Summer Slave

Chapter 7

PUNISHMENT

I held her hand twisted up behind her back as I unlocked our front door and pushed it open. She stumbled into the living room ahead of me and dropped to her knees as soon as I released her hand. I swung the door shut behind me. She scrambled on her knees to turn toward me, face to the floor, her hands crossed behind her back.

"How may I serve you, Master?" she asked the carpet.

"That's a good start, slut. Go remove your dress and hose," I ordered. "Bring me my robe."

She rose shakily to her feet.

"Did I say you could stand?"

She quickly dropped back to the floor, face down.

"You may stand."

Again she struggled to her feet. "Thank you, Master."

"Go!"

"Yes, Master." She practically ran to the bedroom.

I started picking out the items I would need for her evening's punishment: the collar, cuffs and chains of her "uniform," a third set of cuffs, the Ace bandage I had blindfolded her with the previous night, the short whip. And our stereo headphones. I placed each item on the coffee table.

She crawled in from the bedroom on hands and knees, now wearing only the corset and her new spike heeled pumps. My terry cloth robe was folded neatly in the middle of her back.

"Keep your feet up when you crawl," I told her. "I don't want you scuffing the toes of your new shoes." I was not going to make the evening easy for her.

"Yes, Master," she responded, dutifully lifting her feet from the floor behind her. She winced slightly each time she placed her full weight on a bare knee. Stopping before my feet, she leaned down and began licking the toe of my left shoe.

"Your robe, Master," she said between licks.

"You may undress me, slut."

"Yes, Master." She reached behind her, slipped the robe off her back in a bundle and placed it on the coffee table.

She leaned back to the floor and slowly pulled the laces of my shoes loose with her teeth. I steadied myself with hand on top of her head as she pulled off my shoes, then my socks. She slowly kissed each foot from ankle down to toes, then rocked back at the waist to kneel upright. She took the tongue of my belt between her teeth and pulled it free of the buckle with a jerk of her head. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she pulled at my pants with her mouth, attempting to unbutton my fly. After a minute or so with no success, she looked up at me plaintively.

"I didn't tell you not to use your hands. Go ahead."

"Thank you, Master." She ran her open mouth along the length of my penis, through my pants. She quickly unbuttoned and unzipped my trousers, then pulled them and my undershorts down to my ankles. I again steadied myself with hand on her head while she pulled pants and shorts off under each of my feet.

"Put my clothes away," I said, "then return for your punishment."

She folded my clothes into a bundle on the floor, then looked up at me, a question in her eyes.

"Go ahead. You may walk to the bedroom."

She rose quickly to her feet, scooped up my clothes and scurried off to the bedroom, the chain connecting her labia clips swinging between her thighs. While she was gone, I slipped into my robe, tying the cloth belt around my waist.

She soon crawled back on hands and knees. This time her feet were lifted several inches off the floor behind her as she crawled. She winced each time her weight rolled across a bare kneecap.

"Stop there," I said as she passed the sofa. "Kneel up." She pushed her torso erect and spread her knees wide. She bowed her head and clasped her hands behind her. She knelt directly under the hook in the ceiling.

"You still don't know how I'm going to punish you," I said, flatly.

She surveyed the objects I had assembled on the coffee table. "No, Master, I don't."

"What time is it, slut?"

She turned to see the clock on our kitchen wall. "Ten o'clock, Master."

"And two and a half hours from now is when?"

"Twelve thirty, Master." She looked up into my eyes. I thought I saw a tiny twitch of fear in her gaze.

"Twelve thirty. You will be allowed to neither see nor hear from now until twelve thirty. You'll be bound, whipped and tormented at my discretion for that time. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered, looking down at the carpet.

"What was that, slut?"

"Yes, Master," she said, much louder. She stopped, took a deep breath, then continued, "I give you my sight and my hearing, Master. Punish me as you see fit. I give myself to you to be tormented at your whim."

"Very good, slut. Stand."

She struggled quickly to her feet, balancing on the spike heels, her feet placed about a foot apart. She was beautiful, tanned skin and the triangle at her sex offset perfectly by the black corset, her trim legs tensed and extended by the heels.

I had planned this punishment to push her to the edges of her submission. I had worried that it might overwhelm her, but I knew it would take her deep into herself, into areas she had never explored. It had not been planned as a true punishment, but as an exploration of her submission, her trust, her desire and my power.

My intent had changed with the commitment to slavery she had expressed over dinner. This night's punishment would also be the first test of that commitment. Her strength, bound with mine and turned back on her would prove her submission. The sensory deprivation I had feared might overwhelm her, I was now confident would bind her to me.

I picked up her collar and quickly buckled it around her neck. Next, I buckled the cuffs around her ankles and fastened them together with a single link. She teetered slightly on the spike heels, spreading her hands away from her sides to keep her balance.

I pulled her hands behind her, buckling them into cuffs and connecting them also with a single link. I steadied her on her feet, then released her to stand on her own.

I picked up the Ace bandage and headphones from the coffee table. "Do you have anything to say before we go on with this?"

"No, Master." She cocked her head to one side in thought. "Yes Master. . . I love you. I trust you."

"I love you, slut. I expect you to be silent until I release you."

"Yes, Master."

I wrapped the bandage twice around her head, across her eyes, tucked a fold into the first wrap and let the long end hang. After plugging the coiled cord of the headphones into our receiver, I switched the radio on and held the phones to my ear. I spun the tuning knob until it was set far off any station and I heard the steady static hiss of white noise. I adjusted the volume and positioned the headphones' closed cups over her ears.

She gasped with a sharp intake of breath and tensed enough to almost lose her balance. I steadied her, holding her upper arms until I felt her relax. I finished wrapping the long bandage around and around her head, over the loop of the headphones, pinning them in place and completing her blindfold.

"Can you hear me?" I asked, my mouth about a foot from her ear. She made no response. "Good," I said to myself.

I took the third set of cuffs from their place on the table and fastened one around each of her arms, just above the elbows. I slipped a single link through the metal loop on one cuff. Hooking my fingers through the link and the loop on the opposite cuff, I pulled her elbows together until I could slide the link through. I screwed the link down tight, connecting her elbows tight behind her. Her shoulder blades were pulled together, making a crease down the middle of her back. Her shoulders were forced back and down and her tits were pushed up and forward, enticingly prominent and exposed.

She groaned slightly. Holding the link between her elbows, I smacked her fanny hard with my palm, a reminder that I expected silence. She tensed, but made no sound.

I looped a rope through the ceiling hook, then through the link between her elbows. I pulled the cord just tight enough to pull her elbows a few inches away from her back, then tied it off. She was forced to lean forward to relieve the strain on her shoulders.

She swayed slightly as she stood, unable to stay completely balanced on the spike heels with her feet tight together. The rope at her elbows held her upright as she dug her heels into the carpet. If she completely lost her balance, I knew I could catch her before she hurt herself.

I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of white wine from the jug we kept in the refrigerator. Returning, I set my glass on the coffee table. I circled her slowly, taking in the beauty of my blinded, deafened slave and contemplating the course of her discipline.

I took my time, certain that her unknowing anticipation was the key to the night's punishment. Soon she would lose all sense of the passage of time.

As I ducked under it, I brushed the coiled cord connecting her tightly wrapped head to the stereo. She twitched upright and gasped at the unfulfilled suggestion of a touch. Her lips remained slightly parted as she breathed softly through her mouth. Sight and sound had been denied her for barely five minutes, but awareness of touch was already on edge. She was ready for her real punishment to begin.

I picked up the little whip and walked behind her. Her pinned hands blocked the whip's path to the upper half of her ass. I chose the sensitive creases between her buttocks and the top of her legs and swung hard. She drew in a sharp breath and jumped upright and forward, stopped from falling only by the rope that pulled at her elbows and twisted her shoulders back.

I swung again. Again she jumped away from the whip and gasped. After four more blows, she had shifted about four inches from her spot directly under the ceiling hook. Her shoulders twisted up painfully behind her and her breath had become a shallow pant.

I lowered the whip.

She rocked back against the rope and scrambled with tiny steps toward her original position, desperately trying to regain her balance. With a hard twist and a wriggle she found stability and pushed her heels hard into the carpet. Still, she swayed slowly against the rope at her elbows.

I sat on the sofa in front of her. I took a slow sip of wine, then another as I watched her sway and writhe. I would let the sting of the whip sink in and her anticipation build once more before touching her again with either pain or pleasure.

I wondered how she could trust me so. And I thought that it had to be that she trusted me as much as I loved her. She could stop this at any time, but she would not. This night was as much a test of my power as her submission. I had to dangle her over the edge and hold her there without dropping her and without her recoiling in panic. That responsibility was daunting. That prospect, becoming reality was terrible and exciting and arousing.

I turned on the television, leaned back and put my feet up on the coffee table.

She drifted, suspended in time and space. Her attention, rather than turning inward, projected itself out, desperately searching for any clue of my presence, of movement, of an approaching blow, and finding none. The ache of her pinned elbows and twisted shoulders grew out of all proportion to the real pain she suffered. An itch on her belly gradually became maddening.

Every time her consciousness drifted, she lost her balance. At irregular intervals, I saw her sway and jerk. She would twist and wriggle to regain balance, make minute steps and replant her spike heels to anchor her against the pile of the carpet.

At the second commercial break, I picked up the whip and rose to stand facing her. She gave no sign that she was aware of my presence. She stood exposed before me, her breasts and cunt highlighted by the dark expanse of the corset between them. The corset's half cups pushed her tits up and together, exaggerating their size and leaving her bare nipples sitting above a shelf of shiny black satin.

I reached out and quickly flicked each nipple with my fingernail. She jerked back and a sharp "Ah," escape from her lips.

"Master?" she asked, forgetting my earlier demand for silence.

I answered with the whip, swinging straight down and alternating strikes at each nipple. She jerked back as each swing struck, but she had learned from her earlier lost balance and her heels remained spiked into the carpet.

"Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . ." she huffed explosively with each lash.

When the blows stopped, she leaned forward, pushing with her feet as if trying to find the whip, to find some contact outside her silent shell. Her ragged breathing gradually quieted.

I stepped back and picked up the ring gag off the coffee table.

"Master?" she pleaded. "Is that you? Are you there? Master? Please?"

I plunged my index finger into her open mouth and grasping her chin with my thumb, pinned down her tongue. She shook her head wildly, fighting vainly to pull free of the invading digit. I held on and pushed the finger farther back into her throat.

She struggled against her gag reflex as her throat muscles spasmed around my fingertip. In moments she stopped struggling and rocked her head back. As her throat relaxed, she closed her lips around my finger and began sucking, pulling the fingertip even deeper.

I slowly pulled my finger out of her grasping mouth. I held her teeth apart with finger and thumb while I pushed in the gag's ring with my other hand. I twisted the ring upright, forcing her mouth wide open and seated it behind her teeth. Feeding the broad strap through its twin D-rings, I pulled tight, forcing back the corners of her mouth.

Her ability to question and plead, her last active contact with the world outside her own body had been removed. She could now only react passively to whatever I chose to inflict on her.

Glancing down, I saw a tiny glistening trail of liquid building between her bare and slightly parted pussy lips. I pushed a finger into her and slid it through her cunt from back to front. One after the other, I squeezed open the clamps that still imprisoned her swollen labia, then dropped the pair with their connecting chain to the floor.

A puff, then a faint gurgle passed the open ring of her lips. I briefly pressed my fingertip against her clit before withdrawing it and backing away from her. She strained against the elbow ropes, rocking slowly in a circle, trying to touch something, anything in the space around her.

I sat back down on the sofa to let her drift back into the dark and silent void.

Eleven thirty. There had been nothing notable in the local news broadcast. The opening credits rolled for "Saturday Night"; the show wasn't very funny that year. I had another, delightful, amusement available, so that didn't concern me.

She continued to sway slightly, partially suspended by her bonds. Still, each time her concentration on balance drifted, she would jerk and sway, twisting to regain balance, repositioning herself with tiny steps, then replanting her heels into the carpet.

I picked up the clips I had dropped on the floor almost an hour earlier. The adjustment screws had been backed all the way out to hold tight on her labia. I took one clip in each hand and squeezed them open with my fingers. Letting the chain hang down between them, I carefully positioned the clips around her swollen nipples. If she felt my breath or sensed my presence, she gave no sign.

I quickly released my grip on the clips, dropping them and their connecting chain.

Something between a shriek and a gurgle burst from the ring that held her mouth wide open. She jerked back, swinging the chain now clamped to her tits. Her heels lost their grip on the carpet and she pitched forward, stopped by the rope above her elbows, then my arms as I wrapped them around her and pulled her back upright.

Her breath exploded through the ring in ragged gasps. I held her, hugged her, rubbed her back, calming her with my touch. She trembled in my hands. Gradually, her breathing slowed and quieted. Her body stopped shaking.

I knew it was not the pain of the clips that frightened her, but the panic of suddenly and completely losing her balance. I held both her shoulders, steadying her and letting her find her center under the ceiling hook. She shuffled her feet slightly and I saw her dig her heels into the carpet once more.

I held her at arms length for a moment, making sure she had found her balance. I let her go and sat back down on the sofa.

"Saturday Night" was exceptionally stupid and unfunny that night. I turned off the television.

At midnight, I picked up the whip. I walked around behind her, careful this time not to brush the headphone cord as I leaned under it. I wondered if I should touch her, warn her with my hand before I swung the whip. I decided, No. I was determined to test her will. I wanted to be certain of her conviction to become completely my slave.

A fine tracery of red lines crossed her ass and thighs from the blows she had received almost two hours before. It was difficult to resist aiming the whip once more at those same luscious curves.

I stood ready to grab her if she lost her balance again, but I was certain that she wouldn't. She had a strong will, even in submission; especially in submission. She would have learned from her last stumble and somehow brace herself for a blow that she could not know was coming.

I swung hard across the crease of her ass and thighs. She jerked almost fully upright, arching away from the whip and twisting her shoulders back. She let out a gurgling gasp. Her feet hadn't budged, her heels still imbedded in the carpet.

I swung again, across the same spot. She arched away again, but not nearly so far. The whip slashed across the back of her thigh and with each blow, I heard the same gurgling gasp, but each fainter that the last. By the eighth or ninth strike, she no longer arched away from the whip, but had started to bend her ass back toward it. She leaned her torso forward, the rope pulling her arms ups covered in sweat and so was I. Her moaning stopped, turning into soft panting.

Wrapping one arm around her chest, I released the rope at the elbows and let her drop slowly to her knees. She seemed barely able to hold herself upright. I went around her, grabbed her under each arm from the front, lifted and dragged her to kneel in front of the sofa.

In a remarkably short time she gathered the present of mind to remember the requirements of her slavery. She held her body proudly upright, then submissively bowed her head. Crossing her ankles around the single link connecting them, she spread her knees wide apart, displaying her bare, swollen and dripping cunt to anyone or anything that might be sitting on the sofa.

I sat in front of her, placing my feet next to her hips, outside the wide V of her legs. Taking her face in both my hands, I guided her ring-stretched and open mouth down onto my erect cock. I guided the shaft deep into her mouth. When the head reached the entrance to her throat, I released her face. She was completely immobile for a moment, then I felt her tongue making broad strokes across my cock. She pulled back until her tongue just flicked my head through the ring. Leaning forward and down, she cocked her head back, then drove her ringed mouth down until her nose pressed hard against my stomach.

She had only her sense of touch and balance to guide her. The leather wrapped steel ring pinning her mouth open denied her the use of her lips and teeth. She worked her head up and down on my shaft, washing it frantically with her tongue. At the outer end of each stroke she flicked her tongue across my penis head, then plunged down until I felt her warm lips and the cold steel that held her mouth ring to its strap pressing against my stomach and groin.

Her head bobbed up and down. A low moaning growl started deep in her throat, muffled when my cock sealed her throat, then louder as he pulled off the shaft. "NnnNNNNNNnnnNNNNNNnnnNNNNNNnnnNNNNNN."