Binding Arbitration Pt. 02

Gentle reader - Thanks for reading. Comments? This story could end on this note... but should it?

~P.M.

Disclaimers: Bondage is tricky; it's best not to get too ambitious unless both top and bottom know what they're doing. The following contains intense D/s, humiliation, and corporal discipline. Have fun.

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(Previously on Binding Arbitration:)

...Either way, she looks a little less brave to me now.

And she sees me behind her looming over her shoulder, in my Canali suit pants, shined black leather Ferragamo wingtips, pressed, pale-blue Hugo Boss dress shirt, French cuffs rolled up.

Riding-crop and leash-handle in one hand... ballgag in the other.

I speak menacingly. But softly.

BINDING ARBITRATION

PART TWO

I SPEAK MENACINGLY, BUT SOFTLY... I want to see how far I and Vik can can go together using words alone. I even warned her: I was going to make it "deeply humiliating." But I don't know if even she imagined the kind of picture I am about the paint for her, and I'm not sure if she has dreamt of anything so degraded.

For her part, expectantly she kneels. Back on her heels, thighs rather demurely spread, chin tipped a little down but eyes up and bright and fixed on themselves in the mirror. Naked - and magnificently so - collared and subdued. She seems to be, as I directed, relaxed into her submission.

Meanwhile, her outstretched left hand shivers gently, the yellow flag wavers in the air...

Good. I am about to push all the buttons on my quiet, expectant slut, except for the one she'll most wish I would.

* * *

..."See what you've become, Viktoria James?

"A proud and powerful, even feared, trial attorney. Celebrated, accomplished Viktoria Yvonne James, Esquire - a power-partner, rainmaker and equity shareholder in the biggest tech boutique in Silicon Valley. A frequent, smug and self-satisfied face on the covers of the legal journals. 'California's Top Litigator,' back to back, 2019-2020... Also, a notorious cock-tease, home-wrecker and destroyer of faint men's souls...

"Look at Ms. Viktoria James now. On her knees, powerless, defeated... brought low by her professional adversary, her nemesis, Franklin Judd Morgan III. Now just a collared, subjugated, naked woman.

"Oh, you thought you could make it in a man's world, Viktoria, and for a while, you did pretty well for yourself. But when you went to war with this man, you ended up his war-prize. Bested in a fair fight, outsmarted, you have yielded to me.

"As a condition of your surrender, I have locked you into a two-year service contract that requires your absolute obedience to my every pleasure, privilege and perversion. You have no choice but to obey every word from my lips. My contract is iron-clad.

"So... here you are, Ms. James. Here at my feet. No control over what happens to you. Here for me to train as a collared house-pet, a fucktoy or a pain-slut. Here you are: Viktoria James, reporting for compulsory servitude. Two long, hard years ahead of you. Starting tonight.

"Incidentally, do you understand how we know you have no power? It's because you're the female in this picture who is kneeling and naked. And I'm the male with the whip in his hand, who's standing upright, carefree, confident, and clothed.

"Naked, collared and leashed, crawling on all fours: That's how you'll spend nearly every moment you're in service to me. Clothed Master, naked female. That's the natural order of things. And I'll never stop reminding you of that. The difference between your face-down, groveling nudity and my finely-dressed creature comforts... Between your utter powerlessness and my absolute power.

"Humbled enough yet, Ms. James? Or is there somewhere even lower I can make you go...?"

*...I take a knee behind her, show her the elaborate straps, rings, buckles and black rubber ball of her forthcoming gag. But I see in the mirror, Vik's eyes are locked on themselves and nothing and no one else. I can see she is lost... somewhere other than here. But I can't tell where. There is a mesmerized fascination in her eyes, to be sure, but if it's for the world that I'm painting with my words, I can't tell if she is drawn to it... or looking forward to how she's going to resist it. *

Gagging Vik's pretty mouth, I explain, "Here's another clue who has the power in this room. Is it man who is expressing his arguments eloquently, using all his lawyerly skills of clarity and persuasion?...

"Or the naked girl with the big rubber ball in her mouth?"

* Viktoria's eyes, distorted by the thin face-straps that bisect them at the bridge of her nose, appear crossed. She notices that, and it shames her. She attempts to correct that by widening them, but that only makes her look terrified... *

"...Hahahaha, do you see? Now, this is the biggest ballgag I own - look how even your full lips are stretched out taut around it - your jaws pried open, your teeth locked onto the fat rubber! Hah!

"Make some little noise, huh Ms. James? Hear how muffled your voice is?" I tweak her nipple, hard, and she finds out. "And look, what happens when I buckle it firmly under your chin, like this? It's so brutally tight and strict now, your eyes can't help but grow wide with humiliation and wet with tears..."

* And it's true, behind the black leather bands, tears do fall - but not so much flowing from pain or anguish, as they are squeezed out of her head by the gag-straps. *

"Yes, tears! Here they come! How do those feel on your cheeks, Ms. James? Are they hot like suffering? Or warm like the comfort of surrender? Or cold, like the bitterness of your complete downfall?

"I'll expect tears more copious than that, Ms. James, when I string you up and flog you! A nightly bedtime routine, by the way, so that you always go to bed whip-striped - marked by me. Will you want your mouth gagged then, to stifle your embarrassing sobs? Or ungagged, will you want to scream out your misery to the rafters?

* Her arm extended, she balls her left hand into a fist, steady, the end of the flag holding quite still. *

"You know, Ms. James, you may have some say in things like that. I like to give you choices, after all, because it pleases me to see you squirm over the dilemmas of the competing degradations I force on you

"Much of the time, you'll serve me unrestrained, so that I can order you to debase and defile yourself, and feel pleasure in watching you obey. I'll train you as a fucktoy to use your naked body, unbound - all of it - to satisfy my cock in all the ways I like best... and in return, you'll begin to take pride in how well you take to my training.

"I'll teach you to beg me prettily for your whipping each night before you go in your pet-cage... train you to expose your body obscenely to me, unrestrained, while you take the lashes with willing resignation...

* With a fresh coil of rope in hand, I grab her wrists, cross and tie them in front. Loop and cinch, leaving a very long slack end. I take her hands up and back: upper arms alongside her face, elbows bent back, wrists behind her neck, and secure them to locking-ring in back of the collar. *

"...But sometimes, I want you restrained helplessly, vulnerable and exposed. Hooded, mouth plugged - no voice, no face, no identity, no escape - your body will just be my toy, my helpless plaything.

"And you know - another sign of who has the power in the room?" I chuckle at the sight of her fingers wiggling as her wrists test the sureness of their bonds. "Well, I won't state the obvious..."

* Then I take the slack end down and loop it twice around her upper chest - back behind her, cross-tensioning and turning the strand back the other way - this time under her dangling boobs - looping, winding, cinching - carefully weaving a Shibari rope-harness around her breasts. *

As I re-sculpt her chest with rope, I go on: "Yes, naked and silenced, arms and boobs trussed-up just like this: That's how I will put you on display for my guests...

"It's an elite, members-only club, Ms. James. Incidentally, one of the perks of membership is that every man has full use of you. That is to say, if I permit it... Most nights, I am actually quite jealous and possessive of my pet; other nights, I might be feeling more generous...

"But I digress. My club meets in a private suite in a private mansion by the Santa Barbara coast. You're there - under a warm, flattering spotlight on the dinner table, my pet making her disgraced debut. It's a black-tie, all-male victory banquet... with you, pet, as the centerpiece."

* Finally, I take the loose end of my the necktie and gently thread it forward so that that it rests in her roped-up cleavage. Clear and unmistakable. Just in case there's a message Vik wants to send me... you know, in case the next part of the story gets a little tough on her. *

"You are scalding-hot with shame as you realize who makes up my club: You know each and every face from the many times you beat them at trial.

"Oh, and, credit where it's due - it took some doing on my part, juggling schedules with these six high-powered Bay Area litigators, but I pulled it off. In the end, they all rearranged their commitments, once I'd given them an idea what would be on display for the occasion...

"Hahah, just like the old days, Viktoria - right? - men flocking to you, eager to fit into your calendar, you at the center of attention? In that sense, sure... but in every other sense, um, the exact fucking opposite of that - Ahh-hahaha- hah!

"So, picture this... My pet kneels on the dining table, ballgagged and bound, arms and tits trussed-up.. just like this. Legs tied and thighs spread wide open, fresh-shaved pussy unprotected - all of you exposed, really. As my colleagues convene for dinner, the customary handshakes around the table are accompanied by lewd fondles, gropes and pinches of your tits, ass, nipples and cunt.

"Every man takes his turn. And most of them have some pretty vile, hateful words for you while they're at it - 'Remember how you smirked at me in open court when they read the CVR-Micro verdict, Viktoria?' That's Roger Chandler from Brautigan Pratt, remember him? 'This is payback times a thousand, cunt - vengeance-on-steroids - and worth the wait. Whore!'

"He slaps your tits back and forth, then goes to take his seat at the dinner table.

"And out come the staff of young males waiters -

* - At this moment, she shudders visibly at the hips. Her eyes clench shut. I know I'm not imagining it. I file that away. *

"The table is round and rather intimate, so you are always within reach of our hands throughout dinner. Every request to pass the butter or salt becomes an excuse to tease, manhandle and violate you.

"You're the topic of conversation, too, pet:

"Bartering the price I'd ask, hypothetically, for hiring out Viktoria James for a night, a weekend... Discussing the rules, safewords, boundaries that govern her treatment - then laughing at that little joke! 'How about some entertainment later, gentlemen?' Our plaything in the drawing room, strapped to the punishment bench, showing off how she takes a whipping...

"You know, the usual man-cave banter.

"Pete Pomeroy has the bright idea to have one of the waiters finger your sloppy-wet twat while the busboy pulls and twists your nipples...

(..."Now, entre nous, Vik... I've been edging and denying you in your cage, pretty much non-stop for three days leading prior. So the fact is, you're a shivering wreck inside, despite how prettily I have you packaged.")

"I tell the waiter with his hand in your cunt to have an earnest go at bringing you to climax. You are squirming and whimpering into your gag, dangling on at the tips of clearly-aroused young lad's fingers. But me, I've become an expert in the responses of my captive sex-toy's body. So when I see that you are very, very... very close...

I chuckle. "That's when I tell the boy to stop."

* Vik's lips part wide and expel a husky gasp of air, her eyes wide and distressed. *

"This leaves you frantic, Ms. James! Beside yourself, slumping into your bondage, moaning into your gag like a cheap whore. Your hips shudder and buck, then go limp. Then, you break down into a weeping mess, crying tears of shame and frustration and defeat, mewling broken-bitch sobs to go with them."

"And this brings down the house! I've never heard laughter so loud, boisterous and triumphant - all at the complete degradation of another human being -"

**Looking into her face, my breath catches a little. Just as I described it in my fantasy place, in this world Vik's eyes brim with tears, now flowing down her cheeks. Real tears.**

Undaunted, I go on, "Tim Weston splatters turkey gravy on your tits. Andy Prescott throws roasted baby carrots at you, laughing so hard he is hyperventilating, and Bill Farnsworth turns a bowl of cous cous over your head.

"And soon, we all join in -"

"Uuhk-ee."

"What? What was that, whore?"

"Uuhk-eeee!"

I understand gag-talk fluently, so I know what she is saying. But I want to hear it from her own full, pouty, unrestrained lips. Quickly unbuckling the gag, I give her back her voice:

"Fuck me."

* * *

"Fuck me!" she repeats for like the ninth time since I pulled her out of my story.

She follows on my leash - walking on her knees, breasts bound and hands still roped behind her neck - toward my desk. On the way there, she begins chanting a new mantra, "Í hate your story! I love your story! I love it, hate it... aaaugghhh! Fuck me!"

She's on her feet, bare ass perched on the front edge of my desk - where we first started this pas de deux a couple of hours ago - when I finally cut her off: "Let's be clear, Vik: You are asking to be fucked, not begging to cum."

Somehow, even though she's panting and squirming with lust - or something, I'm still confused what it is - she manages to shoot me an impatient look: "I know the difference between fucking and cumming, Frank - oooh-ahh - and I remember the rules."

"Well, per those rules, slut, I have nothing to gain from 'just' fucking you. You have to say it, 'fuck me until I cum, Sir, I'm begging you.' Now, that would be playing our game."

Losing it actually, I think, though it's not in my interest to remind her: Begging to cum is a Rule Three Forfeit.

"Urghh, Frank -" she growls, "is there a chance you're overthinking this - when a hot, naked girl says, 'Fuck me' -?"

"See, that is conceding nothing on your part, just demanding something. Which is kind of like an order, isn't it, Vik?"

Eyes shut, lips parted and panting, she nods yes.

"Good answer. Now, silence. I'll tell my slut when to speak."

Vik throws back her head and mouths a silent scream. She sort of shivers, micro-convulsions of craving and lust seemingly bouncing all around and spasming inside her body.

I'm shaking out a short coil of rope, matching the ends, doubling-up the strands. "Unacceptable, by the way - 'orders.' Slut, for that insolence, you need to be tied up more strictly," I growl, "and punished."

That gets a jolt out of her. Briefly, I had worried that too much rational, legalistic conversation, together with delay, might "spoil the mood" Vik was in back there in front of the mirror. But I can see that arguing with me is keeping her hot. I admit, it's working for me, too. I also admit, my own storytelling - freely extemporized, I have to brag, and deeply, diabolically inspired - gave me a raging hard-on less than hallway thru. And that hasn't gone away, not in the slightest.

I twist her at the shoulder, so I can reach where the tit-harness ropes come together in the back, and I loop the new rope under the larkshead. Taking that strand, I get up on a chair to draw the rope up to the eyebolt in the ceiling, well-concealed amid my overhead lighting fixtures. Having fixed the vertical line that holds Vik upright with her ass on the edge of the desk, I go get a throw pillow from the couch and bunch it under her bottom.

She responds to the manhandling. "Hmph."

"'Orders,'" I scoff again as I work. "From an indentured slut! Directed at a fine-dressed man of authority - and you, you just a naked, collared female! Once you're completely restrained, I'll show you a different whip, and put you back in your place. Will my slut be needing a fresh gag?"

Understanding how a slut under voice-discipline is supposed to respond, she shakes her head no.

Satisfied at my control, I glare at her. "You can't have your cake and eat it too, slut, not in this game. I command you: If what you're saying is, 'Please, Sir, please insert your penis in my vagina in order to make me cum' - say it now."

"No."

"No?"

"Fuuuu-uck me..." Tipping back her head, Vik groans the words in a way that seems to encompass the various meanings of the phrase.

"There you go again - now, that's just begging for cock, Viktoria," I say with an air of banal disappointment. "Which only makes you a whimpering whore. Say it, say what you are."

"I am a whimpering whore." She nods down her front to indicate my necktie, the yellow 'Uncle' flag, draped over her tied-up tits. "But not a broken one."

What is she saying? I process quickly. I brush my fingertips across her cheek, still damp from recent tears. She blinks and shivers at my faint touch. I put my fingers to my lips, tasting the wetness.

"Aha - your own tears have frightened you! But not enough to make you quit, because you're curious how I did that to you. And you want to learn more. Confess it."

She nods her head yes.

"Your tears aroused you, too."

Yes.

"Fear and passion. Listen, slut: Passion is chaos. Disciplining passion imposes order. Don't you agree?"

Grunting faintly, she nods. I enjoyed playing that card: I know in real life, she and I agree on the imperative of order.

"Fear must be disciplined, too. I know, your fear wants to reach out and drag me inside, so that you're not alone in there with it. But I'm not going in. I'm staying outside, in control..."

As I step back and unravel a third, much longer coil - running the ropes back through my hands, doubling them up - I think she responds to that, too. Watching her mesmerized eyes, I think this fascinates her, seeing how surely and deftly I handle Japanese hemp.

"So, you can stay inside and play footsie with fear and chaos if you want - I'll even get you a blindfold for your privacy - but -"

She shakes her head NO!

"But here, outside? Your passion and me... we're still out here playing my game."

She nods her head yes. I think she means, yes I want to come out and play.

"Good slut."

Satisfied that she is both compliant and focused now, I go on ramping-up her restraint. Grabbing her left ankle, I double up her leg, pressing calf to hamstring. I loop the rope around and around it - pass a couple cinching turns through the gap between her ankle and her thigh - she jerks at the hips, hunhh! - and I pass the strand behind her back, spare a couple of turns of rope to secure the throw pillow snug under her ass.