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On the stage, Derek and William were moving to the next phase of the punishment, having lowered Stacy’s legs to the ground and slowly lowered her arms until she was standing on her own two feet. As angry as William was at her, Lukus admired him for holding his submissive close, comforting her and allowing her time to get her feet under herself.
Once she was stable, the men moved her to a waiting punishment restraint, which hadn’t been used at The Pit in some time. Lukus was excited to see it in action again. The Doms guided her to lie back on the narrow, body-length wooden bench. They adjusted the height and then settled Stacy’s neck into the padded, crescent opening before pulling down a wooden panel with a round notch cut out right where the panel rested against her throat.
Lukus remembered designing the evil restraint device and taking it to his friend in Indiana who had made the custom piece. When it turned out even better than Lukus’s deviant mind imagined, he’d ordered a second bench for one of the private playrooms.
The Doms adjusted the table’s length so Stacy’s ass was just hanging off the supporting wood.
Tiffany trembled as Derek grabbed one ankle of the wayward submissive while William grabbed the other. The men yanked Stacy’s legs back over her body, placing her ankles in padded openings two feet apart in the top of the wood panel. A final wood panel pulled down from above, locking her legs in place just above her head, in a style similar to a stockade.
The final preparation positioned her wrists below the bench, attached to the base of the devious furniture. Stacy was splayed wide, locked into the vulnerable diaper position, ready to receive any and all punishments they wished to inflict.
The audience could no longer see Stacy’s face, but they had a full-on view of her exposed ass and pussy. Tiffany watched Derek as he moved back to the implement closet. When he emerged with a heavy wooden paddle, the kind used in a fraternity or sorority, she shrunk back tighter against Lukus. She was nearly panting, and Lukus worried she was having a panic attack.
“Baby, are you okay? What number are you?”
Silence. Was she holding her breath, watching the scene intently? She may have been watching the stage, but Lukus concentrated on Tiffany. When the sound of Derek’s first direct hit to Stacy’s firm ass filled the entire club, Tiffany flinched as if he’d struck her. Lukus might have thought she was upset, but his drenched fingers, still buried in her pussy, told a different story.
“Answer me. Right now,” he ordered her.
“I’m, well… I don’t know. I’m so confused.”
“Talk to me. What’s confusing?”
The pleasure caused by her wiggling ass on his lap had him nearly shooting his wad in his jeans. Tiffany was bewitched by the sight and sounds of the severe punishment continuing on stage. Derek was up to his fifth hard swat and showed no sign of slowing down.
“I need a number, or we’re leaving,” Lukus told her.
She threw her head back against his shoulder, as if she could somehow hold him in place. “No. Please. I don’t want to leave.”
“Number.”
“I hate it, but I’m still… twelve.”
“Is it the bondage or the paddle that’s turning you on?”
“Both. It’s the whole package. I’m sure I’d hate it if I was in her position, but from here, the scene is really getting to me, Lukus. What kind of a sick jerk does that make me?” She was starting to cry. Lukus suspected she was distressed by her internal battle of good and evil. He reluctantly released her warm cunt to hug her closer, whispering assertively and calmly, directly into her ear.
“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not going to feel guilty. There is nothing wrong with you, and even if there is, it’s wrong with every fucking person in the club tonight. Look around you. Everyone is getting off on this. It’s why they come. It’s why I have this club. Some of us are wired this way, baby. It’s okay if you like some things and not others. That’s what I’m trying to figure out, but what I won’t allow, and nor should you, is you feeling guilty for liking what gets you off.”
Stacy’s blood-curdling screams of pain from the stage almost drowned out his voice. As Stacy’s Dom joined the punishment with his own implement—a heavy, long-handled bath brush—Stacy’s screams morphed into moans of submission. Lukus recognized the sounds of her entering sub-space, where the pain triggered her submissive mindset.
Just as he’d have done himself, Derek stopped immediately. Tonight’s show was as real as it got here at The Pit. As a result, Derek ensured that the sub being punished didn’t go to her happy place, as Brianna liked to call it
Reaching into a small black bag of tricks they often took on stage, Lukus watched Derek use a plastic glove to extract a large phallus carved out of ginger root. Stacy couldn’t see what was coming, but she figured it out fast enough when Derek shoved the fake dick in her ass with one hard push. She grunted at the sudden invasion, but within a few seconds, her renewed screams proved the root had its desired effect. She flailed as best she could, considering her hands, legs, and head were completely immobilized.
“What did he put inside her that has her screaming so much?” Tiff whispered.
“Have you ever heard of figging?”
“Oh my God. He just shoved something hot up her ass that’s burning her from the inside?”
“Good girl. In this case, it’s a ginger root carved like a cock. It hurts enough on its own, but I have a feeling Derek soaked it in a spicy mix we use to enhance the effect,” Lukus replied.
“Enhance, my ass. You mean torture.”
“It only hurts for a few minutes and then will die down some—unless she keeps clenching her ass. If she clenches, it will definitely hurt worse and for longer.”
Stacy’s continued cries of how sorry she was had Lukus suspecting she was clenching. Derek resumed his passionate paddling, only now he was spreading around his swings to include her tender sit-spots and thighs. The deep red of her ass had the beginning markings of bruising from the heavy implements being used.
