No Holiday at the Beach Ch. 3bySaoadora©
Collared, leashed, cuffed and chained, he lay on his back pinned to the floor by her heels pressing hard against his nipples. He looked up and admired again the back of her knees. They, too, were perfect. He was thinking of how the back of a woman's knee had always held a special fascination for him. Often in foreplay with a woman he loved he would plant long, wet kisses there. He wondered if he would ever have the chance of making such tender love with Mistress Wendy. He was dreaming, he knew.
Mistress Wendy bent forward over him. The shift of her weight brought further pressure on his nipples. She was looking at him through her legs. Her long hair draped down and brushed on his caged penis. It blew softly in the sea breeze coming in through the doors opening to the balcony. His erection raged further against the constraints of the cage.
She was smiling. A beautiful smile, but nothing cute and friendly like she had flashed at the resort's reception area. This smile was clearly for her alone. It was the smile of self-satisfaction, he thought, as she contemplated the power she had over him. The smile said she knew that this man under her feet would endure any pain or humiliation just to be in her presence. No wonder she was smiling.
She leaned back again, lifting the heels of her white pumps only for an instant, altering the position just so that they now pinched and pulled, as opposed to pushing, his nipples. He could hear that she was sorting through her purse yet again. He heard a familiar clink of metal, and now dangling before him was another metal chain, the same as his leash and leg chains, only this one was shorter still. About ten inches. It swung back and forth like a pendulum before his eyes. At the end of the chain just before his eyes was an alligator clip with mean looking teeth. He feared he knew what was coming.
She lifted her feet off his chest and placed them on either side of his head, the fabric on her ankles against his cheeks. Although the pinching and pulling of his nipples by her heels had been extremely painful, as soon as she removed her feet his nipples sprung erect, as if they had just been suckled. She dug her long, painted fingernails into one and then the other nipple. Again the pain, but even greater stimulation. When she placed the alligator clips on his sensitive nipples he feared he must scream. It felt like they could cut his nipples off at the base. She gave the chain a gentle tug.
Apparently seeing the incredible pain he was in, and the effort he was making to avoid screaming, she said, "Here, take this, slave, like biting the bullet. " Laughing as she said that, she placed a length of his leash in his mouth. He knew if he bit down hard on the metal chain it would send unbearable pain through his teeth. Instead, he sucked it. He tried to lift his head slightly to look down at his chest and see how badly he was bleeding. The pain was so awful he must be bleeding, he thought, though he thought wrongly. He tried to look, but she held his head firmly between her feet. All he could see was the insides of her lovely lower calves beneath the thin layer of faintly glistening flesh-tone hose. She continued giving, what must to her have seemed, playful little tugs on the nipple chain. He was wondering if it was possible for anything to hurt worse. Mistress Wendy provided the answer.
She stood and pulled his leg chain up and over his face, forcing him to roll with the back of his shoulders on the floor. She sat back down, straddling and pinning his legs beneath her on the rattan chair. His ass was completely exposed and vulnerable before her. She began to slap his buttocks rapidly and viciously. She used her open palms; the back of her hands. The blows fell constant; fierce and forever.
He could do nothing. Pinned as he was he could not even flinch, let alone try to dodge the blows. His skin was pulled taut as a drum, with the nerve endings completely unprotected by flesh. He was now biting down hard on his leash.
After a long time her pace slowed. There were irregular pauses between each slap, but their force seemed even harder still and his anxious waits between the blows only made the next all the more shockingly painful. He decided that he could stand it no more. He was about to spit out the leash and tell her that he had enough, regardless of the consequences. He was through. She was too crazy, even for him. Just then, she stopped. She stood and with the leg chain she laid his legs, gently really, back onto the floor.
Mistress Wendy showed signs of her exertion. Her sundress was rumpled a bit, and twisted near her waste. Her face was flushed, and some of the strands of hair laying down her forehead showed perspiration. He noticed that her hands were red and somewhat swollen.
She slipped out of her shoes. It was the first time he had seen her standing flatfooted. Still quite tall, but slightly less imposing. The lack of heels subtly changed the shape of her legs. They were no less sexy, but softer looking, more in the familiar, homey manner of a beautiful woman one has loved as mate, an equal, for a long time. She lowered herself onto his stomach, sitting, and said softly, just above a whisper, "Raise your knees, slave. "
He did so, and she leaned back against his thighs. "Your Mistress thought you might have broken there," she said. "I—uh, your Mistress—is pleased you didn't. You may enjoy my feet. "
VIII. Mistress Takes Her Pleasure
She placed the soles of her feet at his face. First he took his cheeks and cuddled against their soles. He felt a slight bit of dampness from her perspiration and enjoyed its cool sensation through her hose. He licked her soles with relish. Kissed them. Then did the same to each of her toes. He sucked on the inside of her ankle.
As he was doing so, Mistress Wendy nudged her buttocks back until she made the slightest contact with the tip of his caged penis. She relaxed back against his thighs. He felt on his stomach more than dampness seeping through her panties and hose. That was not perspiration, not much of it anyway. He knew it was the sweet juices of her pussy. He was terrified that the savage beating his Mistress had just administered would arouse her so. But he was gratified, also.
By now his Mistress had unbuttoned her sundress to above its waist. She had plunged her beautiful right hand beneath the waistband of her hose and panties and was masturbating. Not furiously, but with vigor. "You may watch, slave. Indeed, I order you to watch," she said, almost breathlessly.
He looked up. Mistress Wendy had tossed her head back. Her long silken hair stoked his legs and the tops of his feet. She was rocking hard, now, as she approached orgasm. His raw buttocks burned on the carpet beneath her, but he barely noticed. He showered her feet with kisses, pausing only to enjoy the spectacular view of his Mistress as her excitement increased. There was a fever to it all. He could not get enough of his Mistress's lovely feet and the view of her stroking her crotch, and was sometimes unable to decide where to turn his attention; she was bouncing and stoking herself in spasms as she approached a violent orgasm.
She came with a shudder, and the deepest sigh he had ever heard. She collapsed back against his thighs. After several moments, she playfully rubbed the sole of her right foot on his face, and tugged a little with her toes at his nostrils. She let her foot linger over his lips, then got up slowly, slipped her foot under his nipple chain and gave it the slightest of tugs, and walked off to the bathroom.
Only then did he realize that his throbbing member was nearly bursting from its cage. He knew that, despite the clamp, all he had to do was touch himself on the scrotum and he would come in the most explosive orgasm he had ever experienced. But his hands were cuffed together under his back. He watched helplessly as his penis bobbed in its cage. He realized again the incredible burning of his buttocks on the rug, and the sharp pain of the clips in his swollen nipples. He tried to forget all that, and think of his Mistress.
IX. Playing in the Yard
After a time, he was not sure how long—he had no idea how long, though in fact it was not long at all—his Mistress called from the bathroom.
"Slave, you left my sandals under the chair. Fetch them, now. "
He rolled onto his stomach, and wormed again under the chair. The great relief of getting off his buttocks was more than surpassed by the pain as again his weight was pressed against the alligator clips in his nipples. Especially so as he necessarily pulled his nipples against their chain, which was likewise held by the weight of his chest. Along with the pain he should have felt humiliation, he knew. However, he was actually disappointed that his Mistress was not in the room to see another example of his devotion. He took it as a test of his obedience, that he would obey her even without her watching, and he inched under the chair.
Mistress Wendy had returned to the room by the time he had finished his task. She had removed her panty hose and was barefoot. For the first time he could see the skin of her legs. Her legs were smooth and fair skinned. Not pale, of course, but nearly white. In one hand she held yet another length of chain, about the same length as his leg chain. Her other hand was closed. She shook it lightly and he heard the sound of muffled bells.
She set the chain on the chair. She opened her hand to reveal brass bells. Four were rather small, one quite a bit larger. The smaller bells had short fasteners attached; the larger had a three-inch length of chain at the end of which was an alligator clip. She placed all the bells on the chair and examined her slave. Without a word Mistress Wendy pulled him up by the hair to a kneeling position. She began fastening the small bells to his nipple chain. The weight of the four bells together pulled down on the chain, stretching his erect nipples even further. He couldn't conceal a wince as she gave the bells a little jingle.
Mistress Wendy then unfastened his wrists from behind his back. With all the other pain and stimulation he was suffering, he had scarcely noticed how stiff and pained his arms and the back of his shoulders had been. He was not, he figured, permitted to stretch. Indeed, he kept his hand behind his back until his Mistress pulled them forward and fastened the chain to the cuffs.
"On your hands and feet," she ordered. At first he was a little confused. Then he leaned forward on his hands, and pushing up raised his knees from the floor. The bells on his nipple chain jingled. "I want to watch the sunset," she said, "I'll take you for a walk. "
He started forward and she said, "Not yet. " He had naturally been standing tiptoed and she ordered him to push his heels to the floor. The position stretched his calves and hamstrings painfully, and left his buttocks once again completely vulnerable. She pinched his swollen cheeks, then took the larger bell from the chair and clipped it to his scrotum. He was surprised that this didn't hurt more than it did, or perhaps he just could not tell anymore. He felt the weight of the bell. It rang and bounced against his inner thighs.
"Ready," she said.
She gathered a bit of his leash in her hand and pulled him through the doors to the balcony. The collar pulled at his neck. Trying to crawl chained and flat-footed, with his heels to the floor, was awkward and the progress too slow for his Mistress. She tossed the leash over the rail of the balcony and returned to the room for her sandals. Grabbing one by the heel, she slapped hard against his ass three times. She did not have to say anything; he knew the meaning and vowed to himself to move faster. She hoisted herself over the railing of the balcony into the small yard above the crashing surf. The sunset was just entering its full glory, but he had no time to contemplate it. As she pulled on his leash he managed to scramble over the railing and fell to the ground below.
He resumed his position on his hands and feet. Mistress Wendy seemed hardly to notice. She leaned idly back against the rail and watched the sunset. "The sunset at the beach, slave, is one of the most beautiful sights in nature. Show me slave, which you prefer. What would you rather look at? A beach sunset, or a peek at my feet. You may choose", she said, but he knew he had no choice.
He did not hesitate. He turned and stared intently at her feet. They were to him more lovely than any sunset. The ankles. Heels. Toes. Arches. Even the barely dark and barely rough soles of her feet, the edges of which he could glimpse under her arches, were to him perfection. He caught the glimmer of the setting sun reflecting off the beautiful polish on her nails. He yearned to bend down and shower her feet with his kisses, but he had not been given permission. He could look but could not touch.
The sunset was nearing its last glory. Still watching the horizon, Mistress Wendy grabbed a sandal and tossed it to the far side of the yard near the edge above the rocks. "Fetch, slave," she said.
He crawled on hands and feet to the sandal, and scooped it between his teeth, scampering back. The bells on his nipple chain and scrotum rang. "Faster," she said, and swatted him on his buttocks with the other sandal. He shivered with pain, and again there was the sound of the bells. This game continued for some time. Occasionally she would yank his leash just as he reached the sandal and say "get it, slave". He would pull against the leash, almost choking, until she released the tension. When she did, he would nearly lose his balance and plant his face in the ground. His efforts were never fast enough to please his Mistress, and each time he returned he received another painful spanking with the other sandal.
He had heard the talk and laughter of two couples at the bungalows adjacent to the Sundown units. They, too, were out enjoying the sunset, he knew. Surely they would be able to hear the strange sounds. He tried to hear what they were saying, what provoked their laughter, but could not. By now, the sun had set. Dusk's gloaming between day and night had arrived.
Mistress Wendy tossed the sandal a long way, into the yard of the Sundown's neighbors. "Fetch," she said. He froze for a moment, contemplating the consequences. What about the rules?, he wondered. She could not mean for him to do this. "Fetch," she said again, and landed the hardest blow she had yet inflicted with the sandal. He fought back a scream. The bells jingling, to him a thunderous sound, he crawled after the sandal.
He reached the edge of the Sundown units' yard. He was, he hoped, still out of view of the neighbors. He thought about trying to sneak into the yard to retrieve the sandal, but he doubted it was possible, even without the telltale jingling of his bells. He remained there. Frozen. He did not know what to do. Like a well-trained dog that would not leave the arbitrary confines of his yard.
He felt a violent jerk on his chain. He fell, and scrambled back to his hands and feet. "Get back here," his Mistress called. He had no idea what punishment awaited him. He jingled back to his Mistress, fearing the worst. As always, she surprised him.
She grasped his hair on either side of his head and stared straight into his soul. She held him there for a moment, and finally said, "You are right. Slaves must follow the rules. "
He was so relieved that he hardly cared that Mistress Wendy had placed such emphasis on the word "slaves", to the obvious exclusion of Mistresses.
"You may lick my, feet," she said. And he did. With unabashed relish.