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Like he was sub and she was Dom, Preston complied with her wishes and loosened the ropes that bound my wrists. I stood before her with my hands at my side, while her smirk seemed to broaden into a wider grin. I could see the wheels in her mind cranking out her devious plots en masse. “Hold out your hand,” she said.
I did, taking from her a string of five golf ball-sized beads with about three inches of string between them.
“Put them in your ass.”
I must have looked at her dazed, because she had to repeat the order.
“In your ass. Get on your knees, bend over and put them up your butt.” What was sexually seductive about her with men abruptly turned ice cold with me under her control. Afraid of the icy bitch, I dropped to my knees on a wooden floor that felt like concrete. Then I leaned forward with every intention of following her instructions. Unfortunately, the first ball was not slick enough to insert into my rectum.
“Spit on it!” she suggested the cure, which worked with the first ball, but not the others, since they were all attached. “Use your fingers to swath the path,” she recommended then.
I liberally covered my fingers with spit, and coated my anus, then shoved another of the beads into my ass. The first two were the most difficult, as the strain, the humiliation and the need to prove myself conspired against my efforts. But once I felt a pleasant fullness in the body cavity, my lust kicked in. I hardly cared where I was or who was forcing me to abuse myself. I nearly forgot my surroundings completely—if anything the unlikely locale for my punishment just heightened my arousal more.
Susan stood over me, the cold, dictatorial bitch that she was, but I didn’t care any longer that I hated her. More exciting to me was my master to my left, leaning on a sawhorse, casually watching the show, attentive, but with an air of cool indifference—like a referee perhaps.
“Hmmm… . very good,” Susan purred as I pushed the third bead inside and followed it with the fourth. By then, my insides felt puffed up and about to explode. There were two beads yet to go and I couldn’t imagine more pressure, but I wasn’t about to hesitate. This was as much a matter of principle as anything. I refused to look bad in front of Preston, or weak, or unsure, or rebellious. Even if it killed me to do it, I wouldn’t let the woman have the satisfaction of besting me. I’m sure that’s what she planned on.
With a little more effort and deep breath, I shoved the fifth bead into my ass, and moved on to the sixth. I couldn’t believe that there’d be room to fit that one too, but with my determination driving me forward, I managed to insert the last. I felt it hit the one next to it as it settled inside. This was a demanding physical bondage of a sort I’d never experienced. I sucked in my breath and held on with all my might, while the urge to push the beads out threatened my hard-earned victory.
“Let’s not see you panic now, Skye,” Preston urged me from the sidelines. His comment made me believe that he was in charge, not Susan, though that was a short-lived thought.
“She needs the aggravation, Preston. Conniving trollops deserve to suffer.” She kicked my ass with the toe of her high-heel.
I was getting used to the foreign objects in my ass, and the threat of voiding the six beads faded. Still hanging from my rectum was the string end attached to the beads. At the very end of that was a ring to tug… or, in this case, a place to attach a leash. Once Susan snapped the clamp shut tight, she walked about the downstairs of the house with me following on hands and knees—backwards. “Careful you don’t make me pull out the beads. If you do, you’ll regret it.”
I was glad that someone had swept the place free of loose nails and lumber, which would have made the parade more difficult. Even so, negotiating doorways backwards was tricky, tricky too keeping up with Susan’s steady gait. “C’mon, slut, let’s keep moving,” she ordered, while stopping long enough to whack my ass a few times with a piece of wooden molding she’d found. I hated the sting, but I’d never let her know that. I held in my loathing and continued moving, urged by the gentle tug to my ass. I was destined to fail this exercise—Susan had that all figured out and so did I. It was only a matter of time before she’d tug just a little too hard and the sixth bead would exit accidentally.
She didn’t even try to disguise her plan. Suddenly, pulling me way too fast for my ability to move, she had, not just the sixth, but the fifth bead popping free. A rush of energy flooded that place, and all my careful containment threatened to vanish. My bottom felt like it would explode.
“Oh, my, she slipped,” Susan quipped for the benefit of Preston. Then, using the sharply honed edge, she whacked me a dozen times or more with the molding, scorching heated lines of pain across my ass. “Put them back!” she demanded, her voice icy with contempt.
I quickly obeyed, slobbering my spit over the round orbs and insisting they fit in my rectum again. At last successful, my perilous journey began again, this time up the stairs of the house moving forward. The leash lay across my spine loosely, while she charmed me with sweet-talk fit for a beast of burden or her toy poodle. “That’s it, just a little ways more, just a little more,” she tugged lightly as she spoke. I mounted the stairs on my sore hands and knees, doing double duty to keep my entrails full and my mind focused on the chore.
“Throw me the cuffs and rope,” she called down to Preston.
He didn’t throw them; instead he ambled up the stairs to join us. Strangely, it was some comfort having him close enough to see because I was performing for him, rather than Susan, a fact I found erotically pleasing at the moment of my greatest humiliation.
We moved to the back of the house, into another of many framed but unfinished rooms, to where a large window that looked out on a forest of trees.
“On your feet, slut,” she said, after having unleashed me.
My hands were cuffed and strung up high into the ceiling beams, then Susan tied me to the window jambs on either side, from my shoulders to my ankles, using, when possible, the rope-dress Preston fashioned for me earlier. While my ankles were tightly anchored, she purposely left some slack in the torso ropes, so I’d be able to move within the spider web of rope.
“Now lean out the window, slut,” she ordered. This wasn’t easy, but I complied, hoping that she had in mind a plan to secure the position. Once I arched my back, jutted my ass back into the room and leaned forward, she shoved a sawhorse in front of my legs. It hit where my legs and thighs meet, but powerfully held me in place as the ropes tightened and held me fast.
Until that time, I felt safe enough in the house to think we could keep this activity private, just between the three of us. But my privacy immediately vanished with my naked tits hanging out the window like two bobbing balloons. I could look to either side of me and see into the neighboring backyards where hammers and saws were being put to use by tough, tanned construction workers.
“Oh, how nice,” was Susan’s first comment, seeing me spread wide with my back arched and my ass pushed out. She moved around me stroking my tautly contained body, venturing a squeeze or pinch if that pleased her. She plucked my right nipple and twisted it so hard, I was sure it would tear away. Noting that I wouldn’t howl, no matter how hard she squeezed and twisted, she let go. “Impressive. But then, we’re just getting started. It’s been along time since I’ve had a body like yours to torture, and I will enjoy every minute, until you finally surrender.”
Surrender! To her? Only when hell freezes! I silently told myself.
There was not a muscle in me that didn’t ache, that didn’t scream for relief. But the only relief I would know was through the long steady shower of pain that rained down on me from the wooden slat and then a conductor’s baton she found in Preston’s satchel. She whipped my ass and shoulders soundly, waiting for me to let loose with a scream. I wouldn’t give her that thrill, but bit my lips, sucked in and made the pain arouse me. When I wouldn’t cry, she changed her target and pa
ddled my tits with the molding. She thwacked them hard on top and from the bottom with dozens of stinging, white-hot smacks. The pain continued relentlessly, tearing at me anew with each blow that landed.
When that wasn’t enough, she started in on my pubis, reaching underneath with first the baton, then the slat of wood, whipping and spanking the flesh until it was as hot as a fiery oven, blistered and swollen. I refused to cry and she didn’t like that.
“You’re not enjoying this, are you?”
