Puppet on a Rope
by Jennifer Harrison
Part 6
Part 6 - JewelleryI stood in the middle of the room, transfixed, feeling the tip of the cane move slowly backwards and forwards over my pussy. The woman before me stared intently into my eyes, rendering me unable to look away.
I was petrified with fright at what might happen to me. I had been forced to partake in the Art Department’s end-of-year private exhibition by my friend, Bethany, resulting in me being displayed, semi-naked, before all the senior staff of the University, with only the black latex hood over my face and head hiding my identity. And now, in a nightmarish development, I was locked in the storeroom with the art department head, Fraulein Wen, referred to as Miss Maria by her students. She had the bearing and attitude of a dominatrix, and dressed to intimidate, which was certainly working on me!
"It seems that all of this is making you excited," she said, holding up the cane between us, so that we could both see how it glistened with the moisture leaking down my thighs, "which I find very interesting. You have been restricted in tight bondage, paraded naked in public, whipped, and now you are locked away at the mercy of someone you don't know, and yet you are dripping cum like a nymphomaniac. Fascinating. I think we should explore that a little more."
I knew she was right, damn her. I had been in a state of sexual arousal throughout the show, and it wasn’t just because of the dildos working away mechanically inside me. i was the ultimate object of desire! Everyone in that room lusted after me or envied me! All the men wanted to fuck me and all the women probably wanted to kill me. it was an unbelievable turn-on, made all the more intense by the danger, the fear of discovery, of humiliation. And now, here I was, kidnapped by this crazy German bitch, at the mercy of her twisted imagination – the ultimate DiD fantasy. No wonder I was dripping wet!
I watched as she walked over to where Bethany and I had left the bags that we had brought, and I was alarmed when she pulled out several skeins of rope. Jesus, I thought, Bethany really did come prepared! Miss Maria walked back towards me and went behind my back.
"It was not very thoughtful of your friend to leave you in this bondage for so long," she said, "you must be aching by now." As she said this, I felt the straps on the arm binder loosening, and I realised that she was right as my arms were able to move from the position they had been trapped in for the past three hours. I cried out in pain as she eased the binder off, and I gingerly rotated my shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness out of them. I let out a moan of both pain and pleasure as I felt her hands on my neck, gently massaging, her thumbs manipulating the knots out of the tight muscles.
I was very grateful for her administrations but, just as I was starting to get some feeling back into my fingers, I realised that she was wrapping rope around my right wrist, knotting it tightly, then throwing the end of the rope over a metal water pipe suspended from the ceiling above me. She yanked hard on it, pulling my arm up straight, then tied it to my right ankle. I could do nothing but look on in bemusement as she did the same on my left side, leaving me once more bound and helpless, this time in a spread-eagled position.
"I would think this must be getting rather tiresome by now as well," she said as she released the laces on the cincher around my waist and took it off. Once again, I felt a great relief of pressure, relishing the ability to take a proper deep breath again. I was even more pleased when she unstrapped the posture collar and removed it, applying her magic fingers to ease the painful crick in my neck. It felt so good, I began to wonder if Miss Maria might actually be my friend… until I remembered that she’d just tied me up again… and that she’d hit me very hard with the flogger earlier… and the cane…
My disquiet turned to alarm as I realised that she was starting to pull the latex hood up and off. No! I didn’t want her to see my face! Being like this but anonymous was bad enough, but if she saw me, my secret would be out! She might tell anyone – everyone! And the whole university would know what a kinky slut I really was! I really would die of shame, I was sure!
I pulled frantically at the ropes holding me, desperately trying to shake my head from side to side to keep her away from me, but nothing I did could stop her rolling the hood up and inexorably revealing my face. I cringed, trying to somehow still hide, even though I was completely uncovered.
“Why so nervous?” she asked in amusement, as she unbuckled my gag and pulled the ring from between my teeth, “I was starting to think you might be one of my students.” I worked my jaw, trying to ease the ache, and then it hit me – she didn’t recognise me! I was so caught up in my own problems, I’d assumed everyone on campus must know about the crazy bitch with the shaved head, but clearly I wasn’t as famous – or notorious – as I imagined. I let out a huge sigh of relief.
“Why don’t you let me in on the secret?” she murmured, her hand under my chin raising my head, “who are you, mystery girl?” I looked at her blankly – there was no way I was going to humiliate myself even further by telling her that! I felt like I had dodged a bullet with her not knowing who I was and, to coin a phrase, I didn't want to shoot myself in the foot now. I shook my head mutely, but started to panic when I saw her flexing the cane.
"Well, we can do this the easy way or the hard way," she said with an evil smile. I was trying to think of something to say when the cane swished through the air and came down hard across my buttocks. I screamed, boy did I scream! I rated her blow as at least an eight, possibly a nine, but there was another swish, another crack, and another desperate scream from me - that one was definitely a ten!
"Please! Miss Maria! Stop!" I cried as I struggled and squirmed in the ropes, trying to get away, but there was nowhere for me to go.
WHACK!"Aaaaaaaaaaaagh! Please! No more!" I squealed, tears now running down my face
WHACK! "We could go on this all night, I know that I, for one, am having a great time!" the cruel dominatrix said sardonically.
WHACK!"It's all a bit pointless though, from your perspective I mean. Think about it - you're a first-year student, you're a friend of Bethany, and you have a shaved head, how hard is it going to be for me to ask around and find out who you are? Of course, people might start to wonder why the head of Art is asking about the bald girl the day after some other slut got her tits out in the big Art exhibition. They might put two and two together and work it out…"
WHACK! "So, let me ask you again. What is your name?" My mind really wasn't working properly, I was so wracked with pain, I couldn't focus on the decision I had to make. But then I saw the cane being drawn back again.
"Kelly! My name is Kelly Morton, Miss!" I blurted, desperate to avoid further punishment.
"There, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Miss Maria said, coming around in front of me and wiping the tears from my cheeks, "Well, Kelly, it's good to meet you, I like a girl who is meek and submissive like you, it appeals to my dominant nature. Tell me, do you like having your head shaved?"
"No, Miss," I replied without thinking, "I hate it."
"So, who made you do it?" Oh fuck! I realised I had just walked into a trap - she was going to demand that I tell her about the puppet master, but I couldn't do that! This was so far out of my control that I was scared - if I told her about him, he would probably punish me, but If I didn't tell her about him, she would definitely punish me! My mind froze, and I just stared dumbly at her, my eyes wide with fear, my mouth opening and closing stupidly, with no sound coming out.
She raised the cane and began hitting me on my breasts, not that hard – I’d say a one or a two - but that's a very sensitive part of the body, and it hurt quite a bit. She hit me three times in succession on one breast - tap, tap, tap - and then three times on the other - tap, tap, tap - then switched back to the first, and so on. Pretty soon I was wailing once more, pulling at the ropes, trying in vain to get away from the persistent punishment.
"Come on, Kelly," - tap, tap, tap - "spill the beans," - tap, tap, tap - "you know you're going to have to tell me in the end," - tap, tap, tap - "why not save yourself the needless suffering?" - tap, tap, tap. I knew she was right, and I knew that she would keep on asking me and hitting me until I told her. But I couldn't tell her about Master! I had to think of something, and quickly - tap, tap, tap.
"Bethany, Miss!" I cried out desperately, "it was Bethany, she made me!" It was all I could think of, but it seemed to do the trick, as she stopped caning my breasts. I felt her fingers running over my naked body, feeling between my legs, checking whether I was still wet down there. I'm rather ashamed to admit that, yes, I was.
"So, you're telling me that your good friend, Bethany, made you shave your hair off?"
"Yes, Miss Maria," I replied, "she… she has become my Mistress, that's how she got me to do this exhibition for her." It was nearly true, surely she would accept it - wouldn't she?
"I think you're lying to me, Kelly," she said sternly, "there is no way that Bethany is dominant enough to control someone, even someone as submissive as you. Now, I want the truth."
"No, Miss Maria, that is the truth!" I said desperately, my voice rising in panic, "she made-AAAAAAAARGH!!" My protestations were cut short by my screaming. She had moved to one side and had hit me right on the shaved mound of my pussy, I don't know how hard - four? Five? - But it hurt worse than any other blow she had landed. I wailed like a banshee, and tears ran down my face.
"As I've said before, Kelly," she said in a menacing tone of voice, "I like beating you and listening to your screams and cries, but I don't think you enjoy it quite so much, do you? So why don't you just tell me the truth, and all this unpleasantness can stop?" I looked into her cold eyes and could see that she wasn't lying - she was certainly prepared to hit me again, and would get a real kick out of it.
"I have a Master!" I cried out, knowing I couldn't take another hit like that, "I met him online! He… he blackmailed me into becoming his slave! Honestly, Miss, it's true!"
"Now, that I can believe," she smiled, "what is his name, this Master of yours?"
"I… I don't know, Miss Maria," I admitted ashamedly, "he won't tell me. He forced me to act as Bethany's slave as well." I began to sob, utterly humiliated by having to tell her this.
"There, there, Kelly," she soothed, hugging my naked and bound body, "don't fret. That you have a dominant figure in your life is not a terrible thing. I can see that you are naturally submissive, so it's no surprise that you have been targeted. The thing we need to do is make sure they’re the right sort of dominant.”
We? The right sort of dominant? I didn’t really understand what she meant, but I had a suspicion that she felt herself to be the ‘right sort of dominant.’
"So, how do I contact him, Kelly?"
"I-I don't know, Miss!" I replied, unable to think straight. But then, when I saw her raise the cane threateningly, I furiously focused on thinking of an acceptable answer.
"His e-mail address!" I exclaimed, "you can contact him at puppetmaster94@gmail.com, Miss!" I felt a wave of relief wash over me as she lowered her arm and, instead, stroked me surprisingly gently on my still-painful pussy. These abrupt switches between violence and gentleness were messing with my mind, I just wasn't sure what to expect next which, I guess, was her whole objective. I should have been hating her for what she had done to me but, somehow, I didn't, I…
My train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Hello? Miss Maria? It’s me, Bethany. Let me in… please?” I watched as Miss Maria went over and unlocked the door. Bethany came in and, when she saw me, rushed over, her face full of concern.
"Oh my god, are you alright, K-?" She stopped abruptly when she realised what she was about to say, and looked around nervously at Miss Maria. "Are you alright, honey?" she finished. The German dominatrix smiled, obviously seeing Bethany's discomfort.
"Don't worry, Bethany," she said calmly, "Kelly and I have had a very useful discussion. I think you should take your friend home and give her plenty of TLC." With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
"I'm so sorry, Kelly," Bethany said as she untied me, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Are you okay? What did she do?" When I was free, I took the opportunity to check the damage. It seemed that there were no marks left on my breasts or pussy and, indeed, the pain had largely subsided by that point. My arse still stung badly though, and I could see that there were ugly red stripes across my buttocks.
"She beat me," I replied, "I've got a sore bum, but I think I'm okay." Bethany helped me strip out of the ballet boots and latex stockings, then I put on my ‘normal’ clothes and we went back to our digs.
Bethany insisted on taking me into her bed and holding me, repeatedly apologising for leaving me with Miss Maria and thanking me for making her exhibition such a success. As she kissed me on my lips, then my breasts, and then my pussy, I have to say, I didn't resist.
As I lay there, I tried to process the evening, and understand my feelings. Was I submissive, as Miss Maria had said? I'd never thought of myself that way before, and I really wasn't sure if it was true now - I'd been forced to do everything I'd done, hadn't I? I hadn't chosen to have a Master and a Mistress, I hadn’t chosen to have my head shaved - far from it! But then, I knew I was hugely turned on by being humiliated, being tied up, even being tortured… did that make me a submissive? I drifted off to sleep, the question still unresolved.
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I didn't hear anything from Master or Miss Maria over the next few days, and Bethany seemed to be steering clear of me as well. So, I was just packing up my things on the Friday before my parents came to pick me up and take all my stuff home on the Saturday.
"Hi, honey," Bethany said as she stood at my door, two black bin-bags in her hands, "I brought your clothes back. I don't think you have to stick to your term-time clothes at home.”
“Oh thank goodness!” I responded, heaving a sigh of relief, “I’m going to have enough trouble with my parents and the haircut, without having to explain my no-knickers, no-bra, bare-midriff dress code!”
“I just got a call from the puppet master.” Beth went on, making me look up in alarm. “He wants to see us both in town a little later.”
“Oh crap!” I exclaimed, “he’s here? What does he want with me now?!”
“Don’t panic, Kelly,” she said, “remember how much fun we had last time!”
“I don’t want my parents to see me with rope burns and whip marks!” I observed miserably, although the prospect of another night of fantastic sex was exciting – having to hide a few tell-tale scars would be worth it!
Beth and I went into town together and saw him sitting at a table outside the café to which he had directed us. We ordered coffee and took seats at the table, enjoying the warm evening.
“Well, ladies,” he began, “I have some end-of-year presents for you,” – I saw Bethany smiling at me, reflecting my own feelings of excitement. Even if it was a present like the slutty dress he had bought me before, I was in the right mood for that sort of thing - “but first, I have a punishment to deliver.” Oh crap! All my good feelings dissipated in an instant, and I felt sick in my stomach. Now my friend was looking at me with concern for what I was about to suffer.
“I’ve heard about what happened the other night at the exhibition,” Master went on, looking at me gravely, “about how you ended up in a back room, having fun with someone who was neither your Mistress nor your Master! Without my permission!”
“But, Master, I…” I began to protest. How was I getting the blame here?!
“It wasn’t Kelly's fault, honestly,” Bethany interjected, taking hold of my hand to reassure me.
“I quite agree, Bethany,” he responded coldly, “it is was your fault. I put you in a responsible position to control and protect my puppet, and you failed, abjectly. You let her be taken by another, you put her in danger.” I was rather shocked by this turn-around and, judging by the look on her face, so was Beth.
“I-I’m sorry, Sir,” she said meekly, her eyes downcast, “it won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t,” Master responded, his voice stern and commanding, "you are no longer Kelly’s Mistress. I have decided you will be my puppet, like her.”
“What?!” Bethany spluttered, clearly shocked. “You can’t! I won’t! I… I won’t put up with that! If you don’t want me involved, well, fine. I’ll leave now!” She stood up, clearly indignant at her treatment.
“You misunderstand, my dear,” he said, still steely calm, “this is not open for discussion. I have exactly the same kind of information about you as I had on Kelly when I persuaded her to become my puppet - I have video and images of you naked, also of you tying up and abusing your friend, and I have all your contacts. So, you either become my puppet alongside Kelly, or I share this information to all your friends, family, University contacts, as well as the wider world. It is your choice, of course. What do you say?" Bethany looked at me, and I could see the fear and distress there. I knew that she was feeling exactly as I had done - trapped. Slowly, she sat back down on her chair.
"Yes… Master," she said quietly, the colour draining from her face.
"Good, I'm glad we've got that out of the way," our Master said, before smiling broadly. "Now we can move on to the more pleasant aspects of the day."
As he said this, he took two envelopes from his inside pocket and passed them over, one for me and one for Bethany, making a gesture encouraging us to open them. Inside, I found a plane ticket in my name, to Malaga in Spain, dated the first of August. I looked at Bethany and saw that she also had a ticket, then looked at Master in confusion.
"I have a villa in the mountains in Andalusia," he said, "very secluded, with its own swimming pool, a small vineyard, orchard. It's a very beautiful place, and the weather in August is wonderful. I always take the month off to de-stress from the pressures of my job. You two will be accompanying me - I think you deserve a holiday."
I couldn't keep the smile off my face, the idea of a whole month of sun, swimming pool and, I'm sure, plenty of sex sounded perfect!
"Thank you, Master!" I responded, unable to contain my excitement. I looked at Bethany encouragingly, realising that she was still upset about what had happened earlier, and nervous about what was to come. But, eventually, I think she caught a little of my enthusiasm, and gave a weak smile.
"Thank you… Master," she whispered.
"Well, that is something for us all to look forward to," he beamed, "and, in the meantime, here is a small token of my appreciation." He took two small, gift-wrapped packages out of his pocket and handed them to us. Nervously, I opened mine, and found that it contained a small clear plastic bag containing two golden rings. Bethany had the same, and she began taking one of her stud earrings out so that she could replace it with the new ring.
"Thank you very much, Master," I said, "but I don't have pierced ears."
"That's not a problem," he replied, "they're not earrings. They’re nipple rings." Both our heads snapped up in unison, an identical look of shock on our faces. I know my mouth was hanging open in a slack-jawed look of dismay.
"You have an appointment to have them fitted at the clinic just over there." He pointed to a nondescript doorway further down the street. "I've checked the place out, and it seems very professional, very clean. I understand piercings take around six weeks to heal, which means they should be in perfect condition for our holiday. Now, run along, they're expecting you. I have to go now, I'll see you on the first." With an evil-looking smile, he stood up and walked away without a backward glance, while Bethany and I watched, dumbfounded.
"I don't suppose we have a choice," I murmured, looking down at the gold rings in my hand, which had just transformed from a lovely present into a new and frightening form of oppression. Slowly, reluctantly, we got up and crossed the road, moving down to the door, noticing the sign which read ‘Harley Clinic, for all your body art needs’. I pushed the door open and we went inside.
I was surprised at how light, clean and airy it was, rather than the dark, seedy tattoo parlour I had been expecting. We were clearly in some kind of reception area, and we went over to the desk, behind which sat a young, well-dressed woman.
"Can I help you?" she asked in a pleasant voice, with a welcoming smile.
"I-I think we have an appointment?" I said, hoping against hope that no, we really didn't.
"Names, please?"
"Kelly Morton and Bethany Thompson," I replied, noting that Bethany remained silent, and looked like she was about to run away.
"Ah yes," the receptionist said, having looked at her appointment list, "it'll just be a few minutes, please take a seat." We both sat down and stared at the floor in front of us, wishing it would just open up and swallow us. It seemed to take no time at all before an internal door opened and a tall, blonde woman, probably in her late thirties and wearing a white lab coat, stood there looking at us.
"Hi there," she said breezily, "who would like to go first?" I looked at Bethany, but she was staring at the floor again, clasping her hands together tightly, clearly not about to move. So, I got to my feet and walked over to the woman, who led me down the corridor to a side room, closing the door behind us. I almost expected to hear a key turning in the lock, trapping me in this chamber of horrors.
Actually, the room looked like nothing more horrific than a dentist’s surgery, complete with scary-looking chair and a female assistant, who looked about fourteen, busying herself with some preparations.
"So, if you'd just like to take your top off - Kelly, is it?" the woman said, taking the gold rings from my unresisting hand. Reluctantly, I pulled my top up over my head and placed it on the work surface she indicated. Now naked from the waist up, I sat in the chair and felt it tip back until I was lying virtually flat out. I put my hands on the armrests, and couldn't stop myself from gripping them tightly.
"Now, I'm just going to clean your nipples with a sterile wipe," the woman said very calmly, and I felt a cold sensation on my right nipple, and then my left. The girl brought a small bowl of instruments over to her. "Okay, this is actually quite a quick procedure and, while it will hurt when I push the needle through, it’ll only last a few seconds, so don't panic." My grip on the chair tightened and I closed my eyes - I certainly didn't want to see this!
I felt a slight pressure on each side of my right nipple, and then I felt the needle go in. I held my breath, screwed up my face, and fought against screaming as she pushed it through my poor, sensitive flesh. There was a bit of fiddling about, presumably to get the jewellery in place, and then she moved on to my left nipple. The sharp pain was repeated but, I realised, it wasn't actually any worse than being caned the other night, certainly not worse than the blows I had received across my pussy mound. After a few more seconds, the excruciating part of it was over, and I was left with a rather dull ache in both nipples.
"All done!" the woman said brightly, "that wasn't so bad, was it?" I realised that I was sweating slightly, and that my fingernails had dug deep into the armrest, but she was right, it hadn't been that bad. I looked down at myself, at my breasts, and thought my new jewellery looked… amazing! I really did like it, it just looks so… cool!
"Well done," she went on, "now here comes the important bit - looking after your new piercings." She explained to me all about aftercare - washing once a day, using the antibacterial cleaner she gave me, soaking in a salt solution, the whole spiel. She advised me to wear a bra to protect the piercing while it healed, including at night, and finally gave me a leaflet explaining all of this, before taking me back to the reception area. I was rather stunned that it was all over so quickly and, while it hadn't been pleasant, and the healing process sounded quite long-winded, it was nowhere near as bad as I had imagined.
When I got back to reception, Bethany looked up at me in obvious terror, and I wondered if she had some specific problem here, whether she didn't like the thought of any degree of pain.
"It's not that bad, Beth," I said, trying to reassure her, "you can take it!" The woman led her away, and she looked like she was going to the gallows. I found it a little weird, given that she had been through the ear piercing process, which kind of indicated that she had bought into the whole body piercing idea in my mind. Maybe she'd had a bad experience with that?
I waited nervously for her to return, but a few minutes later I was horrified when I heard a scream, and I jumped to my feet.
"Don't worry," the girl on reception said, "I'm sure she'll be fine." I wasn't so sure, but I sat down again, now very concerned for my friend.
When the door opened, I saw that there were tears on Bethany's face, and she was red-cheeked, clearly upset.
"I'm afraid your friend didn't have such an easy time of it," the woman said in a sympathetic tone, "I suggest you take her home and maybe give her a couple of painkillers, to calm her down as much as anything. But, be reassured, her piercings will be fine, there were no problems with the procedure."
I put my arm around Bethany and led her from the clinic, trying to comfort her as she sobbed quietly. We made our way back to the University without really talking, except for me making vaguely comforting noises. When I took her back to her room, I gave her a couple of paracetamol and put her to bed, then went back to my own room to finish packing.
A few hours later, after cleaning my piercings as instructed, I sat on my bed, thinking about everything which had happened to me over the last few months. It had certainly be in a rollercoaster of emotion, and one which seemed destined to go on and on. I wondered how I was ever going to get out of the mess I had got myself into - the mess, I realised, I had also got my best friend into. Almost as worrying was the fact that I couldn't work out whether I wanted to get myself out of it or not…
End of part 6
Copyright© 2014 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.