Bondage Erotica
"Punished" a sex story by Kay Jaybee
My heart thudded in my ears as I looked down at my bound wrists. Tied with rope, the hemp chaffed against my pale skin. Experience told me that there was no point in wriggling to see if they'd come free. Our Master knew his business.
Clad only in a shiny black PVC mini dress, which accentuated my full chest and slim waist, I was painfully aware that the moment I was told to bend over it would ride up my backside, and I would have absolutely nothing to hide. Sweat prickled down my back as I faced the reality of the situation. Our Master had threatened us with this. We never dreamed it would happen.
Only an hour ago I'd been alone with Jake, touching him, caressing him. My brain reeled. Sixty minutes ago I had been happily bound. Willingly, my ankles and wrists had been looped together in gentle silk restraints as I was sat on the bathroom unit, my back pressed firmly against the slightly steamed mirror. A loving submission- nothing like this. If only we'd known a camera had secretly been in every room, then perhaps we wouldn't have been so surprised when we were dragged out of the house, and driven to this hitherto neglected space.
The hall in which we now stood had once been a theater. It smelled of neglect. The curtains were threadbare, and the walls were lined with old discarded items of furniture. There seemed to be a hushed buzz to the place, as if the ghosts of a thousand performances had been trapped within the walls.
In the center of the stage, an old wooden pony cart was being guarded by two tall dark suited men. They looked calm but poised, as if they were content to stay where they were for as long as necessary, but the instant a signal was given, they would leap into action.
The carts seats had been ripped out, and a thick piece of wood, about seven feet long and a metre wide, had been hammered vertically onto the chaise, forcing it to tip at an angle. The base of the timber slab rested on the floor as its top slanted into the air, supported by the carts wheels beneath.
Prior to its attachment, the wood had received certain alterations. Three holes had been bored through it. Two level with each other near the top and one lower down.
It was against this lower hole that the guards were now forcing a naked Jake. His shouts of protest were completely ignored as his penis was pushed into the tight hole, and his body was strapped against the timber. Jake's flailing legs were grabbed and held firm by the suited men, so that our Master could finish securing his chauffeur personally. Pushing each leg up at the knee, he was able to show Jake's backside off to its best advantage, before encasing his ankles in thin leather cuffs.
Jake's hands hung limp at his sides, all sense in struggling now gone. Bound and exposed, he was dragged along upon the cart to the front of the stage as the curtains opened.
I hadn't imagined the buzz after all. Fear and humiliation caught in my throat, as an unexpected audience's jeers crashed around the room at the sight of my trapped lover.
The Master stepped forward, his arms outstretched in welcome, and a temporary silence fell upon the crowd. 'My friends,' his massive voice echoed around the ancient space, 'you see here the penalty for disobedience.' His chubby arms and hands gesticulated as he spoke. 'This man and this woman…' (I found myself pushed forward, almost tripping over my feet, my face crimson with shame), '…have breached the salient rule of life within my home. They have willingly and frequently coupled together whilst in my employ and without my say so.'
I closed my eyes against his voice, trying to block out the multitude of hungry eyes that moved from Jake's prone ass to my waiting body.
He continued. 'As they are both well aware, no one who works for me is allowed to experience sexual fulfillment without my express permission, and without my presence. The punishment for this is a public caning. Six strokes a piece.' The crowd rumbled again as our tall barrel shaped, but oddly distinguished, Master approached Jake's confined body, and stroked his dark firm arse reverently.
I had been punished by the Master before. Routine beatings for the most minor of misdemeanors within the service of his estate were not unusual. My backside frequently felt the stroke of the black leather paddle he kept, reverently placed, upon a hard velvet cushion beside his desk. This was different though. This was ritual humiliation. Something miles away from the painful, but oddly bearable, stripping of my backside whilst I crouched over the centrally placed whipping stool in the quiet of his study.
I tried to blank out the voyeurs and concentrate on Jake, willing him silently to relax, but I was failing. The first lash produced both a bellow of torture and a bright welt across the top of his legs. I felt my own shoulders shake in fearful anticipation and sympathy.
The cane struck again, and then again. Jake's yells hadn't subdued, yet they were lost in the encouragement of the crowd. When I dared to look, I recognized none of their faces. Friends of the Masters I supposed.
Finally the sixth stroke connected with Jake's backside, which now shone brick red. Pitted lines marked his flesh, as bruising began to flush around the edges of the earlier strokes. I longed to soothe his body, to kiss him better and end his humiliation, but I could do none of those things, for it was my turn.
My stomach contracted and perspiration beaded against my forehead. The stickiness of my outfit made it creak slightly as I was moved closer to the cart and my perpetual ignominy.
Jake's restraints were undone, and the two solid looking men pulled him away from the wooden plank. I was amazed to see his cock emerge from its wooden prison hard and dangerously close to release. He'd always favored being in charge, it never occurred to me that this might turn him on. I don't think it had occurred to him either, as the confused, anguished, lust driven look he gave me illustrated all too clearly.
I didn't have time to say anything though, as the minders pushed Jake down onto an unforgiving hard wooden chair, causing him to visibly wince as his wounded arse made contact with its surface.
I knew how bad the next few minutes were going to feel, and yet I didn't struggle as they grabbed my shoulders between thick fingers. There was simply no point. Jake was still looking at me with a mixture of need and pleading, and I could feel my nipples harden, and my chest swell, beneath the confines of my outfit. Tearing my eyes away from my lover's groin, I allowed myself to be maneuvered towards the altered cart.
As I stood, mute before the wooden restraint, my Master came before me, and spoke just loud enough for only me to hear. 'You will enjoy this you hussy. I know you will.' I quivered at the quiet menace in his voice, and wondered if what he said was true. Always a submissive, the pain frightened me, but strangely not the beating itself. Yet all those people- all those eyes bearing down on my soon to be embarrassed bare flesh - would I really enjoy that?
The Master's thick fingers slowly folded down the top of my dress. My skin was clammy with fear, yet I still felt a momentary thrill when the cold air of the room caressed my hot chest. Ignoring the wolf whistles and cat calls of the audience, my eyes returned to Jake on his cold hard seat.
Image by Michael Manning available for sale at Obsession Art
Then I was turned to look at the cart. My Master knelt and, tantalizing the crowd like a true exhibitionist, he inched the hem of my dress up one small fold at a time, until at last, the entire theater had an eyeful of my rounded buttocks.
My heart thudded louder, and I tried to focus on anything other than my current situation. Again I failed.
'You will bend.' My Masters words cut through the audience's noise. I immediately obeyed, and put my hands on my knees.
Cheers and cries of appreciation greeted the sight of my fully exposed arse. The ogling seemed to last for ever. Just when I thought I'd faint from the affect of blood running to my head, I was ordered to stand. I swayed slightly as I moved, and one of the ever keen assistants had to hold me for a moment, to prevent me from losing my balance.
My Master had picked the thin cane back up, and was flexing it between his fingers. I swallowed hard against my dry throat. Why didn't he just tie me to the cart and get this over with?
'A few practice strokes I think.' As he spoke the audience erupted again, like dogs eager to be in at the kill.
I expected him to swipe his weapon through the air, or maybe hit my backside as I stood there meek before him, but I was mistaken. I squealed in shock as the fine white cane whirled towards my chest, and caught the very tips of my nipples.
He laughed at my ashen face, staring at me in an oddly defiant way, before signaling for my hands to be released, and my body to be harnessed against the pony cart. I couldn't prevent my whimpers as my newly abused tits were manhandled into the two holes cut for the purpose, and the tears which I'd somehow managed to keep in check, began to sting at the corner of my eyes.
After such a build up I expected the first stroke to come straight away, but I was wrong. Despite the straps being securely in place, I was forced to wait, the magnitude of the hurt to come slowly building in my mind.
Unable to see the crowd behind me, I was taken by surprise when a pair of greedy hands touched my rounded arse, followed by another, and then another.
As a multitude of palms and fingers stroked, pummeled, and pinched my skin, the Master's voice rose above the excited storm, 'That's it, examine my secretaries unblemished skin closely, and once I have administered her correction, you may all approach again and feel the difference it has made to that beautiful peachy butt.'
I was torn between disgust and desire as hand after tacky hand, some roughly male, some smoothly female, squeezed and poked at me. Many of these, not content to simply feel up my bum, sneaked a finger lower between my pussy lips, making me wet beneath their dirty touch; a situation which many of them found most assuming.
After an eternity full of damp digits and crude comments, the hands left me, and I was aware of the audience returning to its seat. Quietness settled on the room, and after several tense minutes, during which my nerves were stretched to the limit, the first strike finally hit.
Tears blasted from my eyes as the Master brought the whip down against the tender underside of my buttocks. He barely paused before he struck again, this time across the very top of my cleft.
I screamed out, yelled, begged for him to take pity, but he simply laughed and brought down his weapon again, the new lash scorching my body.
Three lashes to go. Just three. If only I could have concentrated, but I couldn't, and I pleaded and begged faster now. The wait had been too long, just as the Master had intended it should be.
'You are begging a little too often girl,' His voice was harsh, but dripped with satisfaction as he pointed towards Jake, 'your lover there didn't complain so piteously.'
'But Sir,' I implored him directly now, the burning was searing me beyond endurance.
'No buts! Another sound from you and I shall increase the number of blows,' he paused, 'in fact, I think I will anyway- you deserve extra attention. I think you'll enjoy it!'
The crowd whooped as my breath caught in my throat. A blow struck my right cheek, closely followed by another against my left. I was all too aware that there were still at least two more to come. Screwing up my eyes, I concentrated all my energies into clenching my jaw shut, but still I couldn't prevent mewls of agony escaping my mouth.
He paused then; I have no idea why, probably just to make my situation even worse. I imagined Jake sat watching me. I wondered if he was still aroused, and if we'd manage to sneak off and make ourselves feel better later. Even as I lay there, prostrate and open to assault, my breathing ragged, waiting for the next sting, I was surprised at myself.
Wasn't that sort of thinking what had got us into this mess in the first place?
Just as I'd decided that my Master really had taken pity on me, the next strike hit the very center of my crevice, causing me to howl like never before. Then, with cruelly aimed accuracy, he laid another strike onto exactly the same spot, and then another, and again.
The pain was so incredible that the wind was taken from my body. I couldn't shout, I couldn't say anything. I was in shock, agonizingly, throbbing, mind-numbingly shock.
I had no chance to recover though, for the instant he dropped the cane, the Master invited the audience back onto the stage. One at a time, I felt hot impatient hands trail fingers along my wounded posterior. I flinched and whined beneath the touch as their sweaty palms felt like salt in my wounds.
Yet, despite the discomfort which effused my battered flesh, I couldn't help feeling a treacherous shudder of desire as all the unpredictable digits probed me. Once they were done, I heard a triumphant shout from my Master. 'As I suspected,' he slid a finger between my legs, 'the girl is wet, turned on by her chastisement. A total wanton in fact.'
I cringed, knowing in my heart his words were true, as I felt myself unfastened and peeled away from the hard wooden surface.
Jake was still sat on the chair, his cock proud before him. He'd obvious enjoyed my correction as much as the invited audience. I looked at him, and the shame that had filled me diminished in the face of his lust.
Our Master was beckoning Jake to stand now, and he did as he was told with surprising speed. 'Bend.' Jake complied, showing the members of the auditorium his battered arse. Then the Master ordered me, 'Next to him. Bend'
Together we touched our toes, our wounds on display, no longer caring as we felt the electricity of sexual tension pulsating between us. The Master smoothed his hands over both our backsides, before easing his hands between our legs, grasping Jake's dick and fingering my cunt. I shivered at the touch, rough and sharp, but as necessary to me as my next breath.
'Now,' the Master addressed the room, whipping the occupants up into further frenzied states of arousal, 'would you like to see the finale?'
The crowd, who had abandoned their seats in favor of bunching together at the front of the stage, jostled for the best view, howls and jeers reached a crescendo, as Jake was pushed back roughly onto his chair. Then I was lifted up bodily and sat astride him, my slippery pussy pulled open with thick fingers so it could engulf Jake's cock.
Jake's hairy legs rubbed like sand paper against my sore arse as we pumped against each other. I didn't care though. Nothing mattered but the delicious sensations of pleasure which began to swamp our dishonorable pain… except perhaps… when Jake and I might manage to get ourselves caught again…
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Copyright April 2008, Kay Jaybee
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.