 | Chapter 2 Copyright 2003 by Rod Harden & Alison McKenna All rights reserved |  |
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Preston led his slave into their private room. As soon as the door was closed, he motioned toward two pairs of handcuffs on his dresser. "Wrists in back. Then ankles. Then the corner."
His terse instructions were completely clear to her. As was the affection behind them. Preston sat on the edge of the bed and watched her. She smiled at him and took the first pair of handcuffs for her ankles. Tingles of excitement ran through her. She loved it when he let her bind herself while he watched. And whenever he watched, she knew he expected her to put on a good show. She turned her back to him and leaned over, keeping her legs straight. As she slowly reached for her left ankle, she felt her short skirt rise up her thighs. When she was completely bent over, she peeked between her legs at her Master. His dark eyes were narrowed, glued to her exposed buttocks. She could hear his breath, already deepening, growing raspy with his arousal. She took her time. There was no rush. With the cuff hanging open, she caressed the delicate curves of her ankle and calf for several long moments before snapping the steel band closed. Then she repeated the process with her right leg. As she stood, she dragged her fingers along the insides of her legs, slipping them behind her where she massaged her ass cheeks, before pulling her skirt down. Preston's murmur of approval told her all she needed to know about her performance. Still facing away from him, she smiled to herself, put her hands behind her, and closed the second pair of cuffs around her wrists. She paused waiting for Preston to make the next move. Shivers of anticipation ran up and down her spine. "Now the corner, bitch," he said, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Oh, sorry, Master!" She'd totally forgotten his last instruction. Immediately, she half-shuffled, half-hopped over to her corner. She bit her lip, staring at the blank wall, and hoped her Master's annoyance wouldn't turn to genuine anger. Behind her, she heard him move about. A drawer opened. A bag rustled. A box lid lifted. "Okay, my pet," he said, all traces of displeasure gone from his tone. "Turn around." Angel kept her eyes to the floor until she was fully turned, then looked up. Preston was still sitting on the bed. On his lap lay a pair of shoes. At first, she thought they were "pointe" shoes worn by ballerinas. But the ones her Master had were made of leather, not satin, and they had stiff inflexible soles and long straps that could be wrapped around and around and up the leg. More importantly, the shoes had heels, impossibly high spike heels. Unlike with ordinary ballet shoes, the "ballerina" who wore these would be forced upon her toes constantly. For weeks Preston had been showing her pictures of fetish ballet boots, hinting that he wanted his slave to try wearing a pair, but Angel never expected such beautiful ballerina shoes instead. "Oh my god! Thank you, Master!" she cried. Overcome with excitement, she started to run to him, forgetting about the short length of chain connecting her ankle cuffs. With her arms locked behind her, Angel had no way to recover from her loss of balance. She squealed in terror as her body flopped forward. But instead of smashing face first to the floor, she found herself in the strong arms of her Master. "I'm sorry, Master. I'm such a klutz." Preston dragged her toward the bed. "Yes, you are. You're a clumsy, stupid slut." "Yes, I am. Thank you, Master." "And forgetful too. About the corner just now." "You're right, Master. Thank you for pointing out my flaws." As Preston sat back on the edge of the bed, he let Angel slide down to the floor at his feet. She whimpered and snuggled against him. He sat silent and stony. She knew what he was waiting for, but hesitated. This part was never easy for her. "I- I should be punished, Master," she whispered. "Perhaps." He appeared to consider the suggestion as though it had never occurred to him. "Please, Master. Please, punish me." "What for, slave?" She swallowed hard. "For being such a stupid, clumsy, bitch." "And forgetful," he added. "Oh right. I forgot." He glowered down at her. "Did you do that on purpose?" "No! I swear, Master. I really did forget. I'm so sorry. Please punish me now. You can see how much I need it." "Yes. Quite." With no further discussion, he pulled her onto the bed and unlocked the cuffs on her wrists. "Here," he said, handing her the key, "unlock your ankles, then put on the new shoes." "Yes, Master. Thank you." She did as he instructed. She had worn shoes with very high heels before, but nothing like the ones she slipped into now. They looked very sexy as she wound the leather straps around her ankles and calfs. But she could tell that they would be no picnic to walk in. Propped up on the towering heels, her feet would be angled straight down onto her poor toes. She wasn't at all sure she could even balance in them. When she was finished, Preston inspected her work and nodded his approval. Then he pushed her face down onto the mattress and yanked her arms behind her. Angling her forearms sharply up behind her shoulder blades, he lashed them into place with rough hemp cord. "Ow!" Angel tried to endure the harsh treatment, but couldn't help crying out. "Shut up, bitch. Or do you need shutting up?" "Yes, please, Master." The words were hardly out of her mouth before a leather wad appeared before her lips. Without prompting, she opened her mouth and let Preston cram the plug past her lips. It was attached to a leather rectangle that covered her mouth completely, and was held in place by straps that went around and over her head. "Hmmph," she moaned as Preston pulled the last buckle tight. He sat her up and gathered her hair together into a ponytail. After tying another length of rope to the base of the ponytail, he braided the free end in with her hair. Then he pulled her to her feet. Or rather, to her toes.
Angel and Sharae, Chapter 2
Angel squealed at the unaccustomed pressure on her tiptoes. She wobbled unsteadily as Preston secured her roped hair to the overhead track. Her arms, bound so stringently in back, were no use in maintaining her balance.
Her Master left very little slack in the rope to the ceiling. She could sway a little, but she wouldn't fall, not as long her hair remained rooted to her head.
But she had little time to consider such thoughts, as Preston next circled her waist with more rope and pulled it between her legs. He jerked it tight, bunching up her short skirt and splitting her pussy down the middle. After he knotted the cord, he pulled her skirt up even farther, completely exposing her ass and pussy.
Standing behind her, he slipped a leather blindfold over her eyes. Then he reached around, ripped her blouse open and mashed his hands into her full, soft breasts. His touch was far from gentle, and she squirmed against his assault.
She groaned and whined, but he only dug in harder. His fingers seemed to bore right through her. He pinched her nipples violently, twisting and pulling them, as if her wanted to rip them right off her body.
Tears began to flow from behind her blindfold, but he barely seemed to notice. Instead he wedged his knee between her legs, almost lifting her off the floor with the force of the thrust, and began tugging and strumming at her crotch rope.
She was oozing as much from her cunt as from her tearful eyes. The rope rubbed mercilessly against her clit. She moaned loudly, on the brink of coming, when Preston stopped suddenly.
"Oh no you don't, Angel. I can feel how wet you are, how close to coming you are. Not yet."
She groaned in frustration. Preston let go of her crotch rope and pulled his knee away. She "relaxed" back onto her toes, although it was really more like shifting from one discomfort to another.
Angel sensed her Master move around in front of her. She stared into the darkness of the blindfold wishing she could see his face, yet grateful that he'd completed her helplessness by taking away her sight. She stood totally open and vulnerable to him, without the slightest hint as to what he would do, and unable to do anything about it.
"Tell me again," he said, "what it is you need, bitch."
Through her gag she answered, "I need to be punished, Master." It sounded more like "I hee ooh ee huniss, affer."
He chuckled at her slurred gag-talk. "Why?"
"I'm forgetful," she said, making sure she remembered that particular flaw this time.
The slap came at once. Angel's head snapped to the right as she yelped and stumbled. He gripped her arm and steadied her.
"Yes," said Preston. "You're forgetful. What else?"
Dazed, Angel tried to recall what other faults her Master had pointed out. "Clumsy?" she said.
The next slap fell against the opposite cheek. This time Angel expected it, and kept her balance better.
"Yes, you're a clumsy bitch, too," said Preston. "Now beg for your punishment."
"Master," she mumbled through her gag, "please punish your clumsy, forgetful slut. Please!"
"Beg again."
"Please punish me, Master. I need it."
"Again."
"Master," she said, choking back sobs now, "punish me, teach me, make me worthy to be yours."
Preston grunted approvingly. She heard him back away. A drawer opened and closed. He approached her again and pressed a finger - or was it a thumb? - on her bare ass cheek. It felt like he was holding something in place against her skin.
Snap!
The sharp sound was followed by an equally sharp pain. Angel cried out and jerked forward. Her toes became pinpoints of agony as she stumbled about, but she remained upright with the painful assistance of her hair bondage. Her fingers clenched reflexively in the air as she steadied herself.
What was he using on her, she wondered? What instrument of torture could produce such a nasty stab of pain?
"Hhmmf!" she moaned.
Again, she felt his thumb on her. This time it rested on her left ass cheek. This time, she knew what to expect, but the stinging pain was just as bad as the first time.
Preston repeated the torment of her ass, alternating cheeks several times, then began to move the points of attack. He targeted her upper thighs, her sides, her throbbing mons.
When he held his thumb against her left breast, he asked, "Want to know what you're experiencing, my naughty little bitch?"
"Mm hmm," she whined. She was curious anyway, and maybe she could catch her breath while he told her.
"I thought you would," he said. "It's the latest in slut punishment technology. Oh yes. The very cutting edge of pain delivery systems. It's..." He paused and chuckled. "A rubber band!"
"A hummer han?!" she cried, incredulously.
Preston laughed. "Yup, just like third grade." He pressed the rubber band against her right breast and let it snap again.
"Oww, oh! Master, please st-" She caught herself before saying the word she desperately wanted to say. It was not her place to ask him to stop. He alone decided when she'd had enough. There was no "safe word" for her. She had given herself completely to him. It was what she wanted, but it wasn't always easy.
"What was that, bitch? What were you about to say?" he demanded.
She was permitted to ask for more, never less, so she knew there was only one correct answer. "Please... more," she choked.
"Yes, that's what I thought you were going to say." Immediately, he resumed snapping the rubber band against her helpless body.
She twisted and turned, wobbling atop her tortured toes, and held aright by the aching tug of her hair. The needle-like stabs fell relentlessly. Preston sought out every tender nook of her screaming body that he could reach.
And as always, his cruelty ignited her lust in a way gentleness never could. The slick ache between her thighs began to eclipse the anguish that racked the rest of her body. Her dance of pain gradually slowed, transforming itself into a steady thrusting and gyration of her hips.
She suddenly became aware that her Master had stopped. He held her close to him, his lips pressed against the leather that covered her lips. She felt his hand cupping her sopping sex. His fingers pushed aside the crotch-rope and thrust into her. She gasped and came hard.
She felt his warm sweet breath at her ear. "I love to punish you," he whispered.
She should thank him, but the only response she could manage was a wordless gurgle.
"Hush, my precious," he said soothingly. "I have one more surprise for you. The shoes were only first part. To find the rest, you have to take a little stroll."
He pulled away, leaving her once again perched precariously on her new ballet shoes. Gagged, bound, blindfolded, and punished, she almost forgot where she was.
"Go ahead, Angel," said Preston. "Just start walking. The ceiling track will guide you."
Yes, she told herself. I'm in our room. Next to the bed. With Master beside me.
She pictured the ceiling track and remembered the curved path it took overhead. She lifted her right foot and took one deliberate step forward.
"Good girl," he said. "Keep going."
She took another hesitant step. Then another. Her toes and ankles protested with each move, but she persisted. She could do it, if her Master wanted her to.
A change in the pull on her hair told her she had come to the first turn of the track. She turned in the direction of the tug and continued. She began to cry again from the pain. One step at a time, she told herself.
Preston encouraged her with soft words and occasional smacks on the ass. "That's my girl," he cooed. Then, smack!
Angel squealed and kept going. She didn't have much farther to go. She negotiated the last turn and headed into the last stretch. It was getting easier to walk on the extreme heels. By the last few steps, it felt almost normal.
Finally, she felt her hair being pulled straight back and she knew she was at the end of the track.
Preston stood behind her and began to remove her blindfold. "I'm so proud of you," he said.
"Hank oo, haffer," she mumbled, trying to say "thank you, Master."
She blinked in the sudden light of the room.
He stood in front of her holding a small square box. Jewelry? she thought.
"This is the other part of the surprise," he said. He opened the hinged jewelry box. Inside was a ring with a single, huge diamond setting. She looked from the ring to her Master's face. He was beaming. "I'm going to marry you, Angel."
Whatever she tried to say was drowned out by great heaving sobs of joy. So overcome was she, that she hardly felt him cut the rope from her hair. He led her to a low dresser and bent her over it. With her chest pressed against the smooth wood and her arms still stringently bound in back, she felt him slip the ring on her finger.
Then he cut off the crotch-rope and spread her legs. She heard his zipper and felt his cock bobbing and poking against her dripping cunt. He guided himself in, and fucked her fast and hard, grunting his brutal love deep inside her.
At last she was on the bed, gag and ropes removed. Her Master cradled her in his arms, and she drifted into a contented, blissful sleep.
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