tagBDSMCaveat Emptor Ch. 02

Caveat Emptor Ch. 02

byHighCastle©

'Good girl...' I whisper to her as her shudders begin to subside, leaving her breathless and a little dazed by it.

I give her a minute or two to get herself under control while I attend to a few things out of sight behind her and then check her bindings. A little chafing on the wrists but nothing to persuade me she needs to be repositioned so we shall carry on.

I kneel on my haunches beside her again, brushing her hair back from her eyes and turning her to look at me.

'Did you enjoy that girl?'

She nods, eyes wide and suddenly wary. A kind of realisation is setting in that we're not done. She knew it, of course, that it wouldn't be this easy, but the beginning has caught her unawares, taking her preconceptions about what was to come and turning them upside down. She expected pain to earn pleasure, but instead she got the pleasure first. So...

'You understand that you have to pay the price for your pleasures, don't you? That you have to pay the price for my pleasure?'

She looks at me, eyes wide and fearful again. She nods. Good girl.

'Have you ever been caned?' I whisper to her, stroking her hair, soothing her. She shakes her head.

'No sir.'

'Well, there's always a first time, isn't there girl?'

Her eyes close, she takes a breath, exhales and again nods, accepting. 'Yes sir.'

'But first... a little torment.'

I stand, fetch something from behind her, returning to show her what it is, holding the bright, glittering scalpel up so she can clearly see it.

'Didn't you say you wanted to be cut? Wanted to bleed? I seem to remember you did...'

Her eyes are so wide as to be almost cartoonish. I hold my fingers against her neck and feel her pulse thudding frantically.

'Please... no...'

'Shhh girl. You're safe with me. I know that you're not ready for everything you think you want, not by a long way. Just stay very, very still. This is very sharp and I wouldn't want to cut you with it accidentally...'

I stand up again and I can almost hear her trying to find the words, wondering what to do or say... confused and afraid.

Out of sight, I put the safety cover back on the blade and swap it for the surgical scissors in my pocket. I rest the cool, thin, blunt back against her skin and feel her stiffen like a board at the touch of the steel. I lift the fabric of her chemise between the jaws. Slowly, almost entirely silently, I cut the fabric. She remains motionless, utterly frozen in place as I slowly part the material, finally cutting the shoulder straps so the whole thing falls to the beneath her.

'Well done girl... all done.'

She lets out the breath she has been holding, utterly unconcerned about her sudden nakedness, her attention having been focused on avoiding an accident with the knife I didn't use.

The clincher she wears laces up at the back and it is naturally not even close to being as tight as it could be. I rectify that, incrementally pulling it tighter and tighter, top to bottom, top to bottom, squeezing it around her, pulling her in, restricting her breathing slowly but surely until she can only take quite short, shallow breaths.

I squat in front of her and see her pleasingly flushed face. I smile, stand and walk behind her, pushing two fingers deep inside her still wet cunt. She moans audibly, comfortably the point of hiding her feelings. I come back and put the fingers to her lips. She opens her mouth and takes them in willingly.

'Good girl... drink it down for me...'

Her tongue swirls almost greedily around my fingers until I take them out, wiping them on her mouth and cheek and then standing again. From the cupboard against the back wall I choose the cane I think appropriate and, with no word of warning, I walk to the side of her, tap it twice against her skin and bring it down in a short, hard stroke against her flesh.

She jumps, as much as the ropes allow, as if she's been electrocuted.

Her cry is one of shock and pain. I hear her bite back a profanity and then just begin to suck in as much air as she can, the initial impact, I know, now giving way to that burning feeling which seems to grow and grow. It's like the bar of a fire igniting on your skin. The welt that raises is unremarkable, not vivid and bruised but merely a barely raised stripe. The cane I chose isn't going to give that result without a huge backswing but know the sounds fill in most of the detail in her mind. It will hurt, no mistake, but I know in her head she sees a vivid red welt, raised and high like a rail across her skin.

'How was that, girl?'

'Very painful sir... oh wow, that hurt.'

'Well that was just a warm-up stroke, get my range kind of thing. First, I'm going to get you ready and then you'll count off the next 10. Do you understand?'

Her head drops and I can see her trembling again. 'Yes sir.'

'If you lose count, we start again...'

'Y-yes sir.'

Holding the toy I took from the wall, I slide it inside her, turning its deep vibrations as high as they will go.

'Oh God....'

'Who do you belong to, girl?'

'You sir... you...' Her breathing quickens further as I begin to slide the toy in and out.

'Is this good?'

'Oh yes sir... very good... yes...'

'Do you want to be caned girl?'

I hold the toy in place, pushing it deep into her.

I think she sobs a little. 'Yes sir.'

'Good girl.' The toy comes out.

Clamps now... nice ones too, my favourites. I call them lever clamps, though I don't know if that's their proper name or not. They're like very elongated U shaped, the two ends fitted with hard rubber cones, flat sides facing, to form the part that grips, or rather simply crushes. A three position lever in the middle dictates how close together those cones go, from quite wide and loose to virtually touching. And the lever locks in place, ensuring the grip is solid and lasting.

I lay them on the floor underneath her head so she can see them and I put them on.

'Be brave for me angel... Be brave.'

She doesn't scream. It's more a kind of sickened sob, like a low howl of pain as each on goes on, the jaws squeezing the flesh behind each nipple brutally. By the time they are both in place, she is sobbing, tears falling from her eyes to the floor.

'Such a good girl,' I whisper, once more sliding the toy inside her. 'Shhh girl... Shhh... Let them settle there. Don't fight them, don't move, let them settle.. Good girl...' I whisper, slowly sliding the toy in and out of her, the vibrations low and heavy. She calms, the hitches in her breathing smoothing out.

'Good girl... Good girl...' The toy comes out.

The clamps, being the shape the are, are able to be fixed behind the nipple, not touching that nub of flesh at all, but bringing the brutal jaws together around the breast behind. This, of course, means the pain is less precise, less sharp than if they had the nipple itself in their grip. This torment is heavier altogether, more brutal and unrefined. The shape also means that tender bud of flesh is actually exposed and open for additional abuse, though the nipple can be somewhat distorted by the pressure behind it.

I choose simple spring-loaded clamps, like crocodile clips and squeeze the jaws far apart before allowing them to close gradually, biting into the flesh, squeezing, compressing.

Eyes squeezed shut, she just hisses as they close onto her flesh. When each is on, her eyes go from wide and astonished to squeezed closed in time with her laboured breathing.

It takes longer with the toy to calm her again and this time I allow the pleasure to carry her further, using my spare hand to hold a second, small, bullet vibrator against her clit. Before long, she is lost in the pleasure, the pain there but able to be ignored. She begins to rock in time to my thrust into her, grinding herself back, losing herself more and more.

Good. Next step.

Toys away.

Breast dangling freely, I wrap a length of rope around the base of each, twisting it in a simple figure eight, round and round. Between the breasts, I turn the rope to form a separator between them, ensuring they don't get pulled together. The rope isn't tight, but with the weight of the breasts heading south, there is little resistance to the pressure of the bind and, before long, they are nicely taught and swollen.

Finally, the weights.

As a general, all purpose weight, you cannot beat a padlock. They come in many shapes, sizes and weights. They can be left open and will still stay in place without worry or, with simple sprung carabiners to hook them on to, they can be closed. As well as being extremely easy to use, they are also identical in weight, shape, swing and heft, ensuring torments are equal. I choose carabiners, first hooking the narrow end of a carabiner into the base of the U of each clamp. I then add two sizable padlocks, hefty lumps of metal, per side. Initially, of course, aside from a few involuntary hisses, the pain is quite tolerable for her but that's because I am taking the weight of the metal in one hand and not her.

Once I gently allow the carabiners to take up the slack and her flesh take the weight, her pain increases over and over and over.

'The less you move, the less it hurts,' I whisper to her as the weights, stretching her flesh, pulling her nipple down, stretching it, slowly turn and spin in the air. She is sobbing again, lost and in pain, no doubt miserable and full of fear as to how much worse this can be. She fights to control her movement, fights to stop her muscles causing her the slightest movement, praying for the weights to come to a stop.

'You can quit anytime you want girl... you can just tell me you've had enough, that this is all beyond you and in a few minutes it's all over... all gone. You get dressed, be on your way.' I whisper this to her, kneeling by her head again, stroking her hair. 'Or you can endure... you can show me what a good girl you are... and you can have your reward... and my approval, my satisfaction that I was right about you, and you were right about yourself...

'But just say the word, and it can end girl...'

She almost shakes her head but remembers the consequence that might have and simply says 'No sir. Please. I'm ok.'

'Sure, angel?'

'Yes sir... I'm sure.'

She is crying again as she says it, most likely because she doesn't know why she is doing this, what she is proving. She just knows she cannot give in, mustn't give in and that she trusts me to know the purpose of this, the point of it.

She is in my hands and she believes in me enough to trust I won't drop her, believing more in me and my faith in her than she does in herself. It wonderful to lmow she is taking my word for what is in her best interests over her own. Wopnerful and gratifying and, most importantly, the whole point of the exercise.

I move behind her again and take away the spreader bar from between her ankles and the rope holding it there also.

Copiously oiling a thick butt-plug, I pull aside her panties and ease it into her, hearing her sharply draw breath but little more as it slips in place. A wire comes from the base and I smooth this between the cheeks of her ass, the controller hanging loosely between her legs. This is tucked into the top of the front of one of her stockings.

A second vibrator, thicker and longer, is pushed into her cunt, with the wire trailing out to the controller which is again tucked into the front of her stocking top. She moans as this slides into her and then 'ahh's in sudden pain as she moves too far and sets the weights spinning. I'm trying to work a little faster, not wanting those breast bound or the clamps on for too long.

Taking her panties by the back of the waistband, I pull them up between her cheeks, the material over the top of the vibrator, helping hold it in place.

Taking the rope again, I fold it over and in half, pass it round her ankles, loop it through the fold, pull it tight against and wrap it round her ankles, taking the two loose ends to tie it off between. I do the same around her knees, pulling her legs closer and closer.

Finally, a third rope goes right under the cheeks of her ass, pushing them out, and the flesh of the tops of her thighs back, exposing her and also squeezing the toys deeper into her.

I retie her collar rope between her ankles to keep her head down, flicking the controllers to their highest setting, hearing her react to the vibrations inside her, trying to feel pleasure so as to block out the pain she is assaulted by with every movement.

I stand back, see what I have done. A nod of satisfaction and I pick up the cane. I squat directly in front of her.

'I'm going to cane you now girl. Count each one clearly and don't lose count. There will be 10 in all across your bottom and 5 across your thighs. You will count them separately. As I said, do not lose count or we start again.'

I lean forward and gently kiss her forehead.

Two pats on the crest of her bottom and then the impact, short pullback, quickly forward like on a spring. The sound cracks across the room and she jumps forward, a cry escaping her and then a scream as the weights jump in place. She fears the cane but now she also fears wehat comes after it even more.

'One...' she says, her voice breathless and strained.

I smile and move to reach underneath her, stopping the twisting of the weights.

'Feel the taps, expect the stroke, hold yourself still,' I whisper.

Back behind her... two taps... a stroke across the crest of her bottom again, right above the visible red welt from the previous. This time she moves with the impact but not the pain, instead simply drawing in breath sharply, pushing back against it to try and cancel it out. Much better.

'Two...' she says through clenched teeth.

Two taps... stroke.

Sobs, choking and harsh, fresh tears. Fighting it has its own pain, the pain that comes when you feel just short of being overwhelmed, collapsing, like holding on by your fingernails to a crumbling cliff.

'Th... Three. Three sir.'

Two taps to her bottom then a short backswing and a stroke across the backs of her thighs. I never told her what order they would come in.

A moan this time, low and hurt, choking back this new, unexpected, fresh pain.

'Four...' she says in a whisper.

I wait.

'Sorry?'

Confusion for a second from her, a dread no doubt over what she has done... what her mistake was.

Then realisation.

'No! One! One sir! One! Three and one! Three and one! Oh God... I'm sorry...'

'Sshh girl. Hush for me. If there is a time to lose count, early on is when it should be. We shall start again, allow you to concentrate a little more, maybe remember daddy's simple instructions with a little more clarity....'

Before she can answer the strokes are done... three and one, hard, fast, three to the bottom, one to the thighs to bring us back to where we were. As much as I didn't want to do it at all, it is better done when there are 4 to have rather than when there might be 14. I hope, sincerely, she doesn't forget again.

The blows come too fast for her to do much more than give a short series of sharp cries. Back up to date, we return to the familiar 'two taps, stroke' ritual. After the quick successive pain of her penance, it is a blessing for her that she has that short preparation time. Where as once it seemed brutal and unfair, now, in comparison to the short, unannounced and unexpected reprisal, it seems like a mercy.

As the last stroke across the thighs, is delivered, through freely flowing tears and gasping sobs she counts off the fifth. Her skin is a criss-cross of red welts, most of which will be gone in a day or two, the worst gone in a week. No scars, no blood, minimal bruising.

The worst pain is reserved for when I take off the clamps. She hisses when the little nipple clamps come off but the agony simply knocks the breath out of her as the U clamps are opened as gently as I can and the clamp, carabiner and weights are lifted off.

In their wake is crushed, reddened flesh, the shape of the rubber cones like a stamp in her skin. They look permanent, disfiguring... but they'll be gone completely in an hour or so other than a little redness.

Her breasts are released, the skin a pleasant, stuffed pink by the time the rope slips off. I untie her legs and collar rope, sliding the toys thickly from her. I slide her stockings down and off along with her panties. I untie the clincher and ease it from her body. Immediately she draws a huge breath.

Finally, her hands are released, the wrists a little raw and tender from the abrasion.

Aside from a collar she is naked. I motion with my finger and she gingerly turns on the spot. Reddened breasts, deformed nipples, welted thighs and bottom, mascara tears drying on her cheeks. She looks, to me, beautiful.

I smile at her with very real pride.

'Well done angel,' I whisper. She looks at me and just breaks down into tears, fresh and clean and pure. She sobs even as I wrap my arms around her and gently cradle her head against me chest. Tears stain my shirt as she just lets it flood through her... barriers gone... emotions raw and alive... all the suffering she has endured gone to be replaced by a realisation of her strength, her resolute determination and her willingness to prove herself to both of us.

Before this, she was weak and thought she was vulnerable. Now she is vulnerable and knows she is strong.

'Shhh girl.... I'm here for you girl... I'm here...'

She holds me very tight and doesn't ease until the tears run out and the sobs start to fade.

'Angel?'

'Yes, sir?'

'You know what you need?'

She shakes her head, wide eyes looking up at me.

'I do...'

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