A Bunny to Play With Ch. 13

I didn't know if it was a wise idea to go home with a stranger, but Anne had hurt me, and I had ruined Helen's dress, and if I was honest with myself, all I wanted was something intense to take my thoughts away from reality for a while. The sound of the key turning in the door's lock promised that intensity, and I felt excitement bubble up inside.

I was pushed inside before I could think about taking a step and almost ended up on my knees. Helen turned on the light, and after blinking a few times, I found myself in a big, square room with doors on every side. One of the doors was open, and to my horror, a woman at least as old as Helen stood there, with her grey hair standing awkwardly in all directions, clad only in a long terry-cloth bathrobe and watching me with disdain.

"I see, you brought home another one of those young sluts," she hissed.

"You don't have to care about it," Helen responded not any friendlier, "it's between me and John what I do and don't do."

"This is my house as well, don't forget that."

"As if I could."

I was frozen on the step, listening to the two women's scornful argument and trying to cover my nudity with my arms and hands as good as I could.

"Keep going." Helens hand pushed me forward again, right at who had to be her sister-in-law and who didn't move from her position in the door frame, so I ended up bouncing against her bony body.

I winced, even more so when her hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder painfully. "Slut!" The word was like a whiplash, almost driving tears into to my eyes. But she wasn't done with me. Before I could realize what was happening, she spat at my face, a huge drop of spittle hitting me next to the eye. I lifted my hand to wipe it away, but she caught it and spat at me again. And again.

It was the most demeaning thing that had ever happened to me. Still it got worse when her hand snaked down between my legs and gripped my pussy.

"Does this make you hot? Helen's sluts love to be humiliated, or so she tells me. Are you one of them?"

Truth was, something about the treatment, about the way she took control of me in a few seconds, did stir the heat that had already been building between my legs all evening, even though I was dying with shame and repulsion.

She pushed me away, but my back instantly made contact with Helen's body, or I would have fallen down. She held me by my upper arms though, and when I tried to lift them, she pushed them down again.

"Have fun," Margaret hissed and turned around, walked down a narrow corridor and vanished into one of the rooms.

"Sorry for that," Helen said, but I could hear that she didn't really mean it, "she's always like that. But lets not think about her."

She guided me through the door and had me make a quick turn to the left, not allowing me to wipe her sister-in-law's spit from my face. A stone staircase ran down into the basement. I wasn't sure it was a good idea to walk into a stranger's basement, but what other options did I have? So I hesitantly put one foot before the other and was soon standing in front of a padded door opposite the stair. My heart thumped while I waited for Helen to unlock it.

When it finally opened, my breathing stopped. I wanted to turn in fright, but I was frozen like a deer in the headlights. The huge room resembled a medieval torture chamber more than anything else, with stocks and ropes and iron rings and pulleys everywhere. To the side even stood a wooden horse like I had once seen at an old castle, only freshly polished and glistening in the dim light of the bulbs interspersed over the ceiling.

Another shove had me stand inside the room and the door swung shut with a resounding click. I spun around and realized that it didn't have a handle, just small number pad embedded in the wall next to it. I stared at Helen with frightened eyes.

She just smiled back and took a step towards me, which made me back away. It quickly became a play, she took one step towards me, I took one backwards. Until my back came up hard against one the wooden posts, that is, and I was quickly caught between it and Helen's body, my chin almost level with her cleavage.

My head swiveled around, looking for a way out. But her hands captured my cheeks and she forced me to look at her face.

"I know this looks frightening, and the vulnerable look in your eyes makes you all the prettier," she whispered, "but if you are a nice little girl and follow Auntie's orders without hesitation, I'll go easy on you when its time for the punishment."

That put me a bit at ease. She sounded truthful, and I knew that I would anything to ensure she would lighten my punishment. I dreaded to imagine the kind of torture she could inflict in this room.

"Now be a good little niece and undress your aunt."

I nodded after a second. She turned around and I pulled down the zipper on her dress, fumbling a bit until I got it down all the way. She didn't move a muscle, so I had to brush the fabric over her shoulders and slide it down her arms. When she stepped out of it and exposed her pale body, I just stood there, not knowing what to do with it, staring at her, at the thigh-high sheer stocking and the contrasting, frumpy cotton stockings and bra.

"Fold it," she snapped, "dumb slut, and put it onto the counter."

I hurried to follow the order and made sure to fold it without wrinkling it, putting it onto the counter that ran along one of the walls. Then I was back in front of her.

"Now take off Auntie's bra."

She wasn't massively built there, but her breasts appeared to be a nice C-cup. My clumsy fingers managed to part the snaps at the front and pushed the cups to the sides, which made them sag quite a bit.

This time, she shrugged off the garment on her own. I learned why when she cupped the back of my head with her hand and guided it to one of her big, puffy areolas.

"Aren't they beautiful?" she asked, false sweetness in her voice.

I had to play the game. "Yes, Aunt Helen, they are."

"Would you like to kiss them?"

No, my mind screamed. I don't want to kiss them! They are saggy and wrinkly and I don't like you! Instead I used my sweetest girly voice. "Yes, please may I kiss them, Auntie?"

She mashed my face against her breast, which felt hot and soft, and I closed my eyes and wrapped my lips around her huge nipple, sucking and licking for all it was worth.

"That's a good girl," she moaned, guiding my head to her other tit and making me repeat my ministrations there.

Then the hardest part came. She guided me down onto my knees and my face ended up inches from her soaked panties.

"Kiss them!" she ordered.

I puckered my lips and slowly brought them down on the wet spot. Looking up at her, her wide and gleeful smile radiated down at me.

"Do you want to taste Auntie's treasure for real, Bunnie?"

A swallowed down any misgivings I had. Unlike those times I had been allowed to taste Anne's sweetness, or her friends', the only thrill I felt was that of the forbidden, the kinky. "Yes, Aunt Helen, please, may I kiss your treasure?"

She slowly slipped them down, exposing the most lewd pussy I had ever seen. Not that I was an expert. Her outer lips were soft and, thank god, shaved bare, but her inner lips hung out more than an inch, crinkled, large and wet with her arousal.

She let the panties drop to the floor and spread her legs, her vulva opening and exposing the pink flesh inside. Then she simply waited.

I hesitated for a bit, but when I saw a hint of annoyance flicker over her eyes, I caved in and leaned forward. She hadn't been one for tender foreplay, so I didn't hold up with it either and simply licked a long trail from her opening to the top of her slit, making sure to give her huge and slightly asymmetric clit a good lick.

A part of me wanted to close my mouth and run away. But another part tingled with excitement at the demeaning action, the wrinkly thighs that framed my head and the intensive aroma on my tongue.

"Yes," she moaned, "keep licking like that!"

I did, and the speed of her breaths increased rapidly. Soon she was gasping and moaning above me.

"Stick two fingers inside!" she commanded.

Her love tunnel was loose, I barely felt her pussy walls around my fingers, and quickly added a third one. That appeared to be the right thing, because small gasps escaped her throat.

"My clit!" she suddenly cried out and grabbed my head, guiding my mouth over her pearl. "Suck it hard, slut!"

As if I had another option. I sucked as hard as I could, driving my fingers into her slick hole with abandon, and a few seconds later she shuddered all over, cried out and mashed my face to her pussy.

"God, that was nice," she finally purred when she had gotten her breath back. "Who would have thought that our innocent schoolgirl is such a good pussy licker."

She even patted my head, and I tried but failed to suppress the feeling of warmth in my stomach at her praise.

"But let's get to the main event of this lovely evening, my little lover-slut," Helen sing-songed and pulled me to my feet again. "There's still the matter of your outstanding punishment."

She pushed me into the middle of the room and told me to stay at the spot while she went rummaging through one of the cupboards on the wall. When she came back, she was carrying two pairs of wide leather straps. At first I was curious, but when she knelt down in front of me and wrapped one of the straps around my ankle, buckling it tight, I understood their meaning and was filled with trepidation. A karabiner was attached to each of the straps, turning them into shackles that could easily be fixed to whatever she wanted. For my left ankle, it was an iron ring set into the floor. My right ankle was similarly immobilised, and she made me stand with my feet wide apart so she could attach it to another hook.

She looked up at me with a grin. "Gosh, don't look so glum, little girl. This won't kill you. I just want to make sure that you keep in place when I punish you."

Her words did little to alleviate my fears. Her fingers made me forget about them though, because, still kneeling, she pushed two of them harshly up my pussy. They met little resistance.

"Dirty, horny girl," she whispered, pulling her fingers out again and wiping them on my thigh, "but let's finish this."

She wrapped each of my wrists too, pulled a length of rope with a ring on its end from the ceiling and hooked my cuffs into it. Then she vanished from my view and I could hear a rhythmic, creaking sound. Its original became quickly noticeable when my hands per pulled upwards, further and further. Finally, my arms were completely extended, but Helen still didn't stop, and the pulling became painful.

"Ow," I complaint, "that hurts." A few more creaks sounded and the strain spread down my arms, into my shoulders and all along my upper body. I became really worried. "Please," I gasped, "please stop!"

"Only a little more. You want to be a good girl for Auntie, don't you?"

Shit. I did. "Yes, Auntie."

Another creak, and my feet lost contact with the floor for a short moment. I quickly pressed down with the balls of my feet, but half of my weight rested on my arms now, and if I wanted to carry more of it on my feet, I would have to get up on tiptoes.

"Ow!" I complained again.

"It's part of the punishment," Helen told me from right behind me. "so it needs to hurt a little. By the way, little Bunnie, do you have a safeword?"

"Yes," I started to say, but the moment I parted my lips, Helen's hand sneaked around and pushed something big, round and rough into my mouth. I tried to push it out with my tongue, but I couldn't. Something cool touched my cheeks, then wrapped around my head, and with a short yank the ball was pulled even tighter into my mouth. My bad feeling skyrocketed, but the feeling of complete helplessness wrapped around me like a comfortable blanket.

"This is a ball-gag," Helen explained, "it's meant to keep you from complaining, but this one still lets you breath through your mouth. Too bad you can't use your safeword, though." Her hands both reached around my upper body and her hands started to knead my breasts. At first I didn't react, but after a while the sensation was too intense to ignore, and a soft moan escaped.

That was her cue. Her breath tickled my ear. "Remember when I told you I'd go easy on you if you are good?"

I quickly nodded.

"Well," she declared in a joyful voice, "I lied."

She stepped in front of me again, a cheery smile on her wrinkled face, and I frantically shook my head.

"Oh, you're all eager to start," she willfully misinterpreted my pleading, "but you don't know what's going to happen yet. You see, I want to try to really make the message sink in. So I'm going to give you a nice caning. One stroke for each dollar I spent for the dress. Isn't that fair?"

Again I shook my head. Eight hundred strokes with the cane? She would beat me into a bloody pulp. Tears of desperation ran down my cheeks while I tugged futilely on my bonds.

Her fingers touched my cheek and I froze. She looked deep into my eyes, her own burning with a hunger that sent goosebumps down my spine. "Bunnie," she whispered, "naughty little Bunnie. You were a bad girl, weren't you?"

I nodded hesitantly.

"And bad girls need to be punished, don't they?" Her index finger traced along my lips and followed the wide circle into which the ball gag had formed them. Her touch tingled.

My eyes seeked out the wicked, shiny cane in her hand, and the part of me that had revelled in the pain of Anne's clamps and the bites and slaps bubbled up inside me. I feared the cane, yes, but I also couldn't wait to feel it on my skin, make it burn and ache and drive home that helplessness. I wanted to submit like I never had before.

I nodded again, slowly and exaggeratedly. The game was on.

She vanished from view again, and I could only stand there, sobbing and fearing the worst. When the loud smack filled the air, I shrieked like a banshee. The line of fire that developed on the top of my bum made me sure that she had sliced right through my skin, and I thrashed like mad with the little leeway the bonds allowed me. The next stroke fell only seconds later, and she kept up the rhythm, laying one searing line after another on my body, slowly working her way down my bottom.

Tears streamed down my cheeks in small rivers, mixed with the drool seeping through the gag and dribbled down my chin, from where it dripped onto the floor and my chest. The pain was incredible.

The cane reached the underside of my bum, and my cries reached a new urgency. The soft skin at the top of my thighs felt like being ripped off. I lost all sense of time while the cruel woman worked her way methodically down the back of my legs, and I almost couldn't believe it when she stopped above my knees.

I slumped in my bonds, totally exhausted and not caring anymore about the pain in my shoulders this produced.

But I wasn't given long to rest, however uncomfortable that rest was. Ice-cold water hit me in the face, and I sputtered awake again.

Helen stood in front of me, an empty plastic bowl in one hand, the cane in the other, a wide grin spread over her face. "Tut tut, Bunnie, no slacking off in the middle of such an entertaining evening."

I fumed inside, and if I hadn't been bound up this tight, I would have kicked her. Instead I could only grunt and wiggle.

"Ah, eager again. Don't worry, the first quarter of your punishment is already over."

The first quarter? My puffy, red-rimmed eyes must have become big like saucers, because she began to laugh throatily at my desperation.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," she admonished, "eight hundred strokes aren't done in ten minutes. But I've got one good message for you - after I'm done with your frontside, I'll do away with the cane."

The word 'frontside' echoed through my brain, but somehow, I didn't want to make the connection, not even when Helen threw the bowl to the side and took up position a little to my side. When she took aim with the cane, I simply closed my eyes.

The first stroke fell on my stomach, right at the top of my pussy, and made me jerk like mad. But once the most searing pain had faded, I couldn't suppress my curiosity any longer and looked down. A thin red line formed on my stomach, perfectly horizontal. And while it had felt as if it simply ripped through all the layers of my skin, it hadn't even drawn blood.

The next stroke fell just a quarter of an inch above it, and I saw the impact ripple my stomach like a rock thrown into water - before the pain hit me and my eyes once more blurred. She worked onwards, merciless, the only sounds in the room the rhythmic smacks of the cane, her hissing breath when she delivered them, and my wails and sobs.

She stopped when she reached my ribcage, and for a small moment I allowed myself some hope, but she only stepped a bit backwards and changed her stance. Before I could even start to panic at the incredible thought that she would strike my sensitive breasts, she did just that, snapping up the cane against the underside of my tits. It was worse than anything before. And she struck again, shifting her weight as she went higher, painting my precious tits with lines of searing pain. When she hit my nipples I nearly passed out, and she graciously allowed me a few minutes to compose myself. Not that I would have minded passing out at that point.

When she picked up the cane again and covered the rest of my tits, my inner resistance was broken. I just silently sobbed, dangling from my bound hands, and just took every new painful stroke of the cane and felt my breasts swell and pulsate with heat.

I hardly reacted when she finished torturing my breasts, which were swollen and felt twice their size by now, and start to flick the inside of my thighs with the tip of the cane. Left, right, left, right, the cruel strips wandered up my legs. But when she came close to my pussy, the softest of my skin, a switch fell in my head. I cannot describe it any other way, because that is just how it felt.

The pain suddenly became secondary. It was part of the cane's stroke, but somehow my body disassembled the overwhelming reactions of my nerves, stowed away the brutal pain and instead focused on the heat and the rhythm of the impacts. When the cane fell only an inch from my pussy lip and Helen aimed again, I found myself eagerly awaiting the hit, even pushing out my pelvis to make it easier for her to aim. I was wet once again.

The last stroke smacked through the air, and I breathed hard, my eyes shamelessly imploring her to keep on. She turned away though, carrying the cane back to the cupboard. But she picked up something else.

It was a strip of leather, perhaps two inches wide and a foot long, not counting the rounded handle.

"This is my pussy strap," she explained, swinging it through the air a few times. "It is one of my favorites. I am told it hurts a lot, but it is soft enough not to bruise deeply. I'm going to whip your cunt now."

If she had expected a frantic reaction from me, I disappointed her. But she herself didn't disappoint me at all. The moment her hand shot upwards and the strap touch my skin with a loud snap, a raging fire started deep in my womb and drove pearls of sweat to my forehead. Another snap, and I grunted, welcoming the sensation.

That made her stop. She felt that something was off about me and stepped closer, looking deep into my eyes, searching. Then her own eyes widened, and her hand snaked out, her fingers burying themselves in my snatch. I grunted again, and when she lifted her fingers, small strings of my moisture between them, she gasped.

"Oh my god," her gasps turned into chuckles, "you really get off on it. I always found that the girls I picked up at that club were all playing make-believe. You're a real masochist."