She started, awakening to the sound of several clicks directly in front of her. She felt her wrists being jammed together, joined by an extremely short chain. She could not see, and other than the sound of creaking leather and vinyl, and the clicks of the chains being snapped into place, she could not hear. The only sense available to her was that of smell, and the only thing she could discern about the person handling her bondage was the faint hint of perfume and hairspray. A woman, probably younger than herself. And when the other spoke briefly, her voice was completely unfamiliar, dead of emotion.
"Come with me," she said in a low, flat monotone. Suddenly the prisoner felt her neck tugged forward by a chain (no doubt attached to the ring on the collar) and her feet complied slowly, wincing in pain as the ballet boots jammed her toes with each step. Disoriented, she allowed herself to be led out of the room in which she had dressed. Following the sound of creaking leather and heels clipping along the floor, she was told to turn left or right a split second before the chain was yanked in the correct direction. Twice she stumbled against the wall, almost falling to the floor the latter time. Both times she felt a sharp crack of a cane against the exposed flesh of her ass, peeking out from underneath her skirt. Whoever this woman was, she was cruel, and probably served the Big Boss as an understudy of sorts. And her cruelty came through in her voice as the prisoner cried out, stumbling a third time, almost knocking over her captor.
"You stupid CUNT!" She hissed, a slight Southern drawl in her speech. "I will ram the end of this fucking cane up your fucking ASSHOLE if you fucking fall again! Understand?" Another sharp crack against her hip, then another whicker and crack across her chest. This felt different than the canings she had received before from the Big Boss – he was heavy handed, but very specific. The girl guiding and whipping her was out of control, her blows landing mercilessly but haphazardly. And lightning fast – the whicker she heard directly before each blow was the sound of the cane breaking the air before it as it hissed toward its target.
The captor snatched the chain attached to the prisoner's collar, fisted it double, and yanked hard. Falling forward, she squeezed her eyes shut and prepared to crash to the floor. But instead, she felt the arms of the other woman catch her, trapping her before she fell. Her mouth was close to the prisoner's own, cinnamon gum on her breath.
"You are SUCH a delectable little piece of ass, babe," the dominatrix purred. "If you weren't such a company hot shot, and if I could get away with it, I would Fuck. You. Up." She felt one end of the cane press into the soft space below her jaw, forcing her head up and back. Fingertips grazing along the hem of her skirt, slowly, barely skimming the sensitive flesh of her upper thighs. Then suddenly, she sobbed as the other woman shoved her hand up her skirt, her thumb instantly and instinctively finding her hard clit, pressing it fiercely. The domme chuckled, massaging and stroking her sex roughly. "Let's go, you little slut. You're already in trouble, no need for me to join you in it..."
She felt the tug of the chain again, and followed, legs trembling. Between the pain from the boots wrecking her feet and the sexual tension in which she was ensnared, she was somewhere between the verges of tears and ecstasy – she couldn't tell which. She stuttered along, still following the chain attached to her neck, until they reached an elevator. Her captor had fallen silent, the threats and taunts at an end, and together they rode silently down. When the car halted and the doors slid open, she expected to be dragged out again, and waited for the tug on her collar. Instead, her captor shoved her forward, and she yelped as the cane again cracked through the air and striped the backs of her thighs, right below her skirt. "You're on your own now, slut. Big Boss is coming. Have fun!" She heard a low giggle as the doors slid closed again, and then silence.
She stood, feet apart, head down, hands still manacled in front of her, and waited. She heard a door open, and then footsteps. Heavy, booted ones. Him. She felt his fingers on her cheeks, and then blinked as he peeled her blindfold up. She peered up, still half-blind, and could make out little more than the black smudge of the mask he always wore. He was only a bit taller than her, bare-chested, wearing only black pants and the heavy black rider's boots she'd heard approaching. He reached toward her face, and she closed her eyes again as he slipped the ball gag over her lips between her teeth. Then he spoke.
