Meritocracy in Buttermil Falls

Learning to take his medicine seemed to be a bear for Ziebert.

He tried so hard to hold back his gasps as Brahmin landed the saucepan again and again on his bare buttocks.

She'd started Ziebert on hairbrushes and wooden paddles, and then the heel of her Capezios.

A metal saucepan seemed to be what a "real man" needed, as she often sarcastically commented.

WHACK! THWACK!

Ziebert's lower lip trembled. Try to maintain a serious face, he thought, as you do as the director of Buttermilk Falls Mortuary and Funeral Services.

WHACK, THWACK!

SLAP!

That last landing of the cruel cooking implement broke Ziebert's machismo and he began sobbing loudly.

Brahmin smiled with immense satisfaction.

Bent over as he was, his reddened ass quivering...but she could tell his dick was hard.

Forty-two days without an orgasm probably helped to keep his enthusiasm high.

"You really have to learn not to be a weepy little bitch." Brahmin said helpfully as she raised the saucepan again.

Look at how he quivers, as he anticipates the pan coming down again! But he did say he wanted me to surpass his limits, right?

Brahmin smirked watching her naked, blubbering lover trying desperately trying to keep his hands grasping his ankles.

"Be a big brave boy, a manly boy for your Brahmin. I don't like to chastise you-"

Such a lie, she could barely keep a straight face.

"But then you so annoy me when you screech like a siren that I feel like all the thrashing in the world isn't enough to quell your girlishness."

Ziebert's lower lip trembled. He used to be such a guy's guy. Now Brahmin kept his body shaved, and his toenails polished a cherry red. He didn't mean to be so feminine...

But it did take off the masculine pressure when he didn't have to posture around, when he could cry and mince a bit...

Out in the world, he was a successful businessman, Chief of the Volunteer Fire Department, and he taught martial arts at the YMCA.

But at home he was just Mistress's Errant One...in need of punishment!

WHACK! SMACK! CRACK!

"Wha-"

"You just seem so sullen right now, Ziebert."

"Y-yes, Ma'am" came Ziebert's shaking voice.

Oh, those red cheeks and all the purple blisters. Brahmin was so excited. She felt like she was cumming in her panties.

Brahmin reached around and stroked Ziebert's penis and he got very, very excited. All the punishment was worth this, wasn't it?

Brahmin whispered in Ziebert's ear,

"Baby, just try to be more of a man, you've got to stop being such a whiny little bitch. That's why I cheat on you, you just can't excite me, being so queer."

"Y-yes Brahmin." Ziebert said, his eyes filling with tears again as he realized what a pantywaist he really was, despite all the muscles, the martial arts, the money.

He felt her perfumed chin near his ear again.

"Don't you want me to give your pee-pee more passion?"

"Oh yes, please, Brahmin-"

WHACK!THWACK!

The implacable saucepan came down again, and against his will, Ziebert screeched.

"Are you too horny from me rubbing your tiny little nub, honey? Maybe I need to hit you a little harder. After all, we don't want you to have an accident in my hand, do we?"

Brahmin brought the pan down again on Ziebert's damaged cheeks, and then she grabbed his testicles and squeezed hard.

"You realize, honey, that it's not all about you, don't you, babe?"

Brahmin beckoned and Ziebert stepped up close to her.

Brahmin was wearing a strapless sundress, neon pink. She snorted as she saw Ziebert's tears. He was sobbing softly. Perhaps she had whipped him too hard.

But then, his dick was stiff, right?

The humiliation was really setting him off...

Brahmin's doorbell rang, and, without turning around, she whistled, and the door opened and a middle aged woman shuffled in.

"Rhino, how good you've come," Brahmin said caustically, turning to give the woman a brief glance.

The Rhino looked at Brahmin with a mixture of desperation and besotted love. She was unattractively clad in a beige pantsuit, and had an expensive Prada bag under her arm.

"How did your day go? Did you fire a lot of people and make your secretaries cry?"

The Rhino looked dispiritedly at the floor. "Miss Brahmin, it takes a lot to run a multinational corporation." She took a deep breath. "Sometimes it means I have to be tough."

Brahmin patted Ziebert's cheek and spun on her heel and walked towards the Rhino.

"Love your Prada bag. Can I have it?"

The Rhino's watery eyes grew big.

Ziebert noticed as he watched that this woman wasn't much into self-care.

She was in desperate need of a facelift. And it was clear that she'd grown up poor, and had not had the benefits of orthodontia.

And of course, it was another case of a rich individual who just couldn't deal with her success.

The Rhino looked at her expensive Prada bag with longing, but then she handed it to Brahmin. "Of course you can have it, Miss Brahmin. I'm-I'm happy to-to-"

Gaily, Brahmin shook the bag out and the Rhino's scant cosmetics, a few papers and other effluvia fell onto the floor. It was December, and Brahmin had a fire going in Ziebert's fireplace, and she walked over and tossed the bag in.

Ziebert watched with some sympathy as the Rhino gasped in shock.

SLAP! Brahmin slapped the older woman across the face.

"There, now you know the value I place on your silly designer possessions. Take off your crappy clothes. I may throw those in the fire as well, if your attitude doesn't improve, you materialistic old hag."

The Rhino's eyes filled with tears, but silently, she undressed and placed her clothes in a neat pile on the floor. Ziebert and Brahmin were both in fairly good shape, but this could not be said of the new visitor.

Scraggly hair, a Ben Franklin face and sagging boobs hung over her grotesque potbelly.

God, what a privilege it is to know someone as beautiful as Brahmin, the Rhino thought as she stared at the contemptuous ash blonde. Rhino often bitterly endured the passing grins of secretaries and assistants at the firm where she was the Big Boss.

Sometimes the Rhino would fantasize about serving these elegantly clad ladies on her knees, although she knew if she did expose her closet submissiveness, it would be the end of her tenure as Vice President at Buttermilk Falls Transnational.

So, at work, whenever the older woman got the urge to kiss a girl's shoe, or fantasized about letting the haughty bottle-blonde receptionist sit on her face, she turned this desire into a bitter bitchiness.

This made the Rhino the terror of the company, of course. The Rhino also was often reduced to quivering jelly by the handsome, muscular young executives that she supervised, and so she also had to be as nasty to them as possible.

As most of these young people, male and female weren't that good at their jobs, the Rhino had plenty of gristle for her anger mill...

But, when she came to visit Brahmin, she could relax. For Brahmin's twenty-seventh birthday, the Rhino had given her (along with several expensive Hermes scarves) a scourge whip with sharp hooks on the ends.

At the Rhino's expansive house, the older woman had drilled holes in the kitchen door, to make it serve as a pillory.

There were metal inserts in the holes, to make sure her neck and hands would not be able to get free until Brahmin allowed it...

The Rhino would stuff her face and wrists in the holes, and after she was secured, she would endure Brahmin's application of the scourge...and the girl had a formidable swing!

Sometimes Brahmin would visit the Rhino at work and she'd take the older woman by the ear and drag her to the one-stall executive bathroom and she'd drop her panties and pull up her miniskirt.

And the Rhino would fall to her splayed knees and lick Brahmin's honey-pot, and kiss her smooth loins (What legs! The Rhino paid big time to ensure they were waxed by the best stylist).

But now, the Rhino stood, ashamed in the middle of the room, and Brahmin swung the saucepan in her right hand and suddenly slapped one of the older woman's sagging breasts.

"Jesus, look at those saddle bags." Brahmin said critically. "I bet when you were my age you were just as fat and grotesque, weren't you, my pitiful Rhinoceros?"

The Rhino tried hard not to burst into tears. Her precious Prada bag was now a smoky wreck in the fireplace. What would Brahmin do next? Once, Brahmin took the keys to the Rhino's Lexus, and she'd driven it to a parking lot of a vocational high school.

By the time the Rhino went to pick it up at the impound lot, her radio was gone, as was the GPS system and many of the other amenities.

Whatever little scumbags had taken the damn thing had also rammed it into every wall in Buttermilk Falls, it seemed.

But the Rhino stared into Brahmin's implacable blue-green eyes and-oh, the young woman was so beautiful! So lovely. The Rhino's clit ached to be touched. Brahmin had the Rhino on an honor system, to only touch her privates to bathe them, and it was really, really difficult.

And the Rhino couldn't understand why Brahmin had this young idiot, Ziebert, the town undertaker...why did she waste her time with him?

"Okay." Brahmin grinned. She went into the kitchen and came back with a bucket of water, and tossed it into the fireplace, extinguishing the flames.

"Now I want you to kneel in the fireplace with your nasty little bag, Rhino. And rub around in there till you're completely covered in soot. I have to deal with Ziebert."

The Rhino looked at Brahmin in disbelief, and the girl gritted her teeth and strutted up and slapped the older woman again, and bent her over and used the saucepan far more viciously than she'd done with Ziebert...

"See Ziebert? I can whack this old bag's ass and she doesn't cry at all. Just for that, Rhino, when you get into the soot, you can stick your head up the chimney and then rub your twat to your heart's content, you horny old biddy."

The Rhino's face was overcome with gratitude-it had been so long since she'd been allowed to frig herself! She dropped to her knees and kissed Brahmin's feet, and then she crawled into the fireplace.

Brahmin winked at Ziebert, and she put the screen over the fireplace and stepped back to him.

In the background, the Rhino's grunts and moans could be heard as she assiduously ran her grubby fingers in her swollen quim. But the young people had forgotten her.

"See, Ziebert? She's so much tougher than you are. What kind of man cries just because he gets hit with a little saucepan?"

Of course Brahmin knew that a metal saucepan could really cause some pain, but she loved fucking with Ziebert's head. She had little regard for the Rhino, except for her money...

But often Brahmin thought she might marry the funeral director she'd so easily enslaved.

Brahmin picked up a box of big wooden Lucifer matches from the table. She struck one on her hip and flicked it at Ziebert, who tried not to flinch.

"What kind of a man gets all hissy-fitted over a little thrashing? Why can't you be tough like the Rhino?"

Brahmin tossed another match at Ziebert, and it bounced off his trembling chin, and sizzled out on the linoleum.

Ziebert bit his lower lip, and the tears came down faster. He was a crybaby, a sissy. There was no hope for him.

Brahmin came closer and dropped the matchbox. She gave Ziebert a big hug, pulling his crotch closer to hers, and she began rubbing his punished gluteal muscles.

"I may have gone a little too far, look at those puffy eyes. You do cry up a storm, don't you, hon."

But she reached down and toyed with Ziebert's burgeoning cock.

"Your little member here is recovering, isn't it? Not that it's good for much, tiny as it is."

Brahmin massaged the penis just a little faster. She was probably going to lock him back up in the cruel device, but he did have that pitiful look in his eyes.

Ziebert knew why he needed Brahmin. Despite his achievements athletically and academically, he'd always had an inferiority complex. He never felt he was deserving of what he had.

Ziebert had become quite successful, and he'd had lots of adoring girlfriends, but it never quite meant anything.

Brahmin was great in that she could really poke at Ziebert's self-loathing. This of course he'd tried to eliminate in therapy, but it was much too ingrained.

Brahmin was a beautiful but somewhat harsh woman, and Ziebert supposed this was what he intrinsically needed.

She made him really excited. She teased him and punished him, and tormented with a completeness.

If that meant Ziebert felt unworthy of normal, sweet, supportive women, than so be it.

It was hard. Brahmin had been nicknamed so, because, in the words of a suitor from Bombay, she behaved like a "Brahmin among the Untouchables" and yes, the girl was a lot to handle.

And she was expensive. Ziebert had discovered this, but in Ziebert's business, being a funeral director, he got a lot of cash payments for burying a corpse.

Particularly from the poor, they paid in little, smelly bags of cash, and Ziebert used this, happily shielding it from the Internal Revenue Service, to fund the finer things in life.

Cars, drugs, and evil women, particularly Brahmin.

And Brahmin had lots of expensive interests, she played in the Indian casinos on the outskirts of Buttermilk County-roulette, blackjack, craps.

Brahmin usually did side bets, she didn't roll the dice herself, but it gave her a kick to ride on other folk's rolls.

And she lost a bit, and of course spent a great deal more on jewelry and furs and trips...often she'd leave Ziebert in town of course, working, locked in his belt, and unable to do anything but miss her, and send her money.

But then they would have reunions...glorious reunions!

Ziebert didn't mind that Brahmin cost a bit. It made her happy, and she was a hot little piece, right?

And, when Brahmin returned from Costa Rica or Maui or Boulder, where there was good skiing, she would take off Ziebert's cruel chastity device, and position him on the bed, and rub her shaved clit on his empurpled, straining member, stroke it with her bright red nails...she'd do it as she watched her soap operas...

Or while she told him abstractedly about her experiences abroad, the men she'd fucked, what she'd spent "Zebby's" contributions on.

Massaging and tickling his thrilled penis, sometimes abstractedly, she'd take out her sewing pincushion and eject the needles, and, without taking her eyes off "The Guiding Light" or whatever televised trash was available...

Brahmin would run the needles through his foreskin, into the swelling glans, and she'd smoke, long Virginia Slims, tapping the burning ash on his tortured organ.

And she was so beautiful, and mercurial...Ziebert, his wrists manacled under him on the bed, would try with a Marine's tolerance (For he was former USMC, a colonel) not to make a sound.

Enjoying it when her hair brushed his bare chest, but enduring the pain and the extensive teasing, could he do it?

Even when Brahmin reached up and burned one of his tender nipples with the searing cancer stick...he would be motionless...

And eventually, still on a high from the trip he'd funded, Brahmin would unlock Ziebert's hands, and they could make love. Sometimes!

But, within a few days of her return, Brahmin would become difficult...

But "Zebby" could deal with that, right?

Ziebert felt that his Brahmin respected a man who didn't bitch or whine.

He came home sometime from work, and Brahmin would have a young man there, a muscular thuggy type.

Brahmin would order Ziebert to strip and stand in front of the swaggering young tough, and let the son of a bitch slap Ziebert around, kick him in the nuts...

Often Ziebert could have easily knocked the punk out, but Brahmin had ordered him to submit.

Sometimes Brahmin would order Ziebert to drop to his knees and service the young man's cock for as long as his beautiful lady decreed it...

Until the layabout exploded in Ziebert's reluctant but willing mouth!

Brahmin had slept with several of the men who did the embalming and drove the hearses at Ziebert's funeral business as well, so they had no respect for him anymore.

Tonight of course Ziebert was teary from his whipping with the intense metal saucepan, and Brahmin was laughing at him, yet again.

"What's wrong, my little faggot? A little discipline is too much for you, and to think you were such a big shot on Parris Island."

Ziebert so regretted that he'd bragged to Brahmin about what a tough drill sergeant he had had during basic training, and how he'd defeated the man in a boxing match...

Before being promoted up to Colonel in the Corps.

Brahmin smiled mirthlessly and pointed a long nail at the floor, and Ziebert dropped to his knees. He wasn't wearing his chastity device just then, and she stepped over...oh those graceful long legs!

Crouching in the fireplace, the Rhino wondered if Brahmin might summon her. Obviously the girl was impressed by the older woman's tolerance of intense pain from the swats of the saucepan.

When the Rhino had been running a branch of the Unisys Corporation in Washington, D.C., she'd had a secretary, Christelle, whose charms, it is unfortunate to say, the Rhino had been unable to resist...

And Christelle had actually kept a die cast frying pan in her office, and she'd given the Rhino extensive bare-bottom thrashings when she saw something unforgivable, such as ending a sentence with a preposition in one of her memorandums.

Later, Christelle had gotten Rhino fired from her job, exposing the slave status...

And now Christelle was in the Rhino's old position, peeing in her current supervisor's mouth for fun...a cringing old man...

And the Rhino had been forced to take a penny-ante gig here in Buttermilk Falls.

But without Christelle's betrayal, the Rhino never would have met Brahmin, and she wouldn't be covered with soot in this chimney. So really, shouldn't she be grateful?

In the living room, Brahmin got up closer to where her slave boy was kneeling. She rubbed her heel against Ziebert's lengthening penis.

Brahmin was wearing pretty suede open-toed sandals, and Ziebert held very still as the tip pushed and prodded his cock just a little bit more.

"Your problem is you just need more training, Zebby." Brahmin said, clucking her tongue against her teeth. Brahmin dropped to her knees and stroked Ziebert's penis with her slim, skilled, manicured fingertips.

"So it's been a long period of chastity, honey? Forty-two days...seven weeks." Brahmin cocked her head in a comically woe position and smiled at her subjugated boyfriend.

Ziebert tried hard not to beg her for release with his eyes. He'd been in chastity to a number of other key holders, male and female, and was well trained.

And, he wanted to prove to this woman, this girl who he wished to spend the rest of his life with, that he was up for whatever she had to hand out, but of course it was getting more and more onerous.

"You've been such a good boy, Zebby" Brahmin said smiling as she sat in the lotus position and kneaded his penis just a little bit more.

She thought about what a great find Ziebert was. She loved sitting on his face, and he was tremendously skilled with his tongue.

Actually, she preferred just having Ziebert perform between her legs to going to pick up men in bars to be fucked by. A big part of her really wanted to be faithful to this guy.

And, she enjoyed the few times that she let Ziebert stick his dick in her, and she wanted him to do this as her husband.

But she knew she had to punish and humiliate Ziebert and let him know he didn't really qualify as a man, right?

Brahmin chortled, watching Ziebert's intense desire for her grow.

"So you don't want to go back in the little teeny cage, my fairy princess?" The big surprise was, she was probably going to let him fuck her tonight. But she couldn't let him know yet.