BDSM Pt 1
The pert young girl had finally stopped struggling after an hour or so, arms now held limply in the air by the rope that restrained her wrists, anchored to the back of the indescernible strappy harness that could not be seen, only felt. Dozens of small frigid chains striped down from the collarbone to the abdomen to sting at her warm skin, whispering the futility of her resistance with small metallic jingles. But now the room was almost completely silent, as the only movements made at this point were slight jerks to avoid salivating all over herself from the gag placed in her mouth, keeping a desperate hold on the little bit of dignity an exposed woman might have retained in such a situation.
A twisting draft of night air hit her body from a nearby opening, hinting that she was not in an area with full closure. As her knees grew sore against the concrete, she realized the solace the blindfold gave her, the security against anyone seeing her begin to well up with tears.
The sound of a door cut the silence. After being blindfolded for so long, her hearing had already made up for her lack of sight; it dissected the sound of every mechanism within the door as it opened, and withdrew at the now seemingly-ear-shattering slam.
A figure was walking towards her, heavy weight in its shoes and at the pace of a casual stroll. Sharp chills grew up her spine, breath becoming noticably labored with fear and adrenaline... Yet she bit down on the object in her mouth to keep from making any noise. The figure was now within a few feet of her silent. She remained the same, frozen in position and letting the distress and anticipation of the moment take her away from more unpleasant thoughts that occurred to her.
With swift and unexpected force, the figure clasped a large outstreched hand around the back of her small head to force it down. She let out an embarrassed squeal as copious amounts of saliva began flowing out of her mouth, all over her body and the floor, causing the mans voice to boom with laughter.
"And here I thought you were holding your head up because you were being proud and prissy."
A finger suddenly ran from the bottom of her breast upwards, stopping to tug on a nipple. Using the rope as balance, she shifted her weight backwards to avoid his touch, ripping her breast from his grasp and shouting at him, the gag filtering her words into nothing more than barbaric animal noises.
"Oh, you're not prissy at all! You're being fiesty!" The voice said. It lowered suddenly, dangerously. "You're being violent."
An unexpected slap to the face would follow, knocking the feeble girl from her position leaning against the rope into a twisted half-turned position, her feet now out from under her. The noises of discontent and anger would now be subdued with vulnerable whimpers.
Her body screamed as the hand reached out to hold her thin, frail jaw in place, now unable to avoid the hot breath of her captor entering her ear. He leaned in closely, enough to feel the moisture escape his lips as he spoke. He was methodical, yet casual. Masculine, yet gentle when called for.
" You are mine."
The man remained motionless, hand still holding her head in place like stone, and let her begin to make rambunctious garbled noises in response to the statement. An unseen smile crept onto his face as she slowly began to realize her position without a voice.
She could attempt to cuss, scream, bargain or reason with him, but the device in her mouth would translate all of it into the same vulgar noises. Noises that he probably enjoyed! The impudence was as infuriating as the vulnerability, and in that moment of anger she resolved to once again shut herself off from what was taking place.
The previous session with him ended prematurely. Her spiteful nature quickly picked up on the lust in his voice towards the moans of agony, so she had stopped speaking, and stifled her soulful cries into unremarkable grunts. A moment of aggravation for him, success for her. It would be harder with the holed ball forcing her lips apart, but her indignation could propel her to a monumental level of defiance... Which is just what he had hoped for, and expected. She had caused trouble, but in the end of it all, she was nothing more than an insubordinate little girl who became simple-minded in pursuit of retaliation. And now, he knew exactly what to do to get his hands all over her brain, to find the figurative control panel to make her dance through her anger.
"Here is one of our toys," he said as he let go of her face to circle around and retrieve the pencil-thick, 20-inch steel rod. Closely squatting from behind her, he held it parallel to her collarbone and pressed against the thin skin without warning, forcing her to pull away from the cold metal and into his lap. He set his head against her shoulder, and began rubbing the rod over her slowly. "This is a cane. It is used as corporal punishment, and is different from both the crop and the whip because of its intensity." He pulled it against her with both hands on each end of the stick to show its unforgiving composition. "They are usually made out of a softer, more pliable wood, but this is a special occasion." There was not a moment between when he fluidly disconnected from her to step back and the first strike on the right side of her lower back. The pain was so much more intense than expected, and involuntary screams that were smothered into hiccup-like noises slipped.
"The thing is, I don't really know how much bite this has." He circled again away from her tensed up sides to give a stroke to her unprotected stomach, inciting a curt, breathy shriek that was better suppressed than the first. Yet as the red glowing strips of flesh multipled on her body, she became dizzy and frantic, now unable to tell where he stood, and eventually where exactly he was even hitting.
The sixth stroke caused her to crumple. She wailed tearfully for a moment before receding back within herself to clench up for the next blow.
"Does it hurt?" he asked. To this she began to grunt in a delirious manner, which while incoherent, could be summed up as a teary resounding 'yes.'
"I don't want to hurt you... That much. You need to be more careful, you need to let me know if I'm going too far!" Those words were so easily despised, yet were said so sweetly that they were a welcomed alternative to the cane. "Here..." The blindfold was lifted off of her face, concentrated light startling eyes that had not seen anything but darkness for close to two hours now. As she adjusted, she was able to see him fully lit from above in a clean white collared shirt and a simple pair of slacks-- much different than the casualwear he sported the day before. Much more intimidating.
"Now that you can see, I'm going to give you three more strokes." she cringed. "-- But, if you let me hear what you're feeling, I'll know what to do to avoid hurting you... Cooperate and they will be far more pleasant than the previous."
She deliberated under the pressure of the overhead lamp and his eyes, then sheepishly grunted in approval before wincing to recieve the next hit.
The tap she got across the upper back wasn't even enough for a flinch. Still, it sent a burning ache deep into her, so she responded appropriately with a small moan. The second one was with more energy. Swifter. Harder. She gasped and cried out, much to the satisfaction of the dominant who was now admiring the art he had made of her body. The third landed just above the ass onto pure muscle, and in response she let out a weepy squeal that lasted for many moments, her chest jutting out in an attempt to pull in the assaulted area. The rod clattered against the floor, and suddenly both hands were fondling her protruded chest.
"Look at you. You're nothing more than an animal, aren't you? You think that getting all tight-lipped is going to stop me, but you can't even reach 10 strokes with a cane before you're willfully moaning for me and showing your body off in such lewd ways..."
In that moment she realized she had been tricked, that she had given up the only thing she was able to successfully keep from him with very little persuasion for a reward like dignity or freedom. Here she was, a dirty naked animal wet from saliva, sweat and tears, on her knees in the prescence of a clean-shaven gentleman, giving him auditory feedback on the trauma he wrecked on her body. She wanted to play no part in his games, and instead was convinced to beg for gentleness within them without even realizing it.
"I look forward to what I'll be able to get you to do tomorrow."