I moaned and panted as I twisted against the heavy rubber cuffs at my wrists and ankles, pulling fruitlessly against the chains holding me spread eagle on the upright cross.
"Awwww, does our boy not want to play?" Miss Crimson teased, raising her voice so I could hear her through the leather, as she ran her long red nails along my back, skating along my bare skin down across my ass cheeks. I flinched away, eliciting a bark of laughter from both her and our audience watching from elsewhere in the dungeon.
I was hooded, vision blacked out since she locked me onto the damn thing, but I could almost picture them. Tony, short and thick in his green robe, seated between Mel and Ros, his two gorgeous T girls. They'd be dressed identically in club dresses, but I hadn't seen them before Miss Crimson put me on the cross.
William, gray haired and slim, probably still in his suit shirt and slacks, with Jaime on his knees sucking him off. Even if his little boytoy wasn't blowing him yet I was sure he'd be wrapping his lips on that old bastard's cock before the first whip stroke landed. From a few squeaks I assumed Jaime was in latex tonight, if anyone was shimmying around in black latex shorts and vest it would be the little german youth look alike.
From a particularly loud cackle I knew Shannon was there. I could just picture her, black hair cascading down her broad back, striding confidently in heels and a leather dress. She'd never let her college volleyball muscles fade, and I shivered at the memory of the last time Miss Crimson let her hold the whip.
I didn't quite know who else might be there. Probably James, I could imagine him sitting nearest to the action, ready to pull out his cock and start stroking as I danced. The hulking bodybuilder really enjoys nothing so much as watching Miss Crimson work. Yu and Sung might have arrived, they too loved a good hard pain session, but they were almost always early. I wouldn't have missed their loud and excited chattering as Miss Crimson got everything ready. The pair of them were always on the lookout to expand either their toy collection or skillset.
I'm sure there were others I didn't know. It was a kink, a weakness of mine, and one Miss Crimson used ruthlessly. To be used and abused and degraded before an audience who were strangers to me.
Miss Crimson had teased me with the possibility of inviting Sarah, but I doubted it. She wasn't even into kink, as far as I knew, and we'd been friends for ten years. I was 99% sure it was Miss Crimson playing another of her complex and rather demented mind games with me.
But I'd learned too much about the dear, cruel, and inventive Miss Crimson to entirely discount it. The heavy leather of the hood around my ears kept me from being sure, but every time I caught a snatch of a feminine voice, or a high pitched giggle, I wondered. And as I wondered, I squirmed.
A slap to my bare ass brought me back out of my musings and I groaned around the gag. A bright red ball gag, quite traditional. Except for it, the hood, and the metal cage around my cock I was completely naked. Miss Crimson dug her fingers into my ass and rested her chin on my shoulder.
"I am going to fucking ruin you, slave," she hissed in my ear. I trembled under her focus. She wasn't kidding and I knew it.
"Be a good boy and put on a show for our friends," she tapped my balls with a long lacquered nail and I nodded. As if I could do otherwise.
Then she retreated, and the crowd grew hushed. I knew she was withdrawing the first of the implements she would use. I shivered as I thought what she might pick. Could it be a paddle, a flogger, a small whip? She'd started on me with the long single tailed whip last time, so I doubted She'd repeat herself, and even she wasn't sadistic enough to use the cane before I was good and warmed up.
Or, well, I hoped she wasn't sadistic enough.
The first hit came without warning, a stroke across both my ass cheeks, flat and stinging. I knew instantly it was her slim wooden paddle with the word 'bitch' carved out of the middle.
It should really tell you how well acquainted I am with Miss Crimson that I knew it from the first stroke. I jerked against my bondage and let a wordless sound break from my gagged lips, spittle dribbling around the gag as I shifted position.
The paddle landed again, and again. A pair on one cheek, then the other. A pair of blows angled up, then angled down. I jumped as, without pause, the next stroke drove powerfully into my now smarting buttocks.
The firehouse, heavy rubber cored with a thick fabric covering, all attached to a wooden handle. The king of thud.
I didn't jump at that, just tried to curl my legs into my core, and it landed again. I was dimly aware of more chatter, cat calls and laughter, but as always once Miss Crimson began her work my world shrank to a few square feet of skin and the efforts she lay on them.
The hose landed a few more strokes, pummeling my glutes, before she switched to a flogger. The trailing end of the leather straps landed from my shoulders to the small of my back, and I hung my head. She used two, one in each hand whirling through the air to impact, and I moaned again, this time with relief. After the intensity of the paddle and hose this was almost kind, waves of heat and energy flowing down my body.
Then, a stop. Silence. I lifted my head and exhaled, consciously driving all the stress and tension from me in anticipation of the next stroke.
Something snapped behind me, and I felt the barest touch of air between my shoulder blades. I knew instantly what it was and froze. That was the sound of the long, single tailed whip.
More snaps, and now the tip raked my skin. Miss Crimson was a virtuoso with the whip, I'd seen her put out candles without spilling a drop of hot wax. The strokes, bright sparks of sting that blotted out everything else, landed sharper and sharper, lower and lower.
I couldn't avoid thrashing as the next set landed across my already reddened ass, each crack of the leather accompanied by a burst of pain that tore through my focus and resolve. I found myself babbling through the gag, wordlessly venting myself, writhing on tiptoes.
Just as suddenly, she stopped. Silence. I relaxed again, letting the heat and lingering sting pervade my mind as my skin burned from her ministrations. I got my breathing under control, taking in deep and leather scented gulps of air through my nose.
Then I felt it. She was resting a long, thin rod against my ass, as if promising where it might land. I couldn't help myself, I jerked despite the fact that it hadn't actually hit me.
A cane is no joke, even to an experienced submissive. I heard more laughter, closer, and then the first real touch of the cane.
I knew instantly it wasn't Miss Crimson's wielding the cruel cane. She knew me back and front, probably understood my limits and the turns of my kink better than me. But this person was timid. The first stroke was hardly more than a tap, and the second only a bit harder.
Miss Crimson must have given them some pointers, because after the space of a deep breath the third hit hard. I let out a whine as the wood crashed into my buttocks, the flash of agony erasing all my dignity at once. The next one was even harder, and I started gibbering. I have no idea what it must have sounded like to the audience, but the wielder of my torment seemed to like it. The next stroke came at nearly the same spot and just as hard. My cock, caged and bound away, bounced as my body bucked.
My knees bent and hand curled into fists. I shook my head and grunted, lost in the flood of adrenaline. There was nothing for a breath, then two, and in the middle of the third a new stroke of the cane landed. This was the heaviest of all, and I saw stars within the darkness of the hood.
I trembled, almost hanging off the cuffs that held me, utterly spent. I was lying limp for a full twenty seconds before I realized no more strokes had come.
