Part 7 – Turning
Michelle lay there trembling, considering his words. She could end the game...end the pain...and...end the brutal pleasure that only he was capable of giving. She could end the game...and end the humiliation...and...end the terrible thrill of his appetites. Or she could see it through to the end...and endure the punishment...and feel secure and loved in his power. "I want more," she whispered quietly.
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Michelle stared into the mirror, looking not at herself, but at her husband's reflection. She ignored the petite woman behind her, lacing her tightly into the black leatherette corset. She only watched Marks eyes, staring into hers. "Your lady is ready," Constance said, stepping aside. Before Michelle could turn to face him, her husband was behind her, moving his arms under hers, reaching up to cup her exposed breasts.
"You are sooo beautiful," he said kissing her neck and shoulders. Michelle felt his tongue, tasting her honey-vanilla sweetened skin.
"I thought you didn't like lingerie?" Michelle asked.
"You like it, don't you," Mark said, gently massaging her nipples. "It makes you feel beautiful, doesn't it?"
"Yeah...I guess so," Michelle admitted reluctantly. She did like the way she looked. The finely made under bust garment pushed up and lifted her breasts provocatively. It closed on the front and sides with silver buckles on leatherette straps, and laced in the back with a heavy black cotton cord. The front ended in a short skirt that covered her mound and the front of her thighs. The back started below her shoulder blades and ended at the small of her back, leaving her buttocks exposed to Mark's gently caressing hand. The steel boned corset cinched her waist, giving her the hourglass figure she hadn't seen in 10 years. Watching herself in the mirror, her husband lovingly feeling her exposed skin, Michelle did feel very, very beautiful.
"What do you think, Constance?" Mark asked the woman watching silently in the background. "How does she look?"
"Your lady looks very lovely." Constance said. Michelle looked at Constance in the mirror, suddenly appalled by the look in the woman's eyes. She closed her eyes, and leaned her head back to enjoy her husband's touch.
"Constance," Mark said, still kissing and caressing his wife. "What is the scope of services you offer here?" Michelle tensed, suddenly uncomfortable. Mark squeezed her nipple, reminding her that he was in charged. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and calmed herself.
"I don't offer services," Constance answered. "I serve Nelson as he requires, and he requires that I serve you and your lady as you require." Michelle opened her eyes to find the woman's eyes staring directly into her own. She tensed again.
"Very good," Mark said. "Your punishment is at hand, Milady," Mark whispered into his wife's ear. "Go and stand behind the ottoman with your back to the door." He stepped back, caressing her buttocks one last time as she walked away.
Michelle walked to the ottoman, not quickly, but without hesitation. She knew this punishment would be more than she'd ever experienced, but she would not risk increasing it by disobeying again. The furniture had been arranged so that the ottoman stood against the back of the overstuffed chair. "Constance," Mark said, "Use what you find on the counter and secure her to the chair and ottoman. She should be kneeling and leaning over the back of the chair. Leave her hands free. Make sure she is comfortable."
Kneeling on the throw pillow, Michelle fought nausea at Constance's lingering touches as the woman tethered her thighs to the base of the ottoman. Her arms were tethered at the elbow to the D rings sewn into the front of the chair, leaving her hands and forearms free. Michelle watched in the mirror as Mark walked around her testing the ropes and cuffs. He nodded at Constance, and Michelle watched her walk to the shower and begin gathering her equipment. Her eyes went wide when Mark chose from the equipment case a wood handled wide leather strap that she'd never seen before.
He was meticulous in his wielding of the strap, making sure that the full width of the leather made contact with her still tender buttocks; each blow overlapping covering every inch of her buttocks and thighs. Unlike the slow build of the flogger, these blows hurt immediately, first stinging, then burning, then aching and throbbing. Though she willed herself to remain still, her body bought against the pain, arms and legs straining against the tethers. Tensing then relaxing, Michelle found there was no easing the pain of the assault. Resting he head on the padded chair, she felt herself submitting to the rhythm, moving to that place where she floated on the pain, and the sound of the strap against her skin a distant echo.
Her mental retreat ended when there was a pause then a change in rhythm. Slower, harder, hitting the same spot until she was forced to cry out. Her eyes tightly shut, Michelle ignored the tears wetting her cheeks and her husband's voice calling to her, concentrating only on breathing and enduring the pain. She ignored his voice as he moved around her, fighting the inexplicable fear that something had gone wrong. She opened her eyes to see him standing in front of her while the blows continued to fall on her thighs and buttocks. Confusion and shock turned to horror then anger as she watched the surreal mirrored image of Constance standing behind her wielding the strap, her white spandex sheer with sweat.
Michelle screamed. Arms and legs struggling wildly against her bonds, she ignored the increasing pain of the shock collar, and her husband's angry voice; until exhausted, gasping, and sobbing, she lay subdued and humiliated by the woman's unrelenting assault. "Michelle," Mark's voice reached her between the slaps of the strap and her feeble shudders and whimpers. He grabbed her wrists and held them up to her tear-stained face. "Break the bands and end the game," he whispered.
"N...n...no," she gasped. In spite of pain and exhaustion, her eyes held only defiance as she watched Mark take a seat on the loveseat facing her, a hungry yet proud smile on his face. She didn't look in the mirror at the woman spanking her or the small black remote control her husband held in his hand. Michelle and Marks eyes met, locked in a ferocious battle of wills until Michelle felt herself melting into the pain...and she endured.
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