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The taste of the warm liquid seemed less bitter
now, and she scarcely
noticed as much of what she was began to slip easily away into Simon's confident grasp.
He knew her answer would not
come easily, and he took
pleasure in watching her labor to invent a suitable punishment that was
sure to please him.
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He went to
work creating a second set of
drinks, pretending to be
absorbed completely in repeating the ritual, one
much like the
one she fought to deny.
But still
she sat quietly, afraid
any punishment she might
devise would be impossible to
bear, yet not severe enough to satisfy him.
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So she waited, with cuntlips pulsing and
wet, until she took the second glass from his hand and drank.
He sipped his
glass,
while she drained hers in
long, deliberate
portions, all the while
feeling his eyes on her,
watching him devour her body
from mouth to cunt as a predator
studies its prey before feasting.
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Suddenly,
all defenses,
pride,
modesty, and shame melted away in a
single swift
rush.
The
need to
offer herself
totally, to become nothing
more than an object
used for the carnal whims of
anyone who might
want her, became so overwhelming,
that she trembled as though balanced on the brink of a
terrifying abyss.
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Her nipples
hardened urgently against the fabric of the
dress, and her hands found the
insides of her
spread thighs,
stroking the smooth flesh as
near to her
naked cunt as she
dare go
without his permission.
He
rose and
went to her, cupped her chin in his large hand, and tilted
her face up to
meet his gaze.
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He waited a
full minute, savoring each tremor of her body, each second of lust and
indecision helplessly revealed in her wide eyes.
When she
didn't answer, he answered
for her.
"Might I offer a deserving punishment, one guaranteed not to
leave you wanting?" His
words seemed so distant, his hand so
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Whatever punishment he offered was something she would gladly
take from him, fearlessly,
even greedily, if it was to become the
key that would unlock
his every expectation.
And then, somehow, she was on her
feet, walking beside him, her hand wrapped in his, the urgency to
give herself to him never fading.
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As he led her into the
darkness at the back of the room, a soft
amber light
began to glow overhead, revealing the framework of an imposing structure, until then hidden in obscurity behind her
chair.
The scaffold was made of polished mahogany beams, a foot thick from floor to
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They rose from a large matching base,
raised a
foot off the floor, with a
short step in front.
As they climbed the single step together, she
struggled to make
some sense of
their destination's purpose.
The precise
fit of the intricately
carved trim and the flawless sheen of its finish brought a surprising
image to her mind - that of a pulpit,
where a clergyman might go
about the task of unburdening those with impure thoughts and
deeds.
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She shivered, ashamed of the bizarre
association, but
within seconds the absinthe
shuttled her thoughts
elsewhere and the
image was lost, forgotten in
less time than it had taken to form.
She
offered up each
arm, one at a time, as he
fastened her wrists in heavy loops of
cloth attached to the inside of each
vertical beam.
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Her heart pounded as
hidden ratchets within the beams stretched her upward until
only the
balls of her feet touched the
smooth mahogany floor.
He stood before her, a foot away, admiring her body,
letting her know with words graphic enough to
make her twist slightly, impatiently, against her bonds.
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As he spoke, he unfastened each of the
four catches down the front of her dress, letting it
fall to the floor
after the
last was
opened.
She knew
what he saw would
excite him - her
body hanging naked before him, the light from the
fire flickering over her satin skin.
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She opened her
legs shamelessly, unconsciously setting her hips forward,
writhing with
lust for him, but
completely helpless to
find relief until he wished to
give it.
After disappearing into the shadows, he
appeared before her again
stripped to the waist, his bronze
chest gleaming
high and firm above the
sinews of his flat, chiseled stomach. 100
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In his hand he
carried short length of bamboo, no
thicker than a pencil, a yard from end to end.
Careful not to
brandish it as a weapon, he held it low against the
side of his thigh as he approached,
allowing her to feast her eyes on his bare
torso, then, as he knew she would,
lower her
eyes to the swollen rope of flesh straining at the
front of his slacks.
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She gasped
when he brought the end of the stick
close to her breast, then again, repeatedly, as he
moved it slowly
back and
forth over the
puckering nipple.
A short,
sudden tap across her
breast made her cry
out in
surprise - a
second more
forceful strike brought a
louder squeal of pain.
"Please Simon - not this - you're scaring me!" she pleaded.
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He responded with repeated
blows,
each carefully measured and delivered with cautious precision, making the darkened
room ring with her shrill response.
The bamboo fell across her breasts again and again until they began to blush with heat from the biting stings, until finally
tears swelled along the lower lids of her eyes, then
spilled over both cheeks.
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