Dotty poised for his next order. It surprised her as much as it pleased her when he said, “Prepare the room. You have 15 minutes.”
“Thank you, Master.”
In a flash she was on her feet and dashed out the door and up the stairs. She didn’t see Donald’s smug grin as he glanced at his watch and picked up the paper.
Dotty tried to plan as she ran, but concentrating on keeping her balance denied her any coherent thought until she stopped in the bedroom doorway to catch her breath. In moments she was moving again, certain specific requirements in mind.
First, she inspected the bed. It was still pristine from her morning labors. Then she circled it, making sure that there was an opened shackle and chain at each corner of ‘her’ side. The waiting cuffs bolted to the headboard caught her eye and she glanced to the sideboard, confirming that the keys were there. She picked up the master key and tucked it in the special pouch that hung on his upper bedpost, ready for emergencies.
She went back to the sideboard, after turning down his side and a final glance at the bed. There were a couple of short chains and padlocks, much less than he would want. She opened the drawer, and placed a steel collar, several more lengths of chain and more padlocks. Two whips appeared, followed by a converted ping pong paddle and a large, soft feather.
She gave him a choice of vibrators, an array of dildoes and some electrical equipment that she would much prefer to hide, rather than to display. Reminded, she dashed back down stairs and returned with the prod she was supposed to be carrying all the time, and her short chain set. She grimaced as she laid the set out, certain that once she had been used, she would spend the rest of the night locked in the closet with her ankles pulled up to her ears.
With a couple of minutes to spare, she stopped dead, her panicked gaze roving the room. She was certain she had forgotten something that would get her in trouble. She looked. Stopped. Looked again, three times. With a silent groan of defeat she went to her side of the bed, crawled on, reached down and locked the ankle shackles. Her wrists were still manacled, so it was a simple, two-handed job to lock them to the corner chain, leaving her helpless.
Instantly, her mind went into overdrive, first convincing her that she had just overlooked some extremely important item and conjuring up full color punishments that made her writhe in terror. Then the scene in her head shifted to a courtroom. She was drowning in chains. They were asking her questions, “You’re a slave, and an adulterer. Why did your Master invite you into his bed?”
She tried to answer, but her vocal cords were frozen. Why indeed? She hadn’t a clue.
“Slaves are fucked on the floor, as is their due. What makes you think he will use you on a bed? You’re a slave. A bed is too good for a slave.”
Dotty stared, wide-eyed, at the ceiling, vainly trying to dispel the doubts that were flooding her mind. She whimpered, convinced she had been set up for some terrible punishment. Her brain graciously fed on her fear, reinforcing it with a three-D picture of the open gates of Hell, with the Devil beckoning to her.
Donald was blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in his bedroom. He glanced again at the clock, now more than 20 minutes since he sent her scurrying, giving her ample time. As he climbed the stairs he heard a noise coming from above. When he reached the doorway he saw Dotty, bawling her eyes out, tears streaming down her cheeks. Shocked, he paused for an instant, figuring out how to handle the situation. Dotty saw him looming in the doorway, through her tears. When she saw him stop, all her worst fears were confirmed. Closing her eyes, she surrendered, “Master, Your slave doesn’t have a gun so that you can shoot her and put her out of your life. There’s a chain on the sideboard that you can strangle her with and then say it was an accident...”
“SILENCE!” He thundered. Dotty’s eyes shot open and she stopped breathing in mid-breath.
“What the fuck is going on? Nobody wants to kill you, or wants you dead!”
He took a step forward and Dotty retreated on the bed, stopped short by her chains. She sobbed, “You invited slave into your bed.”
“So I could kill you? Don’t be silly!”
“You’re punishing slave. Nothing but blow jobs. Now, suddenly you want slave in your bed. It’s a trick to get slave out of your life.”
She was sobbing with every word.
“Dotty! Shut up and listen to me.”
“But... But...”
“Stop it! Now, do you remember what we were talking about this evening?”
“Yessssss... Nooooo... Trust, Master.”
“You SAID you trusted me. The word was barely out of your mouth when you now accuse me of getting rid of you, even killing you. What happened to TRUST?”
She sniffled. He drew a tissue from the box on the nightstand and held it to her nose. Meekly she blew and he dropped the tissue in the wastebasket.
“What happened to trust?” He pressured her.
“Slave panicked,” she admitted. “I just knew slave had forgotten something important that would spoil this and slave would go back to the cistern in disgrace.”
Donald came around to her side of the bed and took her in his arms. “Honey, that’s no reason to panic. Slaves make mistakes all the time. They are punished according to the severity of the mistake, and life goes on. They are not summarily taken out and shot, or strangled. There are times when I feel like strangling you, but you don’t do that to your most precious possession. I try never to punish when I’m angry. I let things cool off first.”
She looked up at him, believing, disbelieving, scared, and yet content with his words. She asked, “A slave? Your most precious possession? You called slave that - or prize possession - before.”
“Look, the Master/Slave relationship is like a marriage. There are vows - on both sides - for a marriage and for a Master/Slave relationship. When you and I were married we promised to love, honor and obey. In a sense, that’s exactly the same vow that a Master and a slave make. The slave agrees to honor and obey her Master. The big difference is the level of obedience, You and I already have the love part from our marriage, but that transfers right over to your status as a slave. Being both a wife and a slave has some built in problems, but they are mostly minor, things we can talk out.”
“The important thing at the moment is that I love you as a wife and I am learning to cherish you as a slave. You ARE my most prized possession, my most precious possession. Being ‘owned’ is a problem for some slaves and some otherwise potential slaves. Is that where you are going?”
She carefully avoided a ‘No’ answer.
“Master, being owned is not a problem. It appeals to the masochism in slave’s makeup. Slave feels freer being owned than slave did before we were married. Slave is sorry. Slave let her panic control her, when slave should have been controlling it.”
“Do you still trust me?”
“Yes, Master.”
He wanted her to talk freely but it would come with time.
“Good! Any time you feel that I am losing your trust, let me know. You will not be punished for being honest about our relationship.”
He bent down and kissed her on the lips, his tongue searching her mouth. Perversely she wanted to suck it down her throat and clamp on it with her throat muscles. She was rapidly panting when he ended the kiss.
He remained seated beside her, one arm about her.
“Slave, there is one unresolved problem. You broke a solemn promise not to lie to me. I see that you laid out a paddle, so apparently your impending punishment was also on your mind. It’s been several hours and my anger has cooled to the point where it is safe to mete out punishment.”
“I would establish the minimum punishment for a lie at 25 spanks. I think I mentioned before that the number depended on the severity of the lie. In your case, you corrected your lie and admitted it, so this court is reducing your sentence to five spanks... on each ass cheek.”
Listening to him, Dotty rode a roller coaster. At first she thought she was going to get far more than 25, perhaps 50, or even 100. Then the bottom dropped out when he said ‘five’ which sounded to be too little, until he dropped the other shoe with another five.
There was a bit of confusion as Donald got up and got the paddle. When he returned, he crossed the bed, settled in comfortably as he rolled her over, tightening her chains, and slid his legs under her, lifting her ass into a perfect target.
He played with the two pert cheeks for several minutes, Dotty was quickly panting again. He deliberately slid his fingers under the edges of the latex, scratching with his nails as if to say “See what I can do that you can’t.”
Certain that Dotty was fully aroused and on the brink of a climax, Donald picked up the paddle and rubbed the exposed flesh with the knobby side. The knobs dragged and pulled, displacing the skin.
“Count and thank,” was his order.
She held her breath for the first contact of the paddle. He waited until she unclenched and brought his hand down sharply. Dotty yelped as Donald admired the bright pink hand print.
“One. Thank you, Master. May slave please have another?”
Now where had she learned that?
He used his hand for the first five on her right cheek, and then switched to the paddle for the second five on the left.
He rubbed his hands repeatedly over her softness, savoring the heat, deciding that the paddle did the most damage, something to remember the next time.
“Thank you, Master, for punishing me. It was well deserved.”
“Do you still trust me?”
“Yes, of course, Master.”
He teased, “You didn’t get shot, or strangled?”
“Master! Please.”
“The archaic line is ‘Let that be a lesson for you'."
“Slave will take it to heart, Master.”
“Tell me, slave. What would you do if I suddenly, for no reason, hung you in the air by your wrists and tanned your hide?”
“Master, slave would trust you to have a reason, or, lacking a reason, that you enjoyed whipping your slave. Slave is learning that her pain gives her Master enjoyment he could not get in almost any other way. At the moment slave is paying the penalty for her stupidity, which is certain to invoke one penalty after another until slave has expiated her crime. Slave has no grounds to protest any ordeal that you put her through. Slave can only thank you for teaching her the error of her ways.”
“So, if I slap you around, train you to exhaustion and promise you a life of stringent regulation, painful punishments and endless humiliation, you will accept it without a whimper? In other words, a 24/7 slave.”
She nodded vigorously, panting almost too hard to talk, but she got the words out through gritted teeth, “Yes! Yes, Master. May slave come now, please?”
“You are violating an order, but yes, go ahead.”
Her groan of fulfillment rattled the window. At the exact moment, Donald’s hand slammed into her butt, harder than his spanking a few minutes earlier. Dotty shrieked as she broke into a series of climaxes that reached a crescendo as she fainted.
When she woke, she discovered she was chained on her back in a spread eagle on her half of the big California King bed. She moved slightly and a shiver of pain spread from her wounded ass cheek. Donald was fiddling with the bondage equipment on the side table, but he had one eye on Dotty and was at her side when she got her eyes open.
Weakly, she smiled up at him, “Slave didn’t expect all that...”
“Penalty for coming with permission.”
“Oh! Slave is not going where the penalty without permission lies. Slave is not going to sit comfortably for days, even lie down. God knows how much slave would hurt if she does it without an Okay.”
“As I was saying...”
She finished for him, “Let that be a lesson for you.”
His hand found its way onto her stomach. Moving up, he encircled one of her twin attractions. Gauging her reaction he cocked the finger of his other hand with the thumb and snapped it into the nipple that he was pushing up from below. He was startled, to say the least by her reaction. The nipple, already tender from the aftermath of a multiple orgasm, triggered a very unladylike bellow from Dotty who was still coming out of it. She jerked her chains, trying to reach him, to placate him.
“Slave is sorry, Master! Your slave begs punishment for her unseemly noise.”
He ignored her plea, his hand already squeezing her other tit.
“This time you know it’s coming, but you are going to be quiet as a mouse so that I will forget to punish you for the other one.”
She nodded in silent agreement, her eyes wide as saucers as she watched his finger position, cock and fire. She bit her lip at the impact, but not even a groan escaped her control. He watched her face then patted her cheek.
“See, I told you that you have control. You just have to learn how to use it. Always, always be expecting the unexpected. You mentioned my unexpected punishments. Instead, consider them as training. You will become a far better slave when you learn this."
“Thank you, Master for teaching her my slavery.”
“Umn, that brings up another point. I’ve been calling you slave, as everyone else has been doing. Technically, you are still training to be a slave and don’t deserve the title, which I know you realize. I accused you of considering this as a game, and while the accusation is true, it also really is something of a game. It is fun for you to feed your masochism by pretending to be my slave, but we’re almost at the point where you either take your vows, or we call the whole thing off.”
“Master, if we quit now, it will leave a gap in our marriage that nothing will fill. Even if slave didn’t want to become your slave, she would go through with it to save our marriage. It’s a small price to pay for our happiness. Our - your - my- happiness.”
“Once you become my slave, there’s no going back, unless there’s some life threatening event.”
“Once I became your wife, there was no going back, unless there was some life threatening event. It’s no different.”
“There’s a lot less pain involved for you in a marriage.”
“Men! Try childbirth for one.”
“Point taken. Still...”
“Any woman worth her salt will go through fire for her husband. ‘Slave’ just puts a name on what a lot of women endure willingly for the sake of their husband and their marriage. I know, you’re about to bring up the abused wives, but there’s a totally different drive behind that. Even there, the big problem is the women who go right back to the bastards that are abusing them. There’s a lure there, just as there is with the desire to be a willing slave.
“You raise a very good point. I never really compared the two, passing off abuse as a mental defect, as the lawyers would call it, but there are a lot of similarities between abuse and slavery. We both know that there are men who own slaves just to satisfy their quest for power, and the poor girl is perpetually black and blue and afraid to breathe.”
“I don’t want that kind of a relationship. I won’t deny that there will be times when you will hurt, but there will be a reason for the pain, and as we just discussed, there will be times when you hurt because I enjoy it. You’re welcome to call the cops if I go overboard. I know you well enough to realize that your masochism makes you the potentially perfect slave, because you will get more than enough kicks from almost anything that I do to you.”
He lifted one of her chains. “All I have to do is rattle this a few times and you’re coming like a rabbit. If I were to whip you as I’m rattling your chains, you’d be screaming for more and begging permission - way too late - for your orgasm."
“Master, please! Your slave is about to come!”
“Sounds to your Master that you’re itching for another megablast multiple. Oh, sorry. I forgot you are itching anyway.”
Dotty, on the inside looking out, was not pleased with his humor but she kept that to herself.
“Master, one of those a day is enough, a bit more than enough. Slave would be a wreck.”
“What if your Master ordered you to enjoy a second one the same day.”
“Master, slave would pray hard and hope she could survive.”
She raised her head and looked down at her reddened nipples. Against her better judgment she taunted him, “You would do it to your slave, wouldn’t you.”
Calmly he ordered, “The next time you have a multiple, for whatever reason, you will remind me to give you a second one as soon after the first as possible. For your benefit, slave humor or sarcasm goes over like a lead brick with any Master, so learn to keep your funny bone under rigid control.”
Her “Yes, Master” was very meek.
“All right. What would YOU like me to do to you?”
A mixture of emotions crossed her face, alarm bells going off, warning her she was stepping into a trap. She shook her head to clear it, ignoring the clamor and looked up at Donald. Watching his eyes with a forbidden stare she probed to see if she could figure out the motive behind the implied offer. He ignored her stare, curious to see her reaction, although he suspected he already knew what would come from her lips.
“When this first started, you said slave would have to specify her own punishment. Is this part of that order, or are you looking for something different, Master?”
“It’s both. I’m having problems with my ideas and your ideas, most of which have about as much effect on you as waving a magic wand."
“Master, with all due respect, from slave’s perspective they are effective punishments.”
“Effective, but not ‘soul searing’, 'I’ll never do that again!' branded on your memory, that kind of punishments.”
Dotty grimaced. He was right, smugly right. In a flash of insight she realized that she had just witnessed a major change in the rules, throwing away ‘games’ for good. Intent on demonstrating that she could follow orders to the letter, she opened her eyes wider and opened her mouth.
“Master, to answer your question, a simple answer. Make your slave beg. Make slave beg for everything, whether of the slightest or greatest importance.
“Start by controlling slave’s breathing. Make slave beg for the privilege of sucking air into her lungs. Train slave harshly, on command, to stop breathing, empty her lungs and wait for permission to fill them again.
“Make your slave beg her dependency on Master to control her bodily functions, to piss or shit on command. Make slave beg to be punished for having my forbidden period. Deny slave anything and everything. Even make slave beg punishment for my begging.
“Make your slave beg your chains, your whip, your prod. Above all punish any hint of insincerity harshly. Make slave beg you to fuck her so that you can spurn her. Teach your slave humiliation in all its forms and make her beg it ten times over. Slave defiled her marriage vows and slave begs to be allowed to make up for it in a hundred ways.
“Slave already crawls to your feet to kiss your shoes. Make your slave beg permission to crawl, permission to kiss and tongue your shoes, permission to suck your toes. Flail her with your cock until she begs abjectly to suck it. Then set her a nearly impossible task that slave must beg to do before she can beg to touch you. Slave must beg your semen, worship it as a gift to an unworthy slave, then beg permission to swallow, against orders...”
“Dotty, you’ve gone over the top. What kind of life would that be, where every sentence is a plea?”
Despite the opening he offered her she refused to leave the slave mode. “Master, your slave deserves far worse. Each time she begs, a hundred times a day, she is reminded of her crime. Every time she begs, her Master is reminded to continue her chastisement.”
He brushed her cheek with his hand. “You don’t want to let go of it, do you?”
“Master, your wife is an adulteress. Your slave will pay the penalties for her indiscretion. She bears that burden willingly, knowing that it will give Master free rein. Master can punish his slave in ways that society would scream ‘abuse!’ if done to the wife.”
“Sincerity. Ah, there’s a word. How do I tell if you are acting?
“Master, when you see her on her knees, confessing it.”
“Did you beg permission to rise to your knees?”
If she had dared, Dotty would have glared. “Master, slave was wrong. I would be on my belly, with my nipples and my nose cutting grooves in the floor as I confess that I was insincere.”
“Hmmn. That could be construed as another lie, again corrected. Would you like to demonstrate your begging for justice in this case?”
She lifted one of the locked chains and let it fall with a clash.
“I didn’t mean that you had to get on the floor. I meant for you to simply beg for the corrective punishment for a lie, to demonstrate just how much of a burden this would be.”
Dotty launched immediately into a plea for ten spanks on each cheek, explaining that five, while enough to make her orgasm, were not sufficiently punishing and that her ass should be sore for several days as a reminder, not just a few hours. She closed with a rehash of the plea, adding, “If Master feels that slave deserves more, he should give her more than just 10 spanks.”
Donald could hardly believe his ears. The treatment she was asking for - begging for - was substantially harsher than anything she had previously experienced. Her willingness to impose this brutal rule opened whole new areas that he could explore with her.
He slid back under her, tightened the chains by turning her over, after releasing one arm. “Beg for a starter.”
“Please, Master, give your slave the first spank."
“Chose.”
“Please, Master, use your hand... hard!”
The sound was like the crack of a rifle.
“One. Thank you, Master. May slave please have another... harder.”
She was sobbing when the paddle made its final splat. She cursed herself for asking for harder and harder blows. Donald was admiring his work, the latex framing two Jello-like red mounds. Dotty was unconsciously providing the motive power for the continual shudders, working her hips in a vain effort to reach and sooth her tail end.
Donald placed his hand gently on the hot surface, bringing a gasp from Dotty’s lips. When he slid his hand back and forth, she wriggled like the proverbial eel.
He noted in passing that her pussy was dry. She had not been aroused in the slightest, so her maso drive hadn’t kicked in, leaving her to ‘enjoy’ her pain without any inner help. He couldn’t avoid teasing her, “Having second thoughts about this begging thing?”
“I... slave admits... Yes. That was straight punishment, no thrill. Slave is not used to that. Slave didn’t set herself an easy task, but as a slave she had no choice. Slave renews her plea that you treat her as a beggar.”
Donald listened intently but could hear no hint of a lack of sincerity. She was either buckling down to it, or she was a superb actress.
Donald shook his head, not particularly pleased by the turn of events. He wanted her to recognize the boundaries of being a slave, but unlimited punishment, while tempting, would be more of a burden than a cure for her mistakes. At first thought, it would double or triple his load, meaning he would have to keep a constant eye on her and catch every rule violation. In a word, it would take all the fun out being a master. He could easily imagine what some Masters would do with a slave who offered this.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life listening to you screaming your lungs out.”
“Master, slave begs...”
“Slave, shut the Hell up! Not another word! You are on the brink of a major hurt, so can it!”
He waited until her breathing returned to normal, using the time to caress her swollen ass cheeks, materially adding to her discomfort and slowing her recovery. She would indeed be sore for several days. He made quick and dirty plans to ensure she did a lot of sitting, with lots of remorse.
“What else would you like to suggest?” ‘Else’ had a sharp edge on it, a silent warning to stick close to normal.
“Master, your slave has overstayed her welcome in your bed. It’s time to lock her in her short chains and consign her to the cistern for the night.”
Donald almost laughed, limiting it to a smirk. “In other words, refusing your Master permission to fuck you.”
“Master? Then why did you have them here, ready for your slave?” She was tempted to add, 'Or, do you have another slut on the string, that you keep locked up.'
“Frankly, they are here as a warning, and if you are thinking what I think you’re thinking I ought to lock you in them and hang you by your big toes for the night. Now, quit thinking bad thoughts and welcome your Master to use your body, rather than your mouth,”
As he talked he slid out from under her, turned her back over and moved her wrists to the headboard shackle. Secured, he leaned over her, locking her eyes with his, waiting expectantly.
“Master, your slave welcomes you with her body. Use it for your enjoyment.”
“That’s more like it!”
At somewhat the same time Slave discovered that her ass flatly refused to make contact with the sheet underneath her. The notion was overruled when Donald slid into her now moist pussy, pressing her into the bed with part of his weight. She cried out, bucking and arching her back in a vain effort to float above the sheets. It was his turn to taunt.
“Tomorrow, you will spend the morning with your bare ass on a wooden chair. There will be no complaints, no noise, no movement, no wriggling." She nodded vigorously, but it was more from the ramming she was getting. Donald lifted up on his elbows, fascinated by the bobbing of her large breasts. She had the sense to keep her mouth shut tight, already fighting the beginnings of a landmark climax.
The next morning she suffered the indignity of having to bend over and exhibit the damage he had done. The marks were starting to fade, giving Donald an excuse to add another hand print on each side, for allowing the bacon to spatter.
The Chair of Penance was one step away from a torture instrument. It was a featured item from a store that sold unfinished furniture. The seat was essentially a flat board. The kicker was the rough, splintery surface. Dotty searched his face for a reprieve, but she knew from recent experience that he rarely went back on a promised penalty. The fucking she got she was certain was intended for his enjoyment and to add to the pain of her sore ass. She made a mental vow to be extremely careful in her punishment suggestions.
The sitting was agony, with absolutely no mitigating factors. She of course was sure that some unnamed horrendous punishment awaited her if she moved in the slightest, taking his warning to heart.
Inevitably, she moved. One particular splinter had wormed its way into her skin. Moving made it worse, a double penalty as it earned her the rare opportunity to hold a 20-pound clump of chain in her lap. And, if any part of it reached the floor, well, she could imagine the penalties. By the time she was released she was certain the splinter had penetrated at least three inches into her and the chain had doubled in weight.
She was paroled only long enough to relieve herself and prepare lunch. She had to reseat herself before she could eat.
Dale and Stella and her two slaves arrived right after lunch. Dotty was blindfolded and had to suffer the comments and snide remarks about her flaming red ass. The doorbell rang again and Dotty assumed that the people who passed silently toward the other side of the house were her parents. The afternoon was a repeat of the earlier session, with the two slaves alternating. One significant change was made. For any act requiring kneeling, Dotty had to squat on an ottoman with a fancy runner with knobs and bars that irritated on first contact.
With new-found enthusiasm, sparked in no small measure by the painful ottoman, Dotty attacked the slave’s pussy with gusto, her tongue flickering at light speed. The unsuspecting slave was caught by surprise and blew her ovaries in record time. Dotty was credited with the victory, meeting one of Donald’s requirements to become his slave. The other slave, forewarned, managed to survive, dragging on her experience with the ottoman.
Nobody praised her. The victimized slave tried to kill her with a look as she was being promised a suitable punishment. Dotty was left blindfolded on the ottoman for some time, while Dale and Donald relaxed in the recliners in the living room. The two slaves finally returned from double teaming Maude, and a few seconds later Phil guided Maude past the living room and out to the car. Maude’s rump was as red, or if anything, redder than Dotty’s - a good indicator that the two men were comparing notes on their ‘educational’ programs for their slaves.
Dale had been tempted to rub in the fact that Dotty was scheduled for the following afternoon, but he had a hunch that she would worry more if he didn’t say anything. The girls would have a field day with that red ass.
Dotty didn’t sleep a wink. She was ‘used’ by her Master and allowed to remain spread out on the bed, keeping her sore butt firmly planted. Donald was a light sleeper, so her slightest movement would wake him.
Entering the beauty shop was akin to entering a den with a pack of female lions. They were waiting for her, stalking her, itching to get their hands on her. She made profuse apologies for her “Hair Dresser” tirade, barely accepted by the girls, who smelled blood. She knelt before the first open thighs. Stella walked up to her.
“We have a sorority paddle that has been gathering dust, so we’re going to call it ‘TIPS’ which means ‘To Insure Prompt Service.’ As you approach each girl, you will ask for one stroke with TIPS. When you have finished, the girl will hold up from one to four fingers, indicating her assessment of your service and the number of TIPS you receive. In the unlikely event that she is satisfied, she will hold up thumb and finger in the Okay sign. If you get four fingers from any of them, you finish the girls and go home for another week, with a fresh load of chopped horsehair to keep you company.”
A bookie would have had a field day with Dotty. She counted noses - nine - and even that number was daunting. She figured her chances of surviving nine blows of the paddle at barely above zero. If she got an average two from each that would be 27 and she would be ‘crippled for life.’ Talk about incentive!
Stella waited, paddle at the ready.
“Mistress, may I please have a stroke of your paddle?”
Stella obliged, a firm hit. Dotty winced, but remained silent. She bent forward, tongue out.
“Just a fucking minute! You didn’t ask for TIPS by name, you didn’t thank me and you didn’t ask Marie’s permission to go muff diving. That’s three you owe me!”
Dale caught her eye as she looked around triumphantly. He shook his head, motioning with his hand to take it easy.
Stella raised her free hand to her face, hiding the tongue she stuck out, from everyone but Dale. His face darkened and she reined in her plans for Dotty. The three additional blows of the sorority paddle were ‘almost’ half strength, but still hard enough to move Dotty forward slightly with each slap.
To Stella’s consternation the first four girls all raised the Okay sign when they had recovered their facilities. Dotty cashed in all her incentives in a whirlwind attack that wreaked havoc with the girl’s control.
The fifth girl gave Dotty the finger, waving it somewhat oddly. Dale rushed to the girl, shoving Dotty aside to get a good look at her. The girl’s vacant stare told the story.
“You’re on drugs. Get your things and get out. You’re fired!”
“Fuck you, you #$@#!”
Stella had two of the first girls drag her to her cubicle, dumped her combs and brushes in a plastic bag and had her out the door moments later. She pounded on the glass door, demanding to be let back in but the girls ignored her and walked away.
With renewed vigor, Dotty took on the last four girls and got only one extra stroke. At that, her ass was so sore that she had trouble walking. One of the girls brought in a spray can of anesthetic that helped immeasurably.
Stella was loath to lose her hold on Dotty, but she could see the handwriting on the wall. In a subdued tone she announced, “I guess it’s thumbs up this time. Right girls?”
Forcing a smile she turned to Dotty. “Your punishment is over and your apologies are accepted.” She handed her the key for the padlock that held her prisoner in its latex folds. “Tell your Master that he may release you, whenever he feels like it.” She wouldn’t miss the chance for that one last jab; from what she had seen of Donald she knew that he would probably put Dotty through hell before he would let her free.
She could think of a dozen things she could do to Dotty to make her earn her way out of the torture suit and she was tempted to call Donald and reel them off for him, but with Dale breathing down her neck she didn’t dare make any blatant moves that would jeopardize her job. She wished she hadn’t stuck her tongue out at Dale. He hadn’t said anything, but he would remember it. Given the circumstances, it would be rather lame to try and pass it off as a joke.
The rest of the girls clustered around Dotty, congratulating her on her release and praising her skills with her tongue. Before long one spoke up. “Dotty, would you teach us how to give head like you do?”
Dotty gave them a somewhat pained smile. “You don’t need me. Everything I know Stella’s slaves taught me.”
“Yes, and they taught her so well,” interjected Dale, “that she made one of them climax, against strict orders.”
The girls chattered about that for a minute or two and then Dotty made her farewells and waddled as fast as she could to her car, anxious to get home and get started on talking her way out of the latex. The mere suggestion that she might soon get out of its oily clasp renewed the itching sensations that she had studiously controlled. The ride home was a nightmare, more traffic delays and sitting on the rough wool of the cape brought competition for pain of the week.
A car jammed with teenagers made life miserable during one long wait. As soon as they spotted her, the windows came down and the comments began. One boy jumped out of the back and swaggered up to her window and peered inside. When he saw the rest of her latex costume and the handcuffs partly hidden in her lap, he shouted for the others to come and look. Helpless, she kept her head down, waiting for the traffic to move.
The commotion attracted people from other cars, but things suddenly moved so she was saved from a confrontation with adults who might recognize her attire. As it was, the teen made a comment which suggested he was familiar with bondage, before the line of cars she was in left them behind.
Dotty’s face was still flushed when she arrived home. She found Donald reading in the living room. She hurried to her knees in front of him, holding out the key. She had learned, so she made no effort to speak to him until he lowered the paper. He read several pages in detail before finally dropping it in his lap.
“Well? You are late. Why?”
A very exasperated Dotty was forced to describe the entire trip in excruciating detail, interspersed with incessant questions.
“Why was traffic stalled? Did you know any of the people in the teen car? Did you know any of the people in cars around you? Did they see your cuffs?”
Finally, when Donald had run out of questions and she had run out of answers, he asked, “Anything else you’d like to tell me?” (He already had a report from Dale.)
“Yes, Master. They released me.”
“Who released you, from what?”
Dotty groaned to herself. This could go on all night if he was going to be a bastard about it. Keeping her voice level, no mean feat, she detailed her release from the hair stylists and permission to be unlocked from the latex suit. She offered him the key, which he ignored for the moment. He made her describe the events from start to finish, asked questions about the girl on drugs and asked her to quote Stella, exactly.
"Tell your Master that he may release you, whenever he feels like it.”
She could see a cloud of doom rapidly approaching. For some weird reason the tip of her nose started itching. Donald had long since forbidden any scratching.
“Ummn, we’ll see. Meanwhile keep the key in your mouth. Swallowing it is the same as losing it. Tell me when supper is ready.”
The paper went back up in front of his face, an impregnable barrier. Dotty wanted to cry, but that too was forbidden. Ordered around as if she planned to eat by herself. She glared at the paper wall, fighting her urge to smash it. She resented his skillful use of her as a key ring. She could taste some faint essence of hair products on the key in her cheek.
She got up and went to the kitchen. By now, most of the oil in the suit had gravitated to the lower legs and feet, the latter oversized and deformed. The worst was the itch. Not even fresh clumps of hair had itched this badly. Anxious to please her Master, who now was in control of her latex confinement, she prepared him a steak, while she placed a square of tofu on her plate on the floor.
He continued the charade, making her wait several minutes to announce supper, but for once she was ahead of him, calling him while the steak was still cooking, and narrowly avoiding racking up a punishment.
After supper and cleaning the kitchen to a sparkle, she was called to take up station on her knees in front of him, a position that he pointed out made her readily available in the event that he needed a glass of water or some other errand.
She stewed for four hours, waiting while he finished the paper, watched the news and finally turned it off.
“I suppose you want out of that suit?”
“Yes, Master, if it pleases Master.”
“Your little caper was expensive. You of course are going to pay for it. Your Master’s time also is valuable, and the humiliation of having a wayward slave is going to be costly. Do you have any suggestions as to how you would repay me?”
“For example, what would you do to have that hood removed?”
“You could fuck your slave, Master.”
“Ha! Your ass, your cunt, your mouth are all mine to use as I please right now. How about something that isn’t mine, yet? And, that you wouldn’t enjoy.”
“Master, you can torture me for your pleasure. I scream quite loudly.”
“But, you are being tortured right now. That suit.”
Dotty groaned aloud, close to the breaking point. He held all the cards and she had two deuces.
“Master, your slave is in training. An experienced slave would know instantly what to offer, but slave is not that well trained, yet. If it pleases Master, do what you will with your slave.”
“Exactly what was it she said? Refresh my memory.”
“Tell your Master that he may release you, whenever he feels like it.”
“Say that again, I want to be sure.”
“Tell your Master that he may release you, whenever he feels like it.”
“Did she say anything else?”
A lawyer at that point would say “asked and answered,” but Dotty was under the gun, so to speak.
“That was all she said, Master.”
“So I have full authority to keep you in this suit for as long as I choose. I’d have to think about it, take some time studying it, as it’s an important decision to make. You aren’t much help, without a single practical suggestion.”
“Master, there is ample room in the basement for a torture chamber. You could do all the things there to your slave that you have only dreamed about.”
“My God! The slave has a brain after all!”
Dotty ignored the jibe. Responding would only add to her misery. She did indeed have an inspiration.
“Master, to satisfy your need to punish your slave, and slave’s need to be punished in order to win release from this suit, slave’s nipples are available. You can make your slave twist and squeeze them, pinch them with her nails, clamp them, hang weights from them, snap them with the rubber bands, do anything to them at your command that will make them hurt. The pain will trigger a forbidden orgasm if slave can’t control it, giving you reason to punish her further, or even deny slave release from this suit.”
“You forgot the prod.”
“Master, your slave will zap her nipples until she can’t scream any more if it pleases Master.”
“That sounds like a plan. You will be strapped to the coffee table, with your hands free and your head hanging down at the end so you have to do everything by feel. Orgasms will be strictly forbidden and each one will earn you 24 hours in the suit. You are free to do anything you think I will enjoy, that does not draw blood or do permanent damage to them. You will get permission for every act and any that I refuse will earn you a flogging, so think twice before suggesting anything too exotic. Just to make it interesting, you will have a butt plug stuffed up your ass and a vibrating dildo on random setting in your cunt.”
“Thank you, Master. Your slave awaits your orders.”
Donald glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late, too late to do this tonight. I’ll leave you out of the cage for the night, so you can gather the implements you will need. Put them on the coffee table and when you have everything, you will lie down on top of them and sleep there.”
Dotty sobbed once, viewing a long, uncomfortable night. She gathered her strength and carefully expressed her thanks for his instructions. With a pang she watched him go, thinking of her comfortable half of the bed that would remain empty for the night, while she spend yet another night in the cloying latex.
She slowly gathered her personal torture implements, ticking off a mental list. There was no rush as the objects on the coffee table would be acutely uncomfortable and deny any sleep. The suit seemed to mock her, sending wave after wave of irresistible itching up and down her spine, across the arches of her feet and administering a preliminary torture to her rampant nipples. Long before she had everything in place she was having second thoughts about her offer. This immediately made matters worse as she realized that she had neither a better - or a worse - offer to make to him to avoid her plan. She cursed him for his inventiveness and she cursed him for making her detail her own punishment. At that point guilt flooded over her, both for her adulterous act and for the curses she had aimed at him. She promised herself she would confess her sin even if it earned her another day in the suit.
When she had everything, she reluctantly laid down. As expected, sharp edges, bumps and painful corners conspired to keep her awake. Still, she was asleep when Donald came quietly into the room to check on her. She was lying on her back, head hanging down and her itching nipples peeping from the openings in the suit. He resisted the temptation to crunch his teeth in one, certain that she would collapse in fright if he woke her that way. There would be plenty of time for that later. As he went back up the stairs he enjoyed a mental picture of his slave pressing her tits forward, offering her nips to his teeth and tongue.
Dotty woke at first light, plagued by a dream that had wakened her repeatedly as a hooded figure mauled and whipped her breasts. She dreamed it over and over until she knew it by heart, only waking each time after she had been savaged to the hooded figure’s satisfaction. She got stiffly to her feet, feeling every object she had been sleeping on. The hated suit dragged on every movement. A wave of despondency swept over her. She looked down at the smooth latex, seeing it as her death shroud.
“I deserve it - and a lot more.” Her mind went blank.
Donald was awake, keeping one eye on her. He quickly recognized that she was having problems, which he chalked up as anticipatory jitters. He was in no rush to take her out of the suit. As he had discussed with Phil, who had already introduced a batch of horse hair in Maude’s suit, they were excellent disciplinary tools, highly effective, without any significant damage to the slave. It remained to be seen if she would live up to her offer.
Dotty’s eyes came back into focus, staring at her nipples. She couldn’t remember back far enough to have seen them flat. As a teenager she had been forced to wear hard plastic shields in her bras to keep them from poking through every top she owned. From the first time Donald discovered them hiding when he stripped away her clothing, he had fallen in love with them.
He had all but forced her to throw away the shields and allow her to display the nipple’s arousal, pointing out that she was telling every man she met that she was a hot piece of ass and telling every woman that she had more to her nipples than they did. Dotty had gotten red as a beet with embarrassment but she did as he had ordered and proudly showed them off. Actually that was one of the first hints of Donald’s domination and it drew Dotty to him like a moth to a flame.
Of course, Donald had to have breakfast first. After an endless wait, he appeared, fresh from a lengthy shower. Seeing him fresh and clean was like turning a switch. Every one of the millions of hair ends in Dotty’s suit stood at attention, and itched.
She gurgled in frustration, wanting to scream. He grinned at her!
“Bad night?” He rubbed it in.
“Yes, Master.”
There was no point in lying. One glance at her haggard, sleep deprived face was enough to confirm that she did indeed have a bad night. The thought of lying sent one hand automatically toward her sore rear end, demonstrating the power of the lesson she had learned. She blanched at his next words.
“I have a feeling that you didn’t suffer in silence. We’ll discuss it after breakfast.”
That immediately threw a pall over the rest of the morning, jacking up her anxiety level to impossible heights. He had long since convinced her that he was a past master at mind reading and she was sure, as he looked at her, that he knew exactly what she had said about him.
His eggs had cooked for ten seconds too long. The bacon was especially greasy. The toast was two shades darker than his preference. She had forgotten to put jam at his plate. He announced each of these faults, explaining in detail what needed to be corrected and just how to do it. He stopped when he had found fault with everything in sight and ordered her to bend over. She got four, two on each cheek, as he jokingly put it - putting some color on her cheeks. Dotty wanted to run and hide. Master was already in a foul mood. To tell him that she had been cursing him all night would be like throwing gasoline on a fire.
She knelt and confessed. She was nonplused and actually down right scared when he shook his head and said,
“That’s to be expected. It isn’t the first time, but you are warned that there had better not be a next time.”
He quickly changed the subject, “Go get a table, set it beside the coffee table and put your tools on it.”
“The torture chamber is open!”
Somehow Dotty expected a deep-voiced announcer, a six foot high bronze gong and eunuchs guarding the doors. To walk into a room with an innocent looking coffee table didn’t have the Hollywood effect. It wasn’t until one looked at the other table, where an array of little, tiny, big and small items were lined up that one would suspect the purpose of the sturdy coffee table. The coils of rope carried their own message, “Bondage spoken here.”
She was heeling Donald, one of the rare times she was allowed to stand in the house. While he knew that crawling and walking on her hands and knees were more humiliating, the slow pace was barely within his standards. Several times he had mused about teaching her to canter or trot on her knees, but something always seemed to interfere with his vague plans. Upright, she felt insecure and was glad to drop to all fours beside the table.
Donald stuck one foot out, raising it into her belly, directing her onto the table. She positioned herself, legs straddling the end of the table, her bare feet beside the massive table legs. Her body arched over the glass, just enough of her sore ass touching to add to her discomfort. The table ended at the tops of her shoulders, so her head hung down sharply, without support.
Heavy leather straps appeared and as each was looped and tightened, she lost more of her mobility, until just her arms were free. Donald spent a moment deciding whether to strap her upper arms to limit their motion. He decided against it. She wasn’t going anywhere as it was.
Given her nature, Dotty wasn’t about to go anywhere, even if she broke every strap in the throes of her punishment. She wanted to be punished, wanted to pay Donald back in some small way for cheating on him. If he had ordered her to lie on the table sans straps, she would have willingly complied with his wishes.
He lifted her head level with the table with one hand holding a stopwatch before her eyes. The lever clicked and the second hand started moving. To her it was essentially meaningless. They had never agreed on a time. Her resolve was timeless, boiling down to “As long as I can stand it, and then a little farther.”
With an effort, neck muscles straining, she raised her head, gazing down her front, focusing on the twin sacrifices she was about to make. Idly she wondered how long it would be before they returned to their current pristine condition. Brave soldiers, her nipples stood straight up from her lolling breasts, ready to fight to the death.
She dropped her head, regretting the sudden jerk on her neck. With a tentative hand she reached to the table and grasped a slim tube-shaped object. She twisted it in her hands, orienting the device she couldn’t see, bringing the thin end toward her left nipple. With the other hand she twisted the base and a tiny battery powered motor growled into life. The bristles of the tiny toothbrush head vibrated, jack hammering the long stalk of her nipple. She twisted in her bonds, reacting to the powerful pulses on her tender flesh. She pulled it away for a moment exposing a red circle inscribed on the pink flesh. The flesh, the rubbery coating of the nipple, was not broken, but receptive nerve endings were pulled to the surface, inviting the machine to return. Her deep seated groan harmonized with the little motor.
By feel alone she treated every bit of each nipple to the same driving force. Her body began a series of rolling convulsions as the pain began to stream from her nipples to the rest of her body. She slid the head down to the base of the nipple and ground on the joint between nipple and aureole, slightly narrowing the target.
The pain was getting to her, causing her body to bounce against the straps. She had never used her electric toothbrush for fun before. It had been a spur-of-the-moment idea. Even now, as the hurt built, she had no regrets. Actually in the midst of torturing herself she was making plans to use it on her clit at the first opportunity.
Every nipple nerve was excited. The pain was pure, overwhelming and headed straight for her cunt. Like Paul Revere’s ride, they carried a message of pain-induced arousal. Once joined to the core, her whole body was preparing for climax. She barely felt the butt plug and dildo that Donald had fitted in her, even when she felt the dildo shift its vibrator to full on. Her nipples were keeping her brain occupied and shutting out the good vibrations from her pussy.
She felt and found the heavy rubber bands. She looped one over her nipple, pulling it taut then stretching it almost to its limit, the loop choking her nipple in a death grip. She let go of the end and the rubber slammed into the abraded nipple, raising the pain factor by 10. She found the second band and treated her other nipple to the same routine. Did it hurt more, or was she expecting it?
With both bands in place she zinged both nipples five times in quick succession, repeating to herself: “Harder, harder!” Finished, her body fighting the straps to curl into a fetal position, she scraped the bands off her nipples with her long fingernails. It was the perfect lead in to the next event as she began to caress, squeeze, twist and pinch, burying her nails like claws in the reddening twin towers.
First one, then the other nipple were captured between thumb and finger and jerked cruelly to their full extension, held like a vise. Again and again she pinched the very tips, pulling them out, drawing her breasts into tight cones that seemed on the brink of separating from the abused nips. Like a dog playing with a rag she jerked her crushing hands in wild circles drawing them out to the maximum that flesh could stand.
Dotty was floating on the pain, lost in a fog of sensation, feeling every pinched nerve, every raw spot like a concert of dissonant woodwinds. She didn’t realize, already too far gone, that she was talking aloud to herself, rooting herself to greater and more painful tortures. She gave a wild cackling laugh and launched into “For my final act…”
She searched the table frantically, unable to find the electric prod. At last her fluttering fingers touched it, almost rolling it off the far side of the table. She squeezed it tight in her hand and stabbed its twin prongs into her flesh, bracketing her nipple. With a cry that could only be classed as triumphant, she pressed the trigger.
The cry turned to a scream as sparks jumped from the prongs to her nipple, outlining it in a halo of electricity. Dotty was seeing stars. She barely felt the hand that wrested the prod from her grip, removing her thumb from the button.
Donald was irate. Pissed. At her. At himself. The whole thing had gone much too far. He accepted the blame, knowing that Dotty was obsessed with punishing herself for cheating. He moved over to examine her nipples, preparing for whatever medical help she would need. To his disbelieving eyes, they were red and welted, but he couldn’t find a single break in the skin or a drop of blood. He shook his head in amazement. She would be particularly sore for several days and probably would try to kill anyone who touched her nips, but as she told him later. “It’s no worse than what a woman with a one year old experiences when he’s nursing.” He frankly had his doubts about that, but there was no immediate way to prove her wrong.
Dotty stood in her chains, forlorn and ignored, despite the fact that she was the topic of conversation, which turned gradually into a planning session. Stella did much of the talking, but making sure that Donald’s ideas were adopted without any conflict. She was an expert at advancing her own ideas by making the other person believe they were his own words. By the time they were through they had Dotty’s miserable life-to-be all planned for her. From what she could pick up, she would be a total prisoner, always locked up, always in chains, never allowed any sexual relief, always in pain, always being punished.
Donald took a bathroom break. Stella used the opportunity to stand in front of Dotty, twisting and squeezing her nipples until she moaned in pain.
“My dear girl, you are in deep shit and I intend to pile it even deeper. In the next few days you are going to be taught by my slaves to hate my guts, but you are the one who is gagged and whipped, while I am free to get off on your pain. There will be years and years of pain. Your pain. I can have an orgasm just from hearing you scream.”
Donald came back in the room, his face still angry. He assumed that Stella was checking her bonds and thought nothing of it.
“I’ll buy dinner if anyone is interested.”
Stella smiled. “I’d love to.” She motioned to a slave, who picked up a length of chain, wrapped it around the ornate couch leg and locked it to Dotty’s ankle.
“Stay!”
The hair on Dotty’s neck rose and she swore into the gag. Stella was treating her like a dog again. Helpless, she watched them leave.
Waiting for the two to return gave Dotty plenty of time to study her situation. She already knew that Stella was using Donald’s dominating spirit against her. Stella was already part of the inner circle and heaven knows what Dale would bring in the way of ideas to punish her. The point that rankled her was that Stella was sitting back and letting her slaves do all the work and all of the discipline. It was bad enough to be topped by a woman, without the slaves thrown in for good measure.
With a sob, she remembered that she had the opportunity to leave and never come back, and she flubbed it, too much in love with Donald to want to leave him. It wasn’t a question of money. Her parents had left several million in her trust fund, so she would never have to work another day in her life. Now, from all appearances she was about to embark on a life of abject servitude. Her only hope was that she could buy her freedom, but even that prospect looked bleak, as Donald had plenty of money and Stella also came from rich parents. She knew instinctively that Stella would never let her go and would keep her where she would live in constant fear of her whip.
She already feared Stella’s whip. Standing in one spot for hours took its toll, but Dotty was not about to move, even an inch. The iron on her body was heavy, but not as heavy as some of the sets she knew were hanging in the bedroom.
Stella came in, giggling at some joke that Donald had made. While he put their wraps away, she examined Dotty from head to toe. “Looks like you obeyed orders, but I’m going to whip your ass anyway, just because I can, and you’re helpless to stop me. I plan to give you a minimum of two whippings a day and as many touch-ups as you need for not following orders, to the letter.”
She looked to see if Donald was coming with the wine he had promised her. She lifted Dotty’s chin with her crop and smiled broadly, the smile miles from the hate-filled words she spat at Dotty, “You say one word to hubby about what I say or do to you and you will not survive your next punishment session.”
Dotty nodded reluctantly. Stella’s crop sang, welting her left hip. “You will not speak, and you will not nod, or shake your head or give any sign that you heard the order. You are a dumb animal from now on that answers only to the whip. Most dumb dogs can bark to answer questions, but you will have to earn that ability.”
Donald came in with a tray with two glasses of wine. He set the tray down on the end table and watched Stella, nodding in agreement as Stella sank her fangs deeper and deeper into Dotty. He felt a pang, still loving her, but that only aroused his anger again, automatically approving what Stella was doing to her.
“Dumb ass, Down!” If I catch you standing on your hind legs in the house again you will learn just how painful it can be to be whipped between your toes and fingers. You will crawl on your belly wherever there is a rug, with your nose and nipples dragging in the carpet. I understand you’ve already been taught that, but I guess it didn’t take, ‘cause here you were, standing up.”
“Where there’s no carpet, you go on your hands and knees and you always HEEL your Master or Mistress. You piss with permission ONLY and only in the shower stall. You will turn the cold water on and give yourself a three minute shower while you rinse out the shower. Same thing for shit, except you squat on the toilet with your head between your knees. You are allowed one square of toilet paper, but you damn well better be clean when I inspect you. I don’t want any shit on my whip - and you don’t want it either.”
Donald was still unconsciously nodding, but he picked up on one point.
“She’s not acknowledging your orders.”
“Because I told her not to. Dumb animals don’t carry on conversations with their owners. ”
“Great idea. Cuts out the arguing and the pleading.”
“Would you beg if you know your nipples get whipped first?”
“Only if it were an emergency, house on fire or such.”
“In about a week,” she predicted, “dumb ass here will be begging for an orgasm. She’ll take a whole bunch of hits just to beg for a climax, knowing, knowing, mind you, that I’ll laugh in her face and tell her, ‘Maybe next time'.”
That reminded her, and she dug in her purse, coming up with an ointment tube. She took the cap off and squeezed a small amount on her finger. Tapping firmly with her whip she ordered, “Roll over! Spread ‘em!”
Dotty felt a tear rolling down her cheek as she obeyed. She snapped the hobble chain taut, then bent her knees, exposing her pussy. Stella leaned forward and transferred the ointment from her finger to Dotty’s clit, with barely enough pressure to spread it out.
“Roll over!”
Stella sat back up as Dotty got her knees and elbows under her. She looked at Donald and winked broadly, pointing at Dotty. He assumed that it was some kind of hot pepper mix. As they talked, they stared at Dotty, waiting for whatever effect.
Donald was the first to note the slight rolling of her hips, which got steadily stronger. Stella giggled with glee. When Dotty’s whole body was on the move, Stella slashed the upturned ass.
“Stay still, dumb ass! You’re not going to come tonight - if ever.”
She handed the tube to Donald. “It’s Liquid V. Applied to the clit it stimulates arousal and enhances the orgasm. Right now she’s past the stage where it warms the clit and if she were allowed to talk, she would be begging for a Liquid V orgasm. It’s expensive stuff, but man does it work on a gal’s clit. Even dumb animals. It can be used for punishment, denying orgasm, by applying this several times during the day. The effects last for a half hour. A day or two of that and she’ll be climbing the walls.”
Dotty was in a world of her own. The first time effects of the ointment were so overpowering that she was attempting the impossible, trying to build on the warm rosy feeling in her clit, without touching it. Unable to move, she was stymied. Her mind was willing but her body was under someone else’s absolute control. Reluctantly she abandoned her hope for a climax, but the after effects of the drug wouldn’t let her off the hook. She heard Stella describe the effects and its use for punishment. She was already on notice that her next orgasm would be sometime long after Hell froze over. Given regular dollops of the ointment on her clit, she knew she would promise anything and everything for a decent orgasm.
Stella asked Donald, “Do you have a dog leash?”
He nodded and quickly returned with one. It was a thin chain with a leather handle. Stella twisted Dotty’s collar roughly, bringing a D-ring into view. She snapped the leash on the ring and jerked sharply. Dotty’s head flew up as she tried to avoid choking on the tight collar.
“Dumb ass, you don’t go anywhere without your leash. You hand the handle politely to whomever is taking you walkies.”
She swung the handle end, wrapping the chain around one ass cheek. “Works pretty well as a whip too. Then I won’t have to carry both.” She remembered an earlier conversation.
“You mentioned stocking the dungeon downstairs. I never got a chance to tell you that I have a big storage shed filled with sister’s equipment. I’ve got everything I need in my basement, so why don’t you buy what’s in the shed?”
“Sounds like a plan, but I don’t have that much ready cash.”
“You won’t need that much. It’s surplus and I’ll let you have it for 10 cents on the dollar. There’s about $30,000 according to the invoice, but you can have it for three big ones. You can rent a moving van to get it here.”
“Sorry, bad back and no lifting. It’s in remission and I don’t want to aggravate it with a lot of strain. I’ll hire a couple of guys to do it. I’d need help on the stairs anyway.”
“How are you going to keep them from talking? A rack and a whipping post aren’t your everyday moving job.”
“Oh, I can tell them that I’m starting a museum and the building isn’t ready yet. I’ll make you a bet they’ve seen bondage gear before."
“It’s a bet. If I win I get dumb ass for 24 hours. If you win, you get me for 24 hours.”
To her it was a sucker bet that fit right in with her plans. She expected to lose, and to use that to drive another wedge between Dotty and Donald.
The wine he had been sipping made him nearly trip over what he intended to be teasing words, “What in Hell would I do with you for 24 hours?”
“For one I give damn good head.”
She had matched him, glass for glass, so her speech was slurred, but the look that came with the words told him that she was perfectly willing to let things progress from there.
“I ‘spose you’d throw a hissyfit if I tied you up.”
“No, starting with the handcuffs in my purse.”
“Starting? I think you’re planning on losing this bet.”
She smiled broadly. “I meant the bondage. There are more chains around than the ones on dumb ass, I presume.”
“We just got started but there are plenty of chains and padlocks.”
She leaned over and whispered in his ear, at length. He shook his head at first, but she persisted and he finally nodded.
Dotty worried. Things had been going bad for her all day and two drunks in control didn’t bode well for the night. Stella took her leash as Donald went looking for the chain. She put Dotty in the shower and turned it on. Dotty reacted to the cold by shutting off her stream, but a couple of cracks with the whip warmed her enough to finish. She scrubbed the shower, then knelt at the mirror and brushed her teeth. Stella was about ready to take the toothbrush away from her, but lost interest. The three arrived at the bedroom with the two slaves, making for a crowd at the door. Donald had finally remembered that they had already fixed chains on the bed and they were sloppily coiled at the corners.
Stella sat on the edge of the bed and watched as the slaves squeezed Dotty and her chains into the cage, which was promptly locked. The large swing-arm was moved until the cage was inches from the upper end of the bed. With a sinking feeling Dotty realized that she was going to be a nose to nose observer of everything that happened in the bed. The next shock came when she saw Stella undressing, just stepping out of her panties, exposing her bare pussy. Dotty chewed on her gag, calling down lightning bolts and plague on Stella - and on Donald for going along with it. She moved, rattling a cuff against the bar, drawing unwanted attention to her plight. The slave picked up an electric wand and zapped Dotty’s labia, an inch from her clit. Well warned, Dotty subsided, continuing her rant in her head.
To Dotty’s absolute horror she watched bare naked Stella scoot across the bed and plant herself where the chains waited. Chains almost still warm from her own trysts with Donald. Dotty watched as Stella grinned up at her triumphantly, and then seductively clasped the lower chains about her ankles. She was unable to close one of the wrist cuffs, so she left it for Donald to complete her bondage.
Dotty was heartbroken. She was about to watch her husband fuck this woman who was rapidly enslaving her and taking over her household. With a thrill, she realized that her nemesis was helplessly chained to the bed. The dream of escape died instantly as she remembered that the slave had locked her cage.
She glared at Stella, who serenely ignored her. Dotty was puzzled that anyone as domineering as Stella would willingly submit to a man and equally as willingly accept bondage. Dotty had her pegged as bi- but now she must add switch, as she obviously played both ways. Her suspicion was growing that all of this was an act, but only part of it was alien to Stella’s lifestyle.
Donald was just dropping his shorts, displaying a rampant cock that ignored the alcohol in his system. Stella cooed, openly admiring his tool and as soon as he climbed onto the bed her free hand snaked out and gripped it, claiming it for her own as the rightful ‘owner’ watched from her cage in frustrated fury.
Stella gazed up at Donald as he loomed over her. She licked her lips as she begged,
“Master, make me helpless. Finish chaining me to your bed. Lock me tight, for your pleasure.”
Dotty was too angry to separate bombast and bullshit from genuine submission. She sent a steady stream of curses slamming into the brick wall of her gag. Stella was watching her out of the corner of her eye, actually gaining more pleasure out of seeing Dotty so pissed, than from her own love of bondage.
She moaned with pleasure as Donald clumsily closed the cuff, capturing her free hand. For Donald’s benefit, as well as to deliberately rag Dotty, Stella tested each cuff, jerking them to show that she was a total prisoner. She looked directly at Dotty, the look on her face sending her message of domination and triumph. By this time Dotty was ready to chew through the steel bars of the cage to get at her. It was not lost on either woman that while both were helpless at the moment, only one would eventually be released.
Stella snapped her fingers. The two slaves came to stiff attention.
“Attend us.”
The two knelt, facing each other across the bed. All was ready.
Donald’s attempts at foreplay were a disaster, but nobody but Dotty would be aware of it. Stella was putting on the big act, pretending that Donald was the greatest lover in the world and that the arousal actually generated by her bonds was all his doing. His hands were rough when they grabbed her tits, squeezing, pinching and slapping them. Stella enjoyed rough sex, so withstanding his attack was not a problem. Her clit was already swollen when his probing finger reached it and started rubbing with too much pressure.
Dotty could see that she was enjoying it, even without the ‘pretend’ look on her face. She grew even angrier, faulting Donald for never giving her that kind of treatment, something she would have enjoyed just as much as Stella was. If he had only done it, she would have been willing to do anything for him.
As Donald started to move onto her, she murmured in his ear. Nodding, he raised up, took one of the towels waiting next to the pillow and hung it over the side of Dotty’s cage, blocking part of her view of the bed. Caught by surprise, Dotty screamed her outrage into her gag. If he was going to cheat on her, she wanted to see it, burn it into her memory, not have to depend on the sounds they would make.
Stella grinned to herself as she heard the angry, garbled sounds from the cage. Her plan was working beautifully. She fixed a look of bliss on her face and opened her arms to the limit of the chains to welcome him.