Suspended And Caned

I turned the handle on the ratchet attached to the rope that was threaded through the pully and tied to the cuffs on my slave's wrists. His arms were gradually lifted towards the ceiling.

We were in the brick shed near the back door of our suburban house. The walls were windowless and covered, like the ceiling, in soundproofing panels. Two Russian women could play a tennis match in there and nobody outside would hear a thing.

My slave was naked apart from his chastity belt. His ankles were in cuffs attached to thick metal eyelets screwed into the concrete floor, wide apart. Soon his toes were just barely touching the floor as he hung in an inverted Y-shape. His skin was very pale, his hair brown and wavy, and his thick beard a russet-ginger. A lot of dominants won't let their slaves grow beards, but I like the natural look.

I myself wasn't wearing any special bondage or fetish style gear. Why should I? This wasn't a cosplay game. This was serious. It was Summer, so my clothing was summery - a long wraparound silk skirt, black with a bold pattern of red and orange flowers, a plain black top, and medium heeled sandals. My black hair fell in loose curls to the small of my back.

I picked up a gag. It was of the panel variety, with a large cylindrical plug.

I stood in front of him and stared. He is a head taller than me, but having his legs spread so wide had the effect of lowering his head so our eyes were on the same level. His face was a picture of woe.

"Do you understand why you are about to be punished, slave?" I asked rhetorically.

"Yes, Mistress. I was lazy and inattentive to your needs."

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

He shook his head miserably. "No, Mistress."

Without further ado, I shoved the gag's plug into his mouth and fastened the strap snugly behind his head. Then I took a key from the chain around my neck and used it to unlock his chastity belt, which I tossed aside when it was removed.

His face might have looked miserable, but his tackle told a different story. His penis pointed due north and looked very hard. This was totally unsurprising considering he had not been allowed an orgasm for more than two weeks.

I selected a cane. It was short and thin, and not designed for playful little smacks. It was designed to hurt.

I positioned myself to his left, with the cane in my right hand. With a forehand motion, I swung the cane and brought it cracking into his left arse cheek. A tiny yelp escaped the gag, and his muscles quivered slightly, but otherwise he held himself steady.

After a pause, I swung the cane a second time. Then a third, fourth, and fifth. I deliberately used pauses of random length so there would be no rhythm and thus he would not know when to expect the next cut. Remarkably, there were no more yelps, and he was able to keep himself rock-steady as the cane did its painful work.

After five cuts, I moved around to his other side. Using a backhand swing this time, I administered the same treatment to his right cheek as I had to his left. He still managed to remain steady and quiet.

I stood behind him to observe the results. His arse was crisscrossed by red welts. The area on his left cheek which was branded with my initials was just forward enough to have escaped the carnage. All was good so far.

I next selected a pair of weighted nipple clamps. Well, I call them nipple clamps, but they are actually alligator clips of the kind used in electrical circuits, with lead fishing weights attached to the ends. Not only do they inflict physical pain, they also cause psychological torture by the knowledge their vicious triangular teeth can do real damage if left in place for too long. He didn't flinch or make a sound as I applied them to him, but he began blinking furiously in an effort to hold back the tears welling in his eyes.

I moved back to position on his left and repeated the procedure from before - five cuts at irregular intervals - only slightly harder this time. Then to the right for another five cuts on that side. These second doses caused a much higher level of pain than the first, as the blows landed on already tenderised flesh. A couple of times, he couldn't help letting out a brief moan or grunt, or even involuntarily twisting slightly against his restraints.

When I had finished, his body was covered in perspiration and his breathing had become fast and ragged. Surprisingly (or perhaps not) his penis still pointed strongly north.

I removed the clamps and put them and the cane aside.

I stood in front of him for a few moments, with my dark brown eyes locked onto his pale blue ones.

"You have taken your punishment bravely, and you didn't try to beg your way out of it. I am pleased. I am not pleased that you had to be punished in the first place, of course, but you did well to take your medicine like a man."

I removed the gag. I didn't need to warn him to only speak when spoken to.

"How much do you love me, slave?"

"Forever!" he breathed.

This elicited a short sharp slap across his face. Not hard, but enough to startle him.

"I said how much, not for how long. Try again."

"I'm sorry Mistress! I mean... totally, completely. I ... err.. I don't know... I mean, there aren't any words, just... with all my body, all my being... I mean...".

I cut his babbling short by clamping my mouth over his in a deep and passionate kiss. I held his head steady in my hands as the kiss went on and on. Finally I withdrew, our lips just a breath apart.

"And I love you too," I reassured him. "You're my big strong beautiful boy, and the moment I first saw you, I knew I had to own you, Branding you so you can never escape is the smartest thing I have ever done."

And I kissed him again. Not for quite as long, but just as deep.

"I'm sorry I let you down, Mistress." he breathed when his mouth was free again. Technically that amounted to speaking out of turn, but a good dominant knows when to exercise discretion rather than apply the strict letter of the law.

"That's alright slave. I don't expect perfection. And I don't mind punishing you occasionally." The moment the words were out of my mouth, I felt a pang of regret. They could be taken as licence for slack behavior. On the other hand, they were the truth, and a mistress should never be afraid to tell her slave the truth. Nevertheless, I felt compelled to add, "As long as it's not too often."

"I'm going to take you to bed now," I continued. "You can make things up to me. I have utmost confidence your performance will be of stellar magnitude."

Ten minutes later we were in bed. I was on my back with my head on a pillow. He was face down with his head between my legs. He was wearing his chastity belt, and his hands were fastened behind him with metal cuffs.

My confidence in his performance was not misplaced. His tongue kept tickling and teasing, keeping me on the boil for what seemed an endless time without quite pushing me over the edge. He was so highly skilled, it felt as though I was the one who was at his mercy.

Afterwards, as we lay in each other's arms, kissing and cuddling and mingling our sweat, my thoughts turned to other women, in other relationships. I thought of those in 'normal' couples, who treat their men as equals out of mutual respect.

And I thought, "Idiots!"