Directory

Tales 12

Tales 11

Tales Vol.9

Deep Waters

Tales NHSP 8

Challenge of Love

Tales Vol. 1

Coming of Age

In The Dark II

Breanne's Three - Chicago BDSM

The Society of the Golden Rose

The Silver Locke

Michael Alexander Stories

Choose Your Own Destiny - The Club

 

13c – Crossing the T

The leash in your hand pulls taut as you lead your captive across the dungeon basement while muted sounds of suffering come from the other two victims. You can’t help smiling at Breanne.  You know it won’t be long before Breanne’s whimpers join them.  You head straight for the T Bench, a device you’ve seen before but never had the opportunity to use.  Evidently coming to the Club on a slow night has its advantages.  Breanne follows obediently, the upper part of her dress still bunched up around her waist.  The sound of her high heels clacking against the stone of the floor echo through the room.  You put down the bucket that you’ve carried from the VIP Lounge.

When you arrive at the T Bench you see the sparkle in Breanne’s eyes.  She says nothing though, clearly obedient, her fingers still interlaced behind her head.  She waits for a command from you and is not disappointed. 

“Remove the dress and the g-string.” You order, sitting down on the T Bench, arms folded.  You sit back slightly, admiring the beauty of her body.  It is hard not to stare at her breasts as you study the gently pinched nipples, crushed under the wooden bite of the clothespins.  Everything about her is intoxicating, from the thick strands of scarlet atop her head, to the alabaster curves of her thighs.  Even the arches of her feet attract you.

“Yes, Sir.”  She replies.  Her red tipped fingers dip into the bunched up material of her dress and begins pushing it down over her hips.  An expert at disrobing, she manages to pull off her g-string at the same time, sending it all downward to the floor.  She steps out of it elegantly, as if she practiced it a million times and you realize that she probably has.  She is shaven clean, nothing but pink petals surrounding a dark crevasse.  Standing up, you motion toward the bench.  She is evidently familiar with the device and quickly straddles the padded leather plank, placing her feet down at the far end.

She lifts her arms above her head, a graceful movement that encourages you to quickly clip the leather bondage cuffs to the restraint chain anchored to the top of the bench.  You run your fingers down her body, flicking lightly the small wooden clamps on her breasts.  Your fingertips move down her belly, and then over her mons, actually sliding through the incredibly damp petals of her sex, all the way down her right leg, touching the inside of her thigh until you caress the inside of her foot.  She twitches slightly and you reach out to the far ends of the cross piece and grab hold of the small silver clip on each end.  A quick pull releases the steel cables and you can hear the crank winch beneath you chatter.  It takes you only seconds to attach the clips to the steel loops embedded in her ankle cuffs and you kneel slightly, hands reaching down to the winch.

The steel clatter of the winch pulling the cables taut fills your ears and you watch in delight as Breanne’s legs are slowly spread.  Her torso begins to slide down the bench, the spreading petals of her flower getting closer and closer to you.  Her arms are pulled taut and then the spring loaded pulley at the top of the bench gives way, allowing Breanne to slide even closer to the T of the bench.  She lets out a groan as her thighs ripple.  Let no one say that sex slaves aren’t limber.  You turn the winch a few more times, spreading her even farther until her legs match the position of the bench itself, spread wide, doing the splits, her pussy gaping open only inches from your mouth.

You can’t help it, being so close, and you lean in, running your tongue along the entire length of her cunt.  She gasps, her hips trying to thrust and roll, but unable to complete the maneuver due to the strain on her legs.  You suckle her clit, drawing it into your mouth and stabbing at it with your tongue.  The motion sends paroxysms of delight through her, a fitting start to what promises to be a painful session.  Sated for the moment, you stand up and move to one of the side tables.  An assortment of toys and tools lie waiting for you and your hands lightly touch the large assortment of whips, saps, and thin wooden canes lying upon the table.  The selection of vibrators is also impressive and you start off by selecting a pre-packed cellophane wrapped vibrating bullet from the pile. 

Each sex toy used at the Club is purchased by the user, and goes home with the girl.  You know from experience that the cost is minimal, especially compared to the girl herself, and each comes with fresh batteries.  Not a bad deal.  You bring it over to Breanne and show it to her.  You activate it, feeling it shake in your hand.  Pressing it to her clit elicits another sexual moan and you rub it back and forth across her sex, moving it out to her thighs momentarily before bringing it back.  When you see the tremors move through her loins you slide it downward, lubricating it in the luscious juices of her torment.  Then you push it in deep.  She arches her back as she accepts the penetration, closing her eyes in pleasure.

You leave the small control box on the floor, a thin wire connecting it through the wet folds of her sex.  A quick return to the table nets you a decent multi-strand whip, a cat-o-nine-tails, that looks decently vicious  enough to get her attention, but light enough not to harm her.  You give it a practice swing, but Breanne ignores it.  Evidently she is so used to being whipped that she is unimpressed. 

You lean across her, looking her in the eyes.  “Do you think you deserve to be whipped, Breanne?”

Immediately she nods.  “Totally sir.  After all the things I do?   I’m one of the naughtiest sluts in this place.” 

You can’t help chuckling, swinging the whip lightly through the air, the strands only an inch away from her sex.

“Like what?  What have you done?  Confess to me.”  You whisper.

Her eyes sparkle.  “You’ll be my priest?”  She asks.  You nod immediately. 

“But no Acts of Contrition for you.  Punishment will be corporal and very real.  So unburden your soul.”  You command.

“Father, forgive me for I have sinned.  Every night before I drive home I put a fresh vibrator in my pussy so that I stay excited until I can get to my own bed and masturbate.”  She declares softly, looking up at you.

Your eyes narrow and the whip cuts through the air with sharp force, landing directly between her outstretched legs.

Unlike your earlier test strokes, the first actual impact of leather upon her flesh creates an instant reaction.  Her eyes open wide, her body tensing and pulling against the bonds.  She lets out a cry, face contorting as the explosion of heat and pain rush up through her loins.  You take a moment to enjoy watching her body spasm, her thighs trembling until the flush of heat subsides.  You wait in silence and she finally swallows and begins speaking again.

“I try not wear clothes when I am home, so when I order pizza I’m naked.  I’ve often given the pizza boy blow jobs rather than a tip.  He seems to like it.”  She says matter-of-factly. 

With a click of your tongue you swing the whip with exactly the same force and target.  The strands once again impact upon her sex, exploding outward and turning creamy white skin into a reddish mass of abused flesh.  Her clit is swollen, peeking out from its hood while the petals of her flower glisten with moisture and are beginning to spread, giving your whip access to the interior walls of her sex.  She gasps, her fingers clenching.

“When I visit home I use whatever vegetables are in the fridge as sex toys!”  Breanne exclaims.  “Then I wash them and put them back!

You pause for a moment in astonishment.  “Okay, now that’s just fricking awesome.”  You declare.  “But I’m going to punish you for it anyway.”  You swing the whip hard, aiming for her clit.  As the whip strikes her you see her try to thrust her hips, held back by the extreme positioning of her legs.

She grits her teeth as the wail escapes through her lips.  Interestingly her toes curl, even in the high heels, still delicately strapped around her feet.  You feel the urge to remove the shoes, fully intent on using one of the small thin canes on the soles of her feet, but you hold off.  The sexy shoes are incredible and you decide you would rather keep them on her for a bit longer.  You run one finger up the inside of her left foot, caressing the bit of exposed arch and you delight in the little jerk as you tickle her.

She jerks slightly but the tight cuffs and taut steel cables hold her in place.  She tries to smother a laugh, but one escapes anyway.  You shrug and turn back to her exposed loins raising the whip. You swing again.  Breanne’s hips bounce as the tears fill her eyes, flowing out of the corners as she cries out.  You can’t help staring at her sex, watching it quiver from the strain of impact and the need to close. 

“I didn’t confess anything!”  The words explode from her lips. 

“I don’t really care.”  You reply.  Four more strokes and Breanne’s thighs are scarlet, matching the swollen and sensitive petals of her flower.  You return the whip to the table and pick up the short wooden cane.  You realize that it is made of thin bamboo, perfectly balanced for creating long thin red stripes across alabaster skin.  It feels good in your hand and you step around the T Bench and move next to Breanne’s clamped and stretched bosom. 

She looks at you, tear filled eyes waiting as you lift the thin bamboo switch.  You tap it lightly against the wooden clothespin peg attached to her left breast, causing her to wince.  It bobs up and down in time with your taps, working her nipple round.  You move to the other clamp, drumming against it with the cane.  Breanne closes her eyes, sucking in her breath as the sensation becomes more intense.  After a minute you reach out and remove the clothespin, pulling it from her breast, leaving the distended nipple puckered in the cool air.  The other peg follows almost immediately and you lift the cane up after tossing the clothespins back in Breanne’s bucket.  A single stroke downward elicits another cry from your buxom bound beauty and a red welt appears, crossing both breasts directly across the nipples.

Pausing for a moment, you notice that your first blow to her breasts is almost picture perfect.  The line runs perpendicular across her bosom, intersecting both nipples dead center.  Her firm breasts rise and fall with her breathing, pain wracked sobs smothered between clenched teeth.  You raise a finger to her jaw, gently caressing Breanne.

“How did that feel, Bre?”  You ask softly.  She looks up at you and swallows hard.

“It hurt sir.  But I can take it.  Will you hit me again, please?”  She asks.

The cane whistles down, targeting the exact same spot.  Your aim is not as accurate this time and the rod creates another red welt just below the first.  Bre gasps again, back arching, pushing her breasts up as she pulls hard against her bonds.  It is so obvious that her body wants to close, tightening itself up into a ball, and yet is unable to comply.  That’s the beauty of bondage.

“Do you want another?”  You ask her, once more leaning down to her.  It takes a moment for her to reply.

Her voice is a whisper when she does.  “I want you to hurt me sir.  Hurt me and fuck me.  Do what ever you want to me.  Wax me, whip me, clamp me, fuck me. Whip me anywhere you want.” 

You study her face and see an expression of total submission, almost worship and you reward her attitude with a kiss.  Then you lift the cane and once more bringing a stinging welt rising to the surface of her tits.  She cries out, body jumping as it reacts to the strike, flinching away from the blow and then rocking back and forth with the shoots of pain exploding up from her breasts.

The three red welts are beautiful, stretching across her breasts like three strands of crimson yarn.  Moving downward, you run the bamboo reed across her skin until you tap the small clothespin still pegged to her clit.  She jumps again, except this time her hips only roll, prevented from rising by the enforced splits of the T Bench.  Her clit stretches as you flick the cane against it and you watch as the petals of her flower begin to contract, pulsing around the thick vibrating bullet you placed in her earlier.

You continue tapping the cane as the tip moves up her leg.  With deft fingers her high heeled shoe is unbuckled and tossed to the floor.  You can’t help running your fingers up and down her arch, softly.  Evidently she is not ticklish and just moans softly with pleasure as you stroke the soft middle of her foot.  Taking hold of her toes, you pull them backward, raising the cane and with a quick flick of the wrist, bring it smashing down on the very center of Breanne’s sole.

The tight bondage prevents her from jerking but the almost inhuman cry escaping from her lips tells you of the sensations rushing through her.  Another swish elicits the same response and you see a swath of her sole turning beat red.  You let loose with a flurry of strokes, lighter in strength but delivered in rapid succession.  Breanne lets loose a piercing shriek that even attracts the attention of the attendant, who comes over to watch.  He glances over your shoulder, examining your work, and then nods with appreciation before wandering off to check on the other couples.

Moving between Breanne’s legs you kneel down momentarily.  You glance down the extended and bound form of her torso, her chest heaving as she struggles to deal with the pain.  Your fingers find the clamp on her clit and remove it, causing another charge of agony to flow through her as the blood rushes back into the crushed nub.  You bend low and place your mouth on her clit, gently sucking the sensitive bud into your mouth, rolling it around.

What might have been affectionate, gentle foreplay is now sexual agony.  Already tender, her swollen clit is a hot button, sending mixed messages to the bound girl.  Pleasure laced with pain explodes through her, tightening her thighs and curling her toes.  She presses up to you, pushing her sex against your mouth as you hungrily suckle her clit, teasing it with your tongue.  The taste of her is incredible and you slide your tongue downward through the gaping petals of her flower, only to plunge as deeply as possible into her hole.  Breanne lets out another cry, but this time one laced with unfathomable pleasure.  Despite the hot taste of Bre in your mouth, your brain puts together the facts that Breanne’s torment is nothing more than icing on the cake, the last little touch of complimentary taste that makes it explode with flavor.  You munch on her until her lusty cries are near their peak. 

She cries out, “Sir!  Please can I cum?” 

In a flash you stand up, mouth leaving her clit and you practically leap to the small table next to the T Bench station.  You fingers grasp the sap and in two seconds are back between Breanne’s legs, smashing the thick leather down upon her clit with repeated and rapid blows.  She jumps and then lets out a wail, her body trembling.  The continued strikes deliver the answer to her question more certainly than any spoken word.  But as you continue to bring the black leather smacking down with wet slaps you realize that she is in the grips of a powerful orgasm, head rolling back and forth, her body exploding with the powerful rush of orgasmic bliss.  Her eyes practically roll up into the back of her head and you quickly pull the sap away from her pussy.

It’s too late.  You look on in dismay as Breanne moans, letting out a shuddering sigh.  You watch as the tension of your torments drain from her.  She goes limp, lying peacefully on the T Bench, eyes closed, with only her fast breathing to show that she just ran the equivalent of a hundred yard dash.  The soft illumination from above glows on her skin, small beads of perspiration dotting her body, while the three welts across her breasts only add to the beauty.  One foot remains encased in her black high heel, the arch of her foot accentuated by the straps and curves.  The other, bare and perfect, with the center of the sole bright red forces your eyes to linger. 

As her breathing becomes more normal you look down at her, waiting for her to open her eyes.  Finally she senses your presence near her head and she looks up at you, a mixture of dazed exhaustion and willing obedience crossing her visage.

Cupping her cheek you lean down and kiss her.  Tongues meet and you enjoy the wet warmth of her mouth pressing against yours.  Finally you break the kiss and give her a soft smile.

“That was pretty intense.  How do you feel?”  You ask, running your hands through her hair, softly caressing her head.  She sighs and shifts slightly.

“I feel incredible, Sir.  That was very very intense.”  She smiles.  “But I’m in trouble aren’t I?

“What do you mean, Bre?”  The question on your lips is pleasant.

She blushes slightly, the redness of her cheeks matching the three welts across her breasts.  “I came and you didn’t give me permission.”  She says softly.

“What if me striking you with the sap was permission?”  You ask, the emphasis making clear your meaning.  You reach up and lay one hand on her right breast.  She sighs again at the touch.  Then responds to you.

“Then I was lucky, Sir.  My mind told me that you said ‘no’, while what you did to me forced me to cum.” Her answer is quick and pert and you can’t help chuckling.  She gives you an exasperated look.  “I’m serious, Sir!  Good sex slaves are not supposed to come without permission!” 

Your fingers find her nipple and give it a gentle squeeze.  She groans and closes her eyes.
“Now listen, Breanne.  I punished you pretty good right there.  I have every intention of letting you up, taking you over to either the vault or the barrel, tying you back down, and fucking your brains out.  Now if that isn’t good enough for you, then you need to say what’s on your mind right now.”  Your voice is dark and commanding.  She opens her eyes.

“Good slaves don’t cum without permission.  I know I should be punished, Sir.”  She murmurs.

“And how should you be punished?”

She looks you right in the eye.  “Anyway you want, Sir.”

“Even if I put you on one of the tables and hot wax that luscious body of yours?”

She nods.  “If that’s what you want to do to me, Sir.”

You stand up and move to the end of the bench, quickly releasing the lock on the winch.  Breanne groans as her legs are released from the tension of the winch and you take a moment to unclip her ankle cuffs from the steel cables.  Her wrists follow immediately and she struggles to sit up, her limbs uncooperative.  You help her move, holding her as she unlimbers her cramped muscles.  Finally you help her stand, her arms wrapped around you for support.

As much as you think Breanne is right about punishing “unauthorized orgasms”, your own cock needs some attention.  Take her to the barrel and throw her backwards over it.  Then you can plunge yourself into her hot depths and release some of YOUR pent up tensions. (16a)

You decide that the Vault is a decent middle of the road option.  You can lay her over it, face down, and give her the spanking she so richly deserves.  Then she already is in the position for a decent fucking. (16b)

Breanne is right.  She deserves punishment for her unauthorized orgasm.  Take her over to the stretching rack, oil her down, and cook her till she’s red with candle wax! (16c)