailing down the stairs behind this woman so that she can slap my behind. It is the first time I will ever have surrendered my body to sexual pain. “Anticipation” doesn’t quite cover it. My goodness, this lady knows just how to get your blood and juices flowing - and she’s so fucking condescending too!

  The dungeon has been prepared. On the floor is a raised low platform, presumably of vinyl-covered wood. Drummond must have sweated getting this in position. Attached to this is a little arrangement of scaffolding painted bright red, a simple H, low enough to double as a hurdle for a small dog wishing to do some leaping. Maybe two feet in front of that is another very low block bolted to the platform, centrally positioned in relation to the hurdle and with a cuff attached on either side - the cuffs presumably that I turned down in favour of the blindfold. The mind whirs, trying to guess what will follow, and the bum tingles. Anticipation!

  ‘You will wear a gag,’ she tells me. ‘I won’t make you count the strokes or anything like that since this is not a lesson in discipline as such, merely a demonstration of the sting. It will keep your mind on what I am doing and off trying to tell me to stop.’

  I say nothing. I follow behind as she goes to the table where the scant equipment is laid out. The gag is not one to fill my mouth but a clamp to keep it held open. She offers it up and I open wide like an obedient child, so that she may fit it. It is uncomfortable but I still thrill at the feel of the strap tightening to hold it in place. I could remove it at any second but already I feel something like a slave. Remaining on the table is a blindfold like a sleep mask in soft black leather, plus a flat plastic paddle, also in black. My eyes are on this. The skin on my behind seems to be shrinking. What the hell is it going to feel like there? What fire will ignite? She knows I have to know, despite the butterflies in my belly.

  ‘You chose the blindfold, did you not?’

  My “choice” was merely one of what seemed like the lesser of two evils but I nod anyway, since I could only grunt a spoken answer. She slips it over my eyes and it blanks out all light. I can see nothing at all. Suddenly I’m wondering, what with all this foreboding equipment lining the walls and me unable to see her reaching for it, why I didn’t go for the cuffs instead.

  ‘Come with me,’ she says, taking me by the hand again. I follow behind, shuffling on my heels now that I can’t see where I’m going. She leads me around the raised platform and instructs me to pick up my feet as we step on. I am made to stand still and then ordered curtly to my knees, then onto all fours. I feel the metal hurdle at my belly, just above my crotch. She adjusts the horizontal bar so that I am comfortably leaning across it with my backside held up. This seems like the most submissive position a human can adopt for another, especially when all vision is occluded. I am aware she has left my side and there is a pause, in which I can make out nothing. In my mind’s eye she has gone for the paddle but has stopped to consider one of the other pieces of apparatus at her disposal. I’m rueing this damn blindfold again but even though I could take it off, I don’t. My pussy is starting to clench and tingle; it’s that anticipation again.

  The sound of her heels on the platform behind me makes me jump. I hear the clank of metal on metal, the mini scrape of it sliding. Then there is something cool and hard pressing down at the small of my back. I know instantly that it is another bar just like the one beneath me, and when I press upward and it does not move I know that I have been successfully secured. Free hands or otherwise I cannot slide clear of the two bars and so I am trapped. Perhaps if I had seen this second bar coming I might have been able to change my position and stop it being put in place. The blindfold seemed like the safer option but it proved not to be. Now, wherever I thought this might be going, it is clear that I cannot escape anything that she might wish to do to me.

  ‘No experts really know why some people enjoy being tied up, humiliated or given pain,’ she tells me, pacing back and forth behind me as if casually sizing up the target. ‘In some cases it might be to absolve them of their guilty pleasures. In others it might hark back to childhood, and represent a desire to show ultimate obedience to one’s parents. We do know that intense pain causes the release of endorphins in the body. This is nature’s natural morphine; a wonderful pain inhibitor which not only heightens sexual arousal and sensitivity, but also transforms hurt into a rapturous, warming glow. Sometimes this is enough in itself. Other times it mixes with the shame of enjoying such humiliation to bring huge, mortifying releases. Even those with very low pain thresholds and no desire whatsoever to be hurt can still, to their surprise and embarrassment, reach orgasm through being spanked. To properly understand this intensity and the power of it, you need to feel it for yourself.’

  The panic is in me but the tingle might be outweighing it. I cannot even guess how much it is going to hurt. Will I be left a sobbing wretch, squealing and salivating through this clamp holding my mouth open in my vain attempts to make her stop? I am almost sure my pussy is going to betray me just like last time, letting her know that, for any contrary claims, I want it to happen.

  ‘You will learn your own pace and techniques depending on the slave. It is best to start slow, since that is when the shock and agony are the greatest. You might decide to use either your palm or instruments, or both, perhaps building up the speed and intensity - although it pays to give the slave a breather
from time to time to help them absorb it all, both physically and mentally. As a rule, the thinner the instrument, the sharper the sting.’

  She is close behind me now, her fingernails running on the outsides of my thighs and then over the material pulled taut across my stuck-out buttocks. Her hand rests down onto one and gives the slightest of squeezes.

  ‘I like to use my palm to start with, simply because I like the feel of jiggling bottoms, especially when they are hot. However, be aware that it hurts you to do this, so if you want to give a prolonged spanking you had better have another instrument on standby. Some may chose to start when the clothes are on, to stretch the session and give a gentler introduction. I always start with the clothes completely off, since the sight of bare arses makes my cunt all wet and I cannot ever wait to see them. Since this is a simply a demonstration of pain for you, today will be no exception.

  And with that my skirt is being dragged down. She tugs at the lace ties to get some purchase but this doesn’t really help so she just pulls until my skirt gives in and slides down, since there is no way it can be dragged up. It is left gathered around my knees. I am breathing hard. I had half-hoped my clothes would stay on. I’m not even going to be afforded the security of my tights. Her nails are being forced through the material and she is unceremoniously wrenching apart the holes she has made, tearing them until they come away in one swift go to leave my bottom totally exposed. The bitch!

  The hands are immediately there, clutching both cheeks, running the sharp nails across the goose-bumped skin to make me shiver and sigh. Then she is pinching them as she talks; tiny little nips between thumb and forefinger, all over the surface, some immediately pleasurable, some a little more hurtful. All the while I am very conscious that this prone bottom is hers now, to do with as she will. And I don’t really know her from Adam.

  ‘Be aware that no one likes pain. That’s the point of it. It is a nervous response to tell us to take action to prevent something that might damage us. Even true masochists don’t like it - they like the thrill they get mentally and the thrill of what the pain can turn to. I am going to hurt you. I can’t help this because bottoms are covered with lots of very sensitive nerve endings and slapping them causes the sensation of pain.’

  Her fingers are still pinching, scraping nails across me to display the sensitivity she spoke of, to heighten it so that the sting when it comes is much more apparent, but still the sensation sends delightful shivers all over me. I am starting to quiver. I want this electric feel to go on, but my treacherous bottom is starting to yearn for the slap.

  ‘The first flurry might seem almost impossible to take. It can feel like instant agony, immediately way too much. You might scream. If it wasn’t for the gag you might call me nasty names - which would only earn you more punishment and isn’t very nice anyway, since I’m giving you this wonderful gift. I could order you to stay completely silent, and add more smacks every time you make a noise. However, as I keep saying, this is just a demonstration.’

  And then the white pain is bursting on my skin, the sound of the slap sensed fractions afterwards. I am jerking and squealing and drooling through my open gag and panting at the shock of the pain. Like she told me, it is already unmanageable.

  ‘It hurts now, doesn’t it?’ she coos. Yes, thanks for pointing this out, you evil cow. ‘But notice how at first the impact is cold and sharp, and makes the skin under the impact tingle gloriously. Then the heat comes, growing like nasty sunburn, turning the tingle to an itch, bringing the pain, making you panic.’

  She spanks me again, a quick flurry this time and I am squealing and jerking and telling myself I will kill her when I get free. If I get free. The glorious tingle is all too brief and then the burning agony comes on, just as she described. My hips wiggle but I cannot get loose. The skin sears; desperate to be soothed, desperate for relief. But the burn just goes on, getting worse.

  ‘All that stops the pain is the momentary cold sharp tingle of the next smack, before the burn follows through. Have you noticed that you are already willing me to strike you again, to give you that beautiful relief?’

  And of course she is right. My bum is waggling as much as my constriction will allow but half the jerking is avoidance tactics and the other half is a subconscious effort to encourage more punishment. My face is flushed and my eyes have tears in them and at least part of this is from the shame of knowing that I don’t want her to stop. She mustn’t stop, or the sear will engulf me. Only one cheek has been struck so far. I know the other has the same fate awaiting it. If the gag came out now, would I threaten her to stop or face my fury, or would I meekly beg her for more? Teasing nails graze this untouched cheek, and the fingers of the hand that has been dealing all the punishment travel down my sopping slit and give my swollen clitty the lightest and quickest of diddles. It has me whimpering and writhing. It almost has me coming. That’s what she has done to me with a few slaps that I didn’t even want. I know how beholden to her she has made me.

  The other half of my bum gets the same treatment and it is like starting anew. There is no reduction in the pain, no getting used to it. I despise her and yearn for her in one instant. She chooses to give me a breather, just as she had talked about, and I’m left there quivering, feeling like the sun has been pulled 92 million miles closer to my backside. I need the cold and the glorious tingle. There is no sign of the endorphin rush that she assured me would turn the pain to a rapturous glow. She doesn’t care. She just leaves me there to feel wretched and sore and with my pussy crying out for another diddling and much, much more.

  ‘You have a very lovely, soft bottom, Anoushka, but my hand is starting to hurt, so I need to use something else on you.’

  I have the paddle in mind. It looked much less forgiving than any palm. It didn’t have too large a head either, to spread and thus lessen the pain. My trepidation doesn’t see her return any quicker. She is parading around - I can hear her heels. She is surveying all the instruments at her disposal. The panic rises; the anticipation balloons. The wait is making me fret and wriggle again. It is these tricks, and not just her expert technique, that make her so irresistible.

  ‘I will give you one chance to change your mind, Anoushka,’ she says. I panic again. I don’t want the choice of whether or not to be freed, but I needn’t have worried. ‘I will give you one chance to swap the blindfold for the cuffs.’

  The cuffs will add what? I am trapped already. The blindfold stops her from seeing the tears in my eyes but it also stops me showing the defiance in them, the one sign that she has not defeated me despite the glaring evidence to the contrary. More importantly, it lets me see what she is doing, what items of torture she is perusing. I need to know, and she knows this.

  I nod, since I can’t speak, to show interest in her proposition.

  ‘You want me to swap the blindfold for the cuffs?’

  I nod again, more avidly. She has me doing nodding dog impressions. The light is suddenly in my eyes and my skin itches where the elastic around my head has been. I don’t get the chance to flash her warning glares. She is already buckling my wrists tight. Why do I make no effort to stop her?

  ‘Now I have you secure, I might think of other things to do to you besides spanking,’ she announces. ‘Before, if you had removed the blindfold you could have seen how to set yourself free. I assume you didn’t want to.’

  I look back over my shoulder and do indeed see that metal pegs in holes through the scaffold secure the bars. I could have pulled the pegs out and got free easy as pie. I feel tricked but it was my choice. Now I am utterly trapped, at my own volition. Worse, she thinks this is an invitation for her to get imaginative.

  ‘I have wands that send electric shocks through you, if you want more physical torture. They can be used externally or internally. I have a whole range of huge dildos that I could use to stretch and fill you. I have douche and enema kits to test your
resolve and obedience. Or I could go for humiliation, since you think so much of yourself. I do have half a mind to call Drummond down. I imagine just having him see you all bare-arsed like this would be enough to have you dying of shame. Think of that: my pitiful worm of a husband getting an eyeful of your wet cunt; smelling your holes; taking pictures of you to wank over and send to his disgusting friends. Imagine if I let him have his way with you. I know you think he is a turd on legs but he could be inside you at any minute at my command. You can’t say no. You probably want it too, despite what you might claim. He would make you come and there would be no denying the pleasure you took from it. That is a shame that would live with you forever, I don’t doubt. I could use the Queen of Pleasure on you whilst he took your arse. Think of that: my horrible husband’s spunk shooting into your bowels. Nod if you just want more spanking.’

  I’m nodding again, without hesitation, making noises that sound as much like “yes” as I can.

  ‘You see, Anoushka, it’s all in the anticipation, all in the mind games. It’s in the imagination. Fantasy is bounded only by that, but not all situations allow this scope. This one does. Bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism: they are not just about hurt. Our gift is to create the conditions and the freedom for the mind to conjure whatever fantasies it chooses; to make our senses and sensitivity as keen as can be. It is about firing the mind with delicious thoughts and feeling the bliss of those thoughts all through you. I can see you got even wetter at all my talk about my husband, and I didn’t even have to touch you. As if I’d let him get inside you!’

  I don’t know if this is meant as an insult or a compliment but she is right. Burned into my memory forever will be the shame of my fleeting desire for disgusting Drummond to grasp my hips and slide his cock right up inside me. All because she hinted he had a big one. I shudder. Then I see her reach for a thin cane from a stand and I shudder some more.