Saturday Afternoon
As I stepped out of the shower, I saw my reflection in the mirror. I
looked my breasts and belly, turned and looked at my back. The skin was lightly
bronzed and flawless, as it should be, given the time I spend on my body. Then
it hit me, what would it be like in a few hours time? My stomach knotted with
fear and my pulse began to race. The only way I can get through this is to
pretend it's not happening.
I dry myself off, trying to keep the fear boxed away at the back of
my head. I apply deodorant and talc. Why am I doing this when all they will do
is hurt me? Again the stomach churning fear grips me and I start to tremble.
Control yourself, you're twenty-eight years old, you should be able to do this.
I go into the bedroom, put on plain cotton panties and a white bra followed by a
pair of loose fawn slacks and a light blue sweater, sandals, the weather is
warm. Jewellery? No, just the watch. Time? Probably too early but as I haven't
made the journey before I had better leave plenty of time. Pick up the
directions I was given and the car keys. On the bed sits the teddy I was given
as a child, I stoke his head and try to gain courage from the presence of my old
friend. A deep breath and out of the flat and down to the car.
As I cross the pavement an old lady with two shopping bags nods at me
with a shy smile. What would her reaction be if I were to tell her that I am on
my way to be whipped and beaten? STOP IT. Into the car and off through the
suburbs and out into the country, following the route he gave me. Despite the
Saturday traffic of families out shopping and the fans on the way to the match
it's not long before I turn off the highway onto the quiet road from which his
house stands back, according to my instructions. I drive along the road,
glancing down at the sheet of paper, yes, that's right, "The Crown", half a mile
further on the left, "Tithe Barn Farm" another half mile, a bend, sign on the
right "Glebe House" long drive, serious money, his car parked outside plus one
more. Glance at the clock, far too early, knew I would be. Don't need to do this
really, can just drive off and take the consequences. Who am I kidding? Another
hundred yards and a field gate, reverse in, shall I go back to the pub for a
drink? Best not, turn off the engine and wait.
Now I have nothing to occupy me my mind goes back, if only. Read
somewhere that those are the saddest words in the language, they are for me. If
only there hadn't been that glitch on the money transfer, if only I'd done as I
should have and borrowed the cash instead of transferring it from the clients'
account. If only.
Mum had called me and asked if there was any chance I could loan them
$10,000 to finance an operation for Dad. I knew there was little chance of me
getting the money back but they've been very good to me so how could I refuse?
The offshore account was doing well out of my salary as an account exec. So no
problem. One slight hitch, there was a cancellation on the surgeons list and if
Dad got it right away it would save him a lot of pain.
OK, transfer from the offshore will take a couple of days, I'll
borrow from the bank and pay them back by the transfer. Hang on, the clients
account is awash with money, less trouble to just shove some of that across and
then replenish from the OS. Right. Phone to the bank, text the OS, ring Mum,"
It's in your account ". "Thank you so much darling daddie will be so relieved"
some more family gossip and back to work.
Two days later, the clients account is still down $10,000. Phone the
OS "Sorry miss, we have no record of your request". What the hell are these
guys playing at? Go ballistic down the phone. "I need that money here today"
"Sorry miss, it will still take two days". "It's your damn fault it's not here
now". "Be that as it may, and I do not admit it, our system does not allow
transfers in less than two days" "What idiot designed your system?" Losing your
temper will do no good". He's right of course and the way people look after
things in this firm I could take all $376,000 out of the clients account and no
one would know. "OK do your best"
Later that day, a message on the internal email. "Would you pop up
and see me before the end of the day. Michael Latimer" The Chief Accountant,
great, what does he want? Could it be? No, the guy couldn't find his rear with
two hands, an atlas and a GPS. Bit creepy though, I've seen him watching me at
one or two meetings with a strange expression on his face. Most men tend to give
me a good old-fashioned lecherous look but he has an odd way with him. Phone his
secretary, I've met her once or twice, "No idea what he wants but the diary is
free at 1630". OK I'll be there
As I walk into his office my heart starts racing and my stomach seems
to come up into my throat as I see the printout on his desk and his light blue
eyes come up to meet mine with an expression which looks like triumph. "There
seems to be a discrepancy in your client account Miss Miles". My heart tries to
break out through my ribs. As I sit in the car now I feel a trickle of sweat run
down my side at the memory. "I don't know what you mean.." but he cuts me off
with a wave of his white hand." I'm sure we are both adult enough not to indulge
in verbal fencing which has no purpose. You transferred ten thousand pounds from
your clients account to this account". With that he pushed a piece of paper
across the desk and sure enough, there was the number of my parents account.
My mind was in turmoil, what should I do? Brazen it out? Cite a
mistake? I have seriously underestimated this man. I decide to try the truth but
to play it with the feminine touch, if you've got it, use it. I tell him the
whole story, stressing the need for Dads operation, the mistake by the bank and
the fact that the money will be returned the day after tomorrow.
I even squeeze out a discreet little tear to show my contrition. He
listens in complete silence and I begin to hope. There is a pause after I finish
my story, his eyes come up again and I know my best was not good enough. "You
are aware, are you not, of the firms policy which insists that all client money
is inviolate and must be used for no other purpose than the fulfilment of our
duty to the client?" Of course I do. I lower my eyes, "Yes". "And you are also
aware that my only course of action is to report this to the board and order you
to leave the building as soon as you have cleared your desk?" "But..." "I am
speaking" something died inside me when I heard his tone. I had VERY seriously
underestimated this man. You will also receive no reference and the details will
be discreetly forwarded through the industry". I started to cry in earnest then,
eight years work gone for nothing, I would not get another job of any
significance and all because the bank got it wrong.
A long pause during which I managed to control my tears, he then
surprised me by pushing a box of tissues across the desk. "Dry your eyes, a
woman crying for nothing is a distressing sight" Crying for nothing? This man
has just sent my entire life down the tube and he calls it nothing.
"However" my heart skips a few more beats, I have done good work for
the company and my present stuff is making the client very happy. Maybe he will
give me another chance.
"I have money in the firm and know of your record. You deserve to be
punished, of that there is no doubt but I have a proposition which you may wish
to consider" The expression on my face must have shown him of the hope I felt.
"I will be honest with you as you were with me, it will save time. I
have a certain interest in seeing young women being beaten and as you have
transgressed that would serve a dual purpose in your case. I normally employ
young prostitutes who are willing to be beaten for a fee, it will be interesting
to have an intelligent young woman through no choice of her own My brain goes
into overdrive, can this guy be suggesting that I, at the age of twenty-eight,
am spanked like a school girl?. Anger kicks in. "That's the filthiest thing
anyone has said to me. "If you think I am going to be the object of your sick
fantasies you have another think coming" "Very well" he pushed a button on his
phone, "Security please"
Again the brain went into top gear, to be spanked would be
humiliating but my job could not be replaced. What would my family think? As I
had only done this for their sakes my parents would feel guilty for the rest of
their lives. To cater to a pervert was wrong but how would I live? My hand
involuntarily raised. "Security? Latimer here, sorry to have troubled you." A
burst of speech from the earpiece, "No, absolutely no problem, thankyou" He
turned and stared at me, his eyebrows slightly raised. Playing for time I asked
"Do you er mean you would sort of put me over your knee or something?"
"Definitely not, most particularly in view of your earlier outburst. You will be
caned on your buttocks and will be whipped about your upper body" Awareness
started to grow horribly in my mind." When you say whipped, what do you mean
exactly". He gave a sigh and started speaking slowly and quietly as if to a
child.
"You will remove all your clothing and will be bent over and secured
to be caned, you will then be suspended by your wrists to receive your whipping
and to save you asking another puerile question I do mean both front and back of
your body" Icicles chased up and down my spine. I hate pain, a boy friend had
once slapped me on my bare behind and he was out of the flat in twenty seconds.
If I have a headache I take aspirin like sweeties. How would it feel to have my
breasts whipped. I glanced down at my bust as if I could see marks there despite
my clothing. He noticed my glance and smiled a thin smile. I tried to bluster
"This is outrageous" I began. He again held up his hand. "Miss Miles, you have a
university education and seven years problem solving skills, please apply them
to the present situation."
" It's very simple" he continued. "No matter what you say or think I
have you at a disadvantage. I hold all the cards. If you refuse my request you
lose a first class job and your prospects, accede and you will have one
extremely uncomfortable session but will keep your job and your promotions,
should you be good enough to earn them, will not be affected."
"How do I know you won't fire me once I've done this?" He smiled
again, I was on the run and he knew it". "You don't know but as I see it you
have little choice." He was right there. So at my age, a fine education and
high paying job, I would have to stand in for some young whore desperate for
money.
"Please give me your answer now" Despite my attempt at self-control I
could hear the quiver in my voice. "Very well".
"Splendid" he actually clapped his hands like a kid being given a
present. "One thing that might ease your mind a little, I do not normally wield
the implements of chastisement myself. Do you know what a pro-domme is?" I shook
my head, too much was happening to me too quickly, I could hardly think. "A
pro-domme is a lady who makes a living by humiliating and chastising men and
women. I find wielding the lash makes me perspire so I hire one of these ladies
to do it for me. There is also the added advantage that the lady I use is very
experienced. I did have a case some time ago when I was, shall we say, over
enthusiastic. Cost me a lot of money" I shuddered at this.
" Very well, the details will take a little time to arrange, I shall
contact you in due course"
He turned back to the papers on his desk. I stood, dazed by the
events of the last few minutes. He looked up again, "You may go" a slight pause,
"for now".
I stumbled out on legs that seemed to have suddenly turned to rubber.
What had I done, if only....
The next few days passed in a daze. The money from the OS was not put
into the clients account, I got an email from Latimer telling me it had been put
in a separate account "subject to satisfactory completion of your contract, at
which time it will be credited."
I saw him at a meeting three days later but he looked straight
through me as if he had never seen me before. I could not meet his eyes.
Nights were the worst, during the day I plenty to keep me occupied. I
would find myself waking in the small hours to wonder what was wrong, then the
horror of the situation would break over me. That I was going to be beaten,
naked, by a stranger. (Would it have been different if it was a friend?) One
night I got up, and padded, nude, into the bathroom. I looked at my body, front
and back in the mirror. How would the whip marks look, would I be able to take a
beating without crying out? (I was determined not to give the bastard that
satisfaction)
Some nights I would try to convince myself that caning could not be
so bad. They used to do it to kids so it can't be all that bad. And the whip?
Other nights I cried for hours, the sheer terror robbing me of sleep.
After two weeks I began to wonder, had he had a change of heart?
Perhaps the fact I had done this only for my parents had appealed to his better
nature. Maybe he wasn't as bad as I thought.
Then came the email. "Will you be menstruating on Saturday 23rd.?
Latimer" A leaden ball established itself in my stomach, at the same time I
felt my skin flushing at being asked such an intimate question by a total
stranger....But one who was going to have me beaten.
I managed to get my fingers to type "no" and send the message.
Immediately I got another email, a set of directions to his house and "2 pm". I
rushed out to the toilet and was sick, retching from nervous tension until I had
no more in my stomach.
And so I came to be sitting here, two hundred yards from who knows
what pain and suffering. I look at my watch, almost time to be on the way. A
Land Rover rolls by, a blue rinse tight perm retiree in the passenger seat. She
scowls at me. I wish you were going where I am I think. I start the car and move
off.
As I approach the drive I again think, I don't have to do this, I can
just drive by and leave them waiting but I know it's not true. I have to go
through with it.
Indicator out and along the drive, pull up at the door, lock the car,
keys in bag. Look up at the door and wonder how I will be when I next pass
through it. I make the biggest mental effort of my life and tell my body to
mount the steps and ring the bell. I hear a footstep in the hall, the door opens
and a blonde woman stands there. She is forty to fifty years old, wears black
leather trousers and a black leather waistcoat over a simliar coloured bra. She
has some very expensive jewellery at her neck, wrists and fingers. She looks at
me with a level gaze. My throat is dry as dust "I'm er, my name is er" I stammer
like an idiot. "You are Miss Miles" she says in a contralto voice with a hint of
accent. German? "Yes" I manage to get out.
I hear myself continue "Are you the lady who".... My voice trails
off. "Will attend to you? That is correct, I am Miss Hart" Nerves tight as piano
wire, I break into tears. "How can you do this to people?" I sob. "Let us get
one thing clear" she says in a level tone. "This is purely a business
transaction for me. I neither like nor dislike you. I do not know you. I have
been hired to perform certain tasks, which I shall do to the best of my ability.
I should also add that in your position it is not wise to antagonise someone in
my position". I recognise this as a very valid truth and stammer an apology.
"OK" she says," dry your eyes and come with me"
"Please give me a minute" I say, "I'm so frightened." She closes the
door and stands beside me while I control my breathing. I'm surprised when she
puts a hand on my shoulder," I know it's very little help, but I am an expert,
you will have no permanent harm from me" Somehow I do even find this
comforting! As we walk down the hall my nerves ease a little, at least it will
soon be over.
The hall leads through to the back of the house, as we walk along I
glimpse a comfortable lounge, bright with sunlight and my heart yearns to be out
of here and back to a sane, safe world. A few steps more and we enter a large
kitchen with a big green Aga cooker on one side. I find a second to marvel at
the way the mind tries to take refuge in normality.
He sits at the table, some sheets of paper and a coffee cup before
him, another cup shows where Miss Hart had been sitting. He looks up at me. I
cannot meet his eyes and stare down at the quarry tiles on the floor. "Miss
Hart, would you care to do the honours?" he says. She picks up a sheet of paper
"You are Sally Miles, you are here today to submit to such corporeal punishments
as Mr Latimer and I see fit to inflict upon you. You will not be permanently
harmed. Is this correct" "Yes" I whisper. "Sign here" she said. I scan the
document and sign it.
"And now to the pleasant part, at least for some of us" says Latimer.
"Follow me". We walk along the kitchen to a door at the end which he opens then
turns on a light switch. The light shows a set of coarse wooden stairs leading
downwards. There is a rope to grip on the side of the wall. At the bottom of the
stairs is a large, dingy area full of domestic bric-a-brac, old fridges,
cardboard boxes, bottles on shelves. We pass through this to a door with a heavy
padlock on it. Latimer opens it with a key from his pocket and again turns on
the light. This room is smaller and I have a quick view of a wooden
construction, some pulleys and rope before he tells me to turn 180o and face the
wall in which is the door through which we have just come. Miss Hart follows me
in carrying a large sports bag.
I am trembling, my mouth is dry I feel sick and hope I won't pass
out. "Do we need the door shut?" asks Miss Hart. "No" replies Latimer "there's
no one in the house and as you know we have done extensive tests for noise level
outside" There is a gloating quality in his voice which increases my fear. "Very
well" says the domme, "let us begin. Take off your clothes young lady". I have
known this moment would come but now it's here I am petrified with fear. I try
to make my hands move but nothing happens. "If I have to strip you, your clothes
will be torn and you still have to go home again, so I suggest you do as I say"
The evenness of her tone and the realisation that the day has to start before it
can mercifully end enable me to move. I bend down and take off my sandals,
anything to delay the dreadful moment. "Put them on the chair in front of you" I
do this and step back. My will seems to have left me. I stand still for a few
moments. "Well?" I reach down and grasp the hem of my sweater and pull it off
over my head. "The chair". My skin feels unusually sensitive to the cool air
playing over it and my breasts feel the cups of my bra in a way I've never felt
before.
I unzip my trousers and push them down my legs. Again,the skin feels
so very sensitve. As I shed my clothing I am ever more aware of him standing
behind me, the domme in front. The trousers go on the chair. Again I pause for a
moment but know that there is no turning back. My hands go behind my back to
unhook the bra and I slide it off my breasts. He comes to my side, " Lovely pair
of Charlies she's got". The old fashioned slang sounding somehow more obscene
than any modern equivalent. Bra in hand,I reach down to put my thumbs into the
waist of panties and push them down over my hips before my courage desserts me.
As the panties clear my bottom it feels round and lush. It can give so much
pleasure to a man but will only give me pain today. I put the small garments on
the chair and stand, breathing deeply to control myself. "Yes those tits are
made for it, they'll bounce nicely"
Now that I am naked he becomes coarser. I shudder, my breasts quiver.
Now that the time is upon me I must put my fear in a box so that I can go
through the torment to come. I refuse to think of the immediate future, try to
make my mind a blank.
Miss Hart reaches into her bag and takes out two leather bracelets
lined with sheepskin. She puts them to my wrists, tightens the straps. I see the
hooks built into them. I realise they are to secure me. The fear comes out
again, the time is nearer. Again she goes to the bag and produces two anklets.
She bends and secures them. The time is almost here. A hood is slipped over my
head, cutting out all vision, nobody mentioned this but I feel too weary to
protest. I allow them to fasten it. Hands brush my breasts. I do not protest, it
would now be useless.
Hands grip my elbows, "Turn" I turn. "Walk forward" The hands guide
me. "Stop" I feel rough wood at my lower belly. My ankles are secured to
something, I know not what. My wrists and brought behind my back and secured
together. The hands move to my shoulders and urge me to bend, I resist, this is
the time. The pressure of the hands becomes more insistent "Over you go". I bend
until my chest is parallel to the floor when my nipples, then the skin of my
breasts encounter more rough wood. I feel a strap around my body under my arms
just below my shoulders. It tightens, smell of a perfume I don't know. Another
straps at the small of my back, again the tension. One more strap round my upper
thighs. I am secured and presented for the cane. A small hand running the length
of my back. "She's sweating quite heavily already." " The little bitch will
sweat a lot more soon" Him. Why oh why did I let myself get into this situation.
If only.
Sound of rummaging in the bag. An angry swish, I flinch
instinctively. "Bloody hell, you've not touched her yet and she's off". Miss
Hart," I am now going to apply twenty strokes of the cane to your buttocks. Do
you understand?" What difference does it make, she'll hurt me anyway. "Do you
understand? If you do not reply it will be thirty" She wants to humiliate me.
"Yes I understand" I croak. The cane, it can't be so bad, they used it on kids.
A tap on my bottom, my buttocks flinch, another tap, another flinch a
third tap, I manage to control myself and do not move. A small piece of pride. A
vicious hiss, a burning pain, I WAS WRONG, IT HURTS. My mouth opens and I gasp,
straining against the straps an AAHH of pain and shock. I'll never get through
twenty of these.
Three taps and again the burn and sting. I am ready for it this time
and only groan.
Three taps and the dreadful hiss. My bottom seems to take on a life
of its own as the cane connects. It bucks and weaves as much as the straps allow
trying to evade the horror.
Three taps, I wish she would stop that, but of course she knows the
distress it causes. The blow seems to land on top of the other three I groan
more loudly." Getting into good voice is she not" Him No reply from the domme.
Three taps please no stop those taps. The sear again right on top of
the others. Please. please hit me somewhere else. This is only the fifth!
Three taps, the agony. A small cry. Can't help it, not known pain
like this.
Three taps, no, no but yes my body is straining to move away from
this torment but the straps do not allow it. I scream. "That's better" him
again.
Sweat breaks out all over my body, I feel it run along my back as it
moves with my struggles. The straps cut into my body, surely I must be bleeding.
Three taps no, no, no, my bottom feels as if it is being sawn it
half. My scream rises in volume.
Three taps and the burning surge of agony, I scream, I cry, mucous
runs from my nose. I don't care, please make it stop
Three taps this can't go on, I'll die. My scream gets a giggle from
him.
"I'll have to stop for a moment to take this waistcoat off, I'm
getting too hot. Don't go away will you?"
I seize the opportunity. "Please let me speak" Him. "What do you
want to say?" "I can't take this any more, please let me go, I'll resign from
the firm, you can keep the money, please don't hurt me any more". "The money
doesn't interest me but as I told you before I enjoy the spectacle of a woman in
pain and you are providing a most gratifying example, in fact I am enjoying it
so much that I intend to take over the cane myself when Miss Hart has given you
her twenty. Will she be able to stand it?" Her." Knowing how you hit I don't
think she will take many but as long as you remember our agreement you can try".
The time dissolves into a haze of pain. The damnable three taps and
the stroke, seemingly without end. My body fights against the straps, I have no
control over it. I scream, I have no control over my voice.
Somewhere in the mist of agony I realise it has stopped! Thank
goodness, they're letting me go, but no it's only the end of her time now he
will start on me. The taps but this time the crash and blaze of pain is
dreadful. I lose control of my bladder, my body convulses as never before. How
many more I take I do not know, my whole universe is the pain and my body
bucking the restraints. I can no longer scream but a groan is forced from me at
every stroke.
Finally it stops. I hear voices but don't know what they're saying.
The straps are unfastened, the hood removed I cannot move. My arms flop down
from behind my back I lie there, my body racked by sobs and still shuddering, my
nose pouring it's mucous onto the wood below my face, the walls and floor veiled
by the tears pouring from my eyes. They leave me for a short time. Her voice.
"Stand up". I don't move. Her again, harsher, "Stand up or you will regret it".
I move my arms up to the board I am lying on and try to raise myself.
She sees me trying and puts her arms under mine to help. As the muscles in my
bottom move another jolt of agony goes through me, some form of cry is forced
from my lips. I manage to stand but my legs are so weak I fall over on to the
wall and remain propped there on my left side. She comes to me, puts an arm
round my shoulders, and raises a glass to my lips. "Drink this water, you need
to keep up your strength". Keep up my strength, why? Realisation comes, I have
still the whip to face.
My legs give way and I slide down the wall, abrading my side and
breast on the harsh concrete. I slump in a kneeling position. He comes and
stands before me. "Enjoying yourself?" I am broken, "Please, please, no more".
"But you still have your contract to work out". Pride does not enter the
equation as I beg "I'll do anything but no more please". " And what would
anything entail?" I can't help myself, "You can make love to me". "What?". You
can sleep with me". "What?" I don't understand why he is stupid, then I realise,
he wants to make my humiliation complete by making me use the word. "You can
fuck me" I manage to croak. "I could have done that at any time by freeing your
legs while you were tied down".
I look up at his body, I cannot take any more pain. I make a supreme
effort and move off the wall, my buttocks sending waves of agony into my spine.
I move my hand to the fly of his pants, I've done this before for a boyfriend so
to save myself from more torment I will do it for him. My fingers work very
slowly as I draw down the zip. I feel for his penis inside his boxers and draw
it out. It hangs there, flaccid. I move my head forward and take the head of his
penis into my mouth. I gently begin to suck on it and it swells and hardens I
move my mouth backwards and forwards along the length of his erection, every
movement causing more pain to my beaten bottom. In a while he comes into my
mouth. Although I have done this before I dislike the feel and taste of semen. I
manage to swallow his without gagging in the hope that it will please him. He
withdraws his penis and fastens his pants There I've done it, at least I can now
go back to a world of normal people, free of pain.
"That was the worst blow job I have ever had and it certainly won't
spare you the rest of your punishment." "My world collapses. "But you said" " I
said nothing and if you wish to suck me off that's your concern". I collapse on
to my injured left side, all the debasement for nothing.
She bends down in front of me and fastens the straps round my wrists
together, then straightens, bends again and fastens a rope to the straps.
Through my tear-filled eyes I see her legs and looking up, see her pull down on
the rope. My arms extend in front of me. "Get up". She stops the pull. My heart
sinks again as I trace the course of the rope over a pulley on the ceiling and
down to my wrist. She pulls gently on the rope. The only way I can do this is to
roll over on to my chest and then rise from there. "Please give me a minute".
She nods, I roll over and my breasts and belly press into the dirty floor. Him.
He is standing above me. "Fine job we made of her arse Miss H, she won't be able
to sit for weeks". She does not reply. I pull my knees up under me and struggle
to a kneeling position. My buttocks come down on to my calves and I yell as it
feels that a red-hot bar is pressing into them. She pulls on the rope until my
arms are above my head then stops. I rise with difficulty from my knees and she
pulls on the rope gently, almost as if she were helping me. I look at her but
get only a blank stare in return. Her. "How do you want her?"
Him." I think we'll have her as she is now, perhaps just a little
higher". Miss Hart takes the rope to a cleat on the wall, leads it under it and
pulls again. My arms stretch above my head and I am forced to stand on tiptoe.
"Fine". She ties off the rope. Him "I think this one will be a fine dancer if we
play a duet on her" Her "As you wish" Him "I'm going to get a drink, all this
exercise has made me thirsty, may I get you something?" "No thanks I'm fine,
I'll stay with her while you have your drink". I hear his footsteps retreat into
the house. My insteps and toes are tiring and I sink down to relieve the ache
but that just puts tension on my arms and shoulders.
I turn my head as much as my arms will allow. "May I ask a
question?". My attitude to this lady has changed dramatically since we met at
the front door. "Well?" "What does he mean by making me dance?" "There are some
questions it is best not to ask but as you have asked, I will answer. His
definition of making you dance is having one of us whip your back and one your
chest and belly. You will not be able to stop yourself twisting to attempt to
avoid the blows. That is dancing. I will give you a piece of advice, try to keep
your weight on your feet, that avoids tensioning the muscles in your back and
causes you slightly less discomfort." She gave a thin smile. "Thank you". Why am
I thanking this woman, she has beaten me to what feels to be an inch from death
and is going to whip me. She raises the water to my lips, I drink and nod my
thanks. Perhaps there is a chance here. "Please don't hit me any more, we're
both women, don't let him do any more to me, let me go and I'll get out before
he returns". Her, her voice harsh and grating. "You will not speak one word
more". No threat, nothing more but I dare not do anything else than obey.
I stood swaying on the end of the rope for what seemed like hours but
can only have been minutes, my feet, legs, arms and shoulders aching more and
more as I tried to keep my weight off all of them and failed.
Eventually I heard his steps returning and again fear gripped me as I
waited for what was to come. "Ready for the next chukka Miss Miles?" I don't
reply. Him to her. "Very little to say for herself now has she?". Miss H. "Lets
get on with it, you take this one" "I want something heavier" "You will use this
or nothing" Him, like a sulky child "Oh, all right" Her, with almost a
coquettish tone, "You will be able to use it for longer on her breasts" Oh, no,
when will all this end. I see him come round and stand n my right-hand side,
carrying a long thin whip. I look down at my breasts and see the upper surfaces
are speckled with dirt from the floor.
He draws back his arm, I close my eyes, feeling utterly alone and
lost. A thin whistle and a biting pain on the lower surface of my left breast. I
groan and instinctively draw back. Another bite of pain on my left calf. I draw
my left knee up, his whip strikes the inside of my thigh. The next minutes are a
total blur. I scream, I cry, my body swings this way and that on the end of the
rope as I try to avoid the stinging visits of the lashes. My breasts, belly and
thighs sting to the bite of the thin whip, at one point he even brings up the
whip between my legs as I writhe. The tip of the lash onto my most tender and
feminine places makes me shriek so loudly that I surprise myself with the volume
of my cry.
All the while her whip is at my back, pushing me forward, making me
present my body to him so that his strokes strike my tender flesh with maximum
impact.
I think I fainted, I can't be sure. Nothing in that dreadful time is
sure, save the agony and my wish for it all to end, even if that meant my death.
I remember eventually hanging from the rope, my knees buckled, unable to
straighten them, my nose running like a tap down over my chin and on to my
breasts. They are arguing, Him, "I reckon she can take a good deal more" "And I
say she's had enough" A moments pause, Him, "OK I will respect your professional
opinion but we still have to mark her". "What do you mean?" "There's a clause in
the paper she signed that says I can put a permanent mark on her to remind her
not to steal money again".
"Show me". Rustle of paper, "There it is". She comes round in front
of me. "Can you understand what I am saying?" I manage a nod. " Did you agree to
be branded by this man".
BRANDED? "No I did not" Her "Your signature is on the paper". "I
don't know anything about it". Her to him, "Why do I feel that you are a
conniving bastard?" "That's not fair I have a contract with her name on it and
you know we have always worked to the letter of the law".
"OK, you win, where are you intending to put it?" "On her left
breast" These people are talking in cold blood of branding me on my breasts.
"NO, NO" I say " He's lying" Another pause, Her, "I'm not happy about this but
we've worked together for some time now and when all is said and done you are
paying me. I will help you but this must be where it cannot be seen.". "What's
the good of that?" "I told you I'm not happy about it and that's my last word."
"So where will it be then?" She walks up and down, then turns to
look at me. "There's only one place" "Which is?" "All will be revealed"
They pull up on the rope, which lifts me off my feet, the strain on
my arms is terrific.
The straps at my ankles now come into play again. I feel their hands
on them and then my legs are spread wide. I am hanging completely off the ground
with my legs spread. "That should do it, she just needs stabilising a bit. Now
go and get me a razor". I try to appeal to her again when he leaves. "Please he
IS lying I didn't agree to this" "I do have my doubts but you no doubt heard
what I said, now shut up or I may change my mind". His footsteps sound on the
stairs. "Here we go, best battery driven". She comes round in front of me again,
carrying a chair in one hand and the shaver in the other. She puts the chair
down and sits on it. "OK young lady, listen to me. I have agreed that you be
branded but in a place which cannot be seen. This does narrow down the
possibilities. I had considered the under side of a breast but I'm sure some
young man would find the mark. Holding open your buttocks and going on the
inside would be feasible but might take a long time to heal and there would be a
risk of infection." I give a mental scream. How can I be having a conversation
with a woman about where she will brand me when families are doing the Saturday
shopping at Tesco? "The other possible place would be to shave off this strip
of pubic hair you have left and then go for the skin there. When the hair
re-grew it would cover the mark." She stops. "What do you think?" This is too
much for me to handle, I burst into tears again and cannot speak. "Not very
helpful". Him "Just go where you want". Her "Shut up, I've had another idea.".
Through my tears I see her lean forward to study my belly. "That's it, have your
shaver back, we'll go for the navel. Burn the end of the chord and round the
inside and that will solve the problem.
I need that small soldering iron I saw on the kitchen table and an
extension chord." "What do you think I am?" "I won't go into that now, just do
as I say".
He was back shortly, "Watch it, it's heating, I plugged it in" "Pass
me that small piece of wood on the floor. Thanks" I couldn't help myself, my
eyes went down to the wood she was holding. She touched the iron to it. No
response. "Still too cool". We waited for the iron to heat, me resigned to yet
more pain, him whistling tunelessly between his teeth and her with her legs
crossed seemingly at ease. "Let's try now". Again my eyes are drawn to the wood,
a wisp of smoke rises as the iron touches it. "OK, you go behind her and push
her forward into the ropes, that should hold her still enough". "I thought I was
going to burn her". "I need your strength and weight behind her, be a darling"
He walks behind me, I feel his body push into me straining me against
the ropes. "No, ,her chest is coming out, use your hip to push her belly towards
me". I feel the difference as he shifts position and my belly juts. "Ok, hold
her there". I close my eyes again. I hear his whisper in my ear. "You heard the
lady". And his hands grip my breasts, digging in and making me moan with the
pain of it. Her left had is on my waist and I feel the iron in my navel.
Once more my body bucks against the restraints but I am weak and he
easily holds me still, while the searing iron explores the recess in the centre
of my body. I am too exhausted to do anything but moan feebly as the pain fills
me again. Twenty years later it is over, or so it seems. She sits back in the
chair, "There, all done". He releases my breasts and walks round in front of me
again. I open my eyes. "May I?" He gestures to Miss Hart, indicating he wishes
to stand directly before me. "Of course" She picks up the chair and moves to the
side. He opens his pants and takes out his penis, stroking it, until once again
it hardens, swells and becomes erect. He edges forward until his organ is only
an inch or two from my body and begins to masturbate. When he climaxes his semen
hits my body at my lower ribs and I feel it begin to trickle down" That was far
better than your pathetic attempt at fellatio" he says as he covers himself.
"If you're finished now I will get her ready to leave while you do
the documentation" Miss Hart says." Very well". He leaves. She walks to the wall
and releases the ropes holding my ankles. I close my legs and groan again as the
strain comes off my thighs and buttocks. She places the chair in front of me,
its back towards me. "I am now going to let your arms down. Try to hold on to
the chair back to steady yourself" Again I groan as my arms lower but I manage
to hang on to the chair, without its support I would fall. I put one hand on my
bottom. It is a mass of wheals and I wince at my own touch She walks past me and
returns with my clothes. She bends down. "Lift your left leg and I will help you
on with your panties." I tell her I am so sore I don't think I could bear to
have them on. "You will need them as padding for your drive home. Not much but
every little helps". I get both legs in and she pulls them up for me. "Wait a
minute" She fetches a tissue and wipes his semen from my body. As the panties
pass over my bottom the elastic at the waist catches and I bite my lip. "OK
trousers next". As she again helps me I ask "Why are you doing this for me?" "I
told you I don't dislike you, you are in pain and can obviously use help". "
But you caused my pain" "You don't remember much do you. I said I do this as a
business. The business is finished. This is person to person". I don't try to
understand. The waistband of my trousers comes right across my navel and I cry
out at the contact. She goes to the bag and brings a dressing, which she tapes
in place. "You'll need to keep that clean until it heals. When you get home,
have a long hot bath then dry your navel well and cover it with a dry dressing.
In my experience these things heal easily and quickly if you let some air get to
them." My mind reels. She picks up my bra. "Perhaps you'll be better off without
this. There are one or two nasty wheals on your back where the strap would go
and he's left some nasty marks on your boobs". She gently touches my breasts,
moving them slightly so I can see vicious red marks. Her touch is comforting, I
feel like a child being soothed by its mother.
THIS IS RIDICULOUS. This woman was burning me a few moments ago. I
cannot help what I feel. She helps me on with sweater and puts the bra in my
bag. "OK to walk now?" She puts an arm round me and I let go of the chair. I try
to take a normal step but it is too much. I shuffle, small steps, like an old
woman. She carries my bag. The stairs are purgatory. I can only manage them one
at a time and have to rest at every other one. In time we get to the lounge
where he sits on a settee. I want to walk in head high and look him straight in
the eyes but I can only shuffle with downcast eyes. He has taken too much from
me. Beside him is a laptop. He waves me to look at it. I see the clients
account, Still ?10,000 down. I start to speak. He waves me to silence. A few key
strokes and the money is restored. He gives me a bundle of papers, I scan them
and see they are the printout which was in his office "The relevant files have
been ....amended". I can't let myself believe it's really over. I look to Miss
Hart. "It's fine, trust me". And I do.
She helps me along the hall, down the steps and into my car. As I sit
it feels as though a burning bar of pain was pressing into me from the seat. "OK
now? Bye" and she goes back inside. I look in the mirror my eyes are swollen,
red and puffy. My hair is a mess. I reach into my bag for a comb. On top of my
bra is a card. "Miss Hart" with her address and phone. I tear it in two and drop
the pieces in the glove pocket.
