She Was Warned

"Ow! That hurts!" He had her wrist pulled up behind her and was looping a coil of rope around it. Her struggles stopped as the pain in her shoulders caused her to gasp. He had her other wrist caught and pulled up to the first and it took only moments for him to have them painfully bound together, up between her shoulder blades, the rest of the coil of rope wound around her chest, trapping her wrists high up her back.

He'd warned her. A few times, actually. At first she'd laughed away his threats to discipline her, going so far as to challenge him that he'd never follow through. But then she'd hit his breaking point, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. He'd approached her with rope in hand and a hard glint in his eye and her defiance was over before it even began.

He pushed her down on the sofa and while she struggled to gain her feet, he caught her ankles and bound them tight. She kicked him then, real fear starting to take her, and he pushed her back deep into the sofa and found a flattened nipple under her T-shirt and pinched, hard. She screamed and squirmed and, glaring her down, he gave her one more shove and stormed off.

She watched him go and when he disappeared into the bedroom, struggled for everything she was worth against the ropes that held her. When nothing gave and she realized she wasn't going to get free, she leveraged herself up onto her feet, almost toppling over but righting herself at the last second. She teetered, and just when she felt safe enough to straighten up, he was back. He forced her mouth open and pressed a pair of her silk panties between her lips. She shook her head, tongue trying to push the wad out of her mouth when he started to work a second pair in, pushing the first pair deeper and making her cheeks bulge.

She screamed as loudly as she could, but the sound was muffled and became more so as he wrapped heavy duct tape around her head, forcing the wad deeper and parting her jaw until the lower part of her face was strained, cheeks puffing. Around and around, he sealed her packed mouth shut. When he was finished, and as she watched with wide and fearful eyes, he squeezed both nipples, smiling at the muffled screams.

He turned her around and beat her ass through her jeans until her screams turned to quiet sobs. And then, before her legs gave out and she collapsed back onto the couch, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder and trudged her down to the basement.

She was walked through the finished part, past flat screen TV and entertainment center, past the washer and dryer nook, past the shelves where they had their junk all boxed up and forgotten, to the small locked workroom in the back, the little room she wasn't allowed into, windowless, dimly lit with just one feeble light bulb. His "man cave" she'd laughingly called it. He dumped her in the center of the little room and her eyes grew wide as she adjusted to the dim light and took in the contents of his man cave.

In the corner was a bed, the frame fitted with a set of manacles chained to the iron bars at the corners. A chair sat in another corner, straps with heavy buckles nailed to the feet and armrests and back. On one wall, whips and chains and manacles and gags hung from hooks and corkboard. In the center was a post and it was to this post that he chained her, locking the end of the chain around her neck with a heavy padlock.

She looked up at him in confusion. He squatted, face only inches from her and gently patted her tape-covered cheek. "Don't be so surprised, babe. I knew you'd need this room sooner or later." He kissed her forehead. "And now, I'm going to rock your world."

He left her alone, slamming the door behind her and she didn't move for many minutes, utterly stunned. They'd only been married eight months and she thought she knew him, at least knew him enough to know whether he was packing a dungeon in the basement. He had a temper, that she did know, a simmering beast that she could prod and tease and then run away and get out of range when he exploded.

She suddenly struggled, panic taking her. Except now, she couldn't run away. Her wrists hurt where the rope bit into them and she felt the heavy chain around her neck, the weight of the padlock at her throat. There was no sound in the small room, save the sound of her ragged breath. She closed her eyes and felt the first of what would be many tears streak down her wrapped cheeks.

When he returned later, (minutes? hours? she didn't know), she was slumped against the pole, arms and legs hurting, spent. Her initial confusion at being tossed down here, bound, had turned to anger at the way he was keeping her. That had turned to fear. What was he going to do with her? What did this mean?

The door opened at the sound of a key in the lock - he was keeping her locked up??? - and he was much calmer as he gently shut the door behind him. She closed her eyes and shuddered as she heard the lock, again, locking her in.

He was squatting in front of her, holding her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. They were dark shadows in the dim light of the single bulb, menacing in their mystery. "You've been a very naughty girl, babe. So very, very naughty. And this," he gestured around him at the chair with the straps, the bed with the manacles, the corkboard with the implements of pain, "all this is for naughty girls."

She shook her head, eyes pleading but he only patted her cheek and then pulled a pair of scissors from his pocket. She watched, stunned, as he cut off her T-shirt and then snipped her bra away. He grabbed a naked breast, thumb flicking her little bud until it stiffened. She started to scream into her gag as he went to work on her jeans and then panties until she finally sat motionless, naked, bound legs pulled up to her chest.

He went to the corkboard and took down a harness-looking thing, all leather straps and buckles and shiny metal rings and again squatted down before her. "I loved a gagged woman. A tightly, completely, severely gagged woman." He worked the harness down over her head, over the packing held tightly in her mouth by layers of duct tape. She cried as he pulled and prodded the leather straps and positioned the thick flat square of leather in the front, over where her lips would be if they weren't already covered in tape. "This is what's called a muzzle gag. It's not really necessary with the tape already doing its job, but since this is your first time, I'm going to make sure you get the benefit of the whole deal." He worked the leather, strapped the strap under her chin tightly, buckled this strap, then that strap, until she felt like she was wrapped in a tight cocoon, the muzzle part pushing the packing even deeper into her mouth. She shook her head, pleading, as he snapped little padlocks on all the buckles. How long was he going to keep her like this?

Humming, he left for a moment and returned with another roll of tape. "Just for good measure," he said, beginning to wrap the tape tightly over the muzzle, down around her chin, over her head, around and around until only her nose and eyes were visible. She was crying continuously now, the pain from the tight head wrappings adding to the horror he was subjecting her to.

He sat back, admiring her, running a finger along her tightly encased head. "That's a good start." Then he was back at the corkboard, pulling down a handful of thin leather straps. She started screaming in earnest then, squirming in the ropes for all she was worth. He grinned, capturing her shoulders, and forced her belly down on the cold concrete floor.

Leather straps were looped around her already bound wrists and chest, crushing them more painfully to her body. "This is what's called a reverse prayer tie, babe. Very painful, from what I understand. It sort of makes you look like you're praying from the back." He laughed as he pulled the straps tighter and she grunted. "I think if I were you, I'd start praying for real."

More straps went around her thighs and then calves. Each time a strap was pulled tight enough to bite into her cruelly, a little padlock came out, locking it on. Satisfied, he set her back up in a sitting position, back to post. She pleaded with her eyes but he merely patted the top of her taped head, fingering the silver ring from the harness that he'd left uncovered. Then he was back at the corkboard.

When he returned, he held a spool of thin wire and a pair of wire cutters in one hand. And two little tiny clamps in the other. "I'm thinking I'd better clamp those nipples before I tie up your tits. May not be able to find a nipple after I'm done." He reached in, spring loaded clamp open, found a nipple and rolled it to hardness. Then he clamped it and pain shot through her. She bucked against the straps, screamed into the layers of gag, and thrashed as much as her body could. When she was done, and she leaned against the pole, panting, he clamped the other. "You always did have nicely sensitive nipples, didn't you, babe," he said as she screamed and thrashed.

He waited until she was again quiet, tears streaking the tape crushing her cheeks. Then he went to work on her breasts. Winding the thin wire around and around, drawing her flesh tighter and tighter, he stopped when both breasts were bound into hard little balls of flesh, already starting to turn color, the nipple clamps holding on to tightened nipple flesh only by virtue of the severity of the serrated jaws.

Her head was lolling back and forth, her sobs continuous. He patted a nipple clamp and she screamed, head almost smashing into the pole behind her. He held her until she quieted. Then, still holding her tight, he flicked the other nipple clamp. She tried to thrash in his grasp, but his grip was firm and her bound body had little freedom to move. He sat like that for some time, cradling her, she sobbing, an animal mewl coming from under her gag. Every few minutes he flicked one nipple or the other and held her while she spasmed in his arms.

Finally, he sat up and made one more trip to the corkboard. She was lost in a sea of pain, eyes unfocused, head slowly moving from side to side, an abbreviated "no" motion subdued by her helplessness.

"Almost done, babe. At least with the first round. It's going to be a long weekend for you." He patted her head. Then rolled her onto her belly, crushing her bound and clamped tits. She lay still, body shuddering with sobs, all fight gone, enduring the all pain he'd forced on her in helpless surrender. He looped one end of the last thin leather strap through the ring on the harness at the top of her head and looped the other end first through the strap around her chest and then through her bound ankles. And then slowly pulled her into a tight hogtie, buckling the strap only when her thighs and tits were pulled up off the floor and only her belly made contact with the cold concrete. Again, the click of a little padlock sealed the deal.

He patted her ass, and leaned close to her ear, making sure she could hear him under the layers of tape. "Time for bed, babe. Have a good night's sleep. More fun tomorrow, you naughty girl."

Then he was gone, the light turned off, the door closed and locked. She tried to move but only managed to rock a little on her tummy and that hurt her breasts and nipples so much that she stopped. Her wrists and shoulders were on fire being tied into the reverse prayer for hours. Her tits felt like little throbbing molten volcanoes, going off with any movement. Her face and jaw felt numb from the tight packing and her mouth was dry and hurting from the wad filling it. She didn't have any tears left, only misery, as she lay in the dark little locked room, in the back of the basement, completely and utterly helpless and in agony. Waiting for his return to hurt her some more.