Breaking My Own Rules Ch. 12

At some point, I realized she was humming, perhaps in an attempt to hurry the process, or perhaps that was the way Camo Guy had taught her. It was apparent to me though that Grey Suit was concentrating hard on pushing her to the limit. When he finally conceded defeat and began face fucking her in earnest, I had to cover my mouth. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Tom scowl at me. I ignored him. From the corner of my other eye, I realized my couch mates were watching surreptitiously with a wide variety of expressions. Enthralled, I broke my Dolly-induced trance and stared at them instead. The man seemed to be schooling his expression carefully, but I was sure I detected a gleam in his eye, and I don't think it was sexual in nature. I looked back at the woman who was definitely struggling for breath now. I could almost imagine her starting to turn blue right before our eyes. I looked back at the young man on the couch, becoming even more convinced that he was enjoying her predicament.

The woman in the middle of the couch, the one that had told me to do what I was told, on the other hand, did seem to be getting a sexual rush from the scene. She watched intently, as she licked and bit at her lower lip. Her hands were in her lap, fingers entwined, and I would have sworn their restless twisting was an effort to reach her clit through the material of her skirt. Shit, I thought, I got in trouble for touching myself. How come she gets to? I stole a glance at Dr. Tom but he seemed far more concerned with my behavior than his other - presumably - sub.

Lovelorn at the far end of the couch looked appropriately horrified by the situation, though obviously trying to cover her expression. She let out a sigh and sagged into the cushions as if she had been holding her breath in sympathy with Dolly. I glanced back at the action across the room and realized that while that fat cock was still buried to the hilt in Dolly's throat, at least Grey Suit was finally coming. Now she was struggling to swallow, her gag response kicking in again, unable to dislodge the blockage or free herself against the fingers twisted in her hair. Tears were running from the outer corner of her eyes and she was looking up at the oblivious Suit, begging him with her eyes to pull out, release her. When he finally did, I expected her to collapse but to her credit, she didn't, though she was shaking from the effort as she rose to her feet, not nearly as graceful. She returned to Camo Guy, her eyes down, still shaking, but when he raised her chin and told her she did well, she was all smiles. He nodded and she returned to the couch, still smiling. What the fuck!

I was still staring in disbelief when the young man was summoned forth to cross the room. I turned in my seat and saw him heading toward the Camo Gal. I decided to dub him EgoMan as he stood before her looking supremely confident. I wanted to gag again, seeing that. I had a sneaking suspicion that each new 'episode' in this macabre soap opera was going to be progressively more gut churning. Dr. Tom had pulled another index card out.

"Age twenty-seven," he intoned. "Parents married; three siblings; IQ one forty-two; Doctor of Neurosurgery, currently completing surgical residency at Johns Hopkins."

I reminded myself to check on the sexual proclivities of my doctor should I ever need surgery. Was there a connection? Was Dr. Tom a neurosurgeon? Camo Gal, meanwhile, was giving quiet instructions to EgoMan. She, too, looked extremely confident. I looked over at Dr. Tom. He was looking at me thoughtfully, but then he turned to one of the other women, the one that actually seemed upset by what had happened to Dolly. He said nothing and made no gesture, but she rose and went to stand in front of him. Meanwhile, EgoMan was climbing onto the large desk and stretching out on his back. I found I was clutching at the edge of the couch cushion.

Dr. Tom didn't say anything to the woman in front of him, though he gripped her chin and raised her eyes to his. He peered deeply into her eyes and I saw her visibly relax. She trusted him, I realized. No matter what he was going to ask of her, she trusted that it would be what she 'should' do. When he released her chin, her eyes lowered obediently. Dr. Tom led her around to the side of the desk where EgoMan lay, reciting from memory this time. "Age 23; parents divorced but congenial; one sibling; IQ one forty-one; PhD candidate in Economics." He took her by the elbow and helped her climb onto the desk, then began to position her, just as he had so often to me. And the woman was absolutely compliant, just as I had always been. It was as if she was only aware of Dr. Tom, not the observers, and not the man he was positioning her to kneel over. When he was satisfied, he moved around to the end of the desk, facing her.

"Pull your dress up. Let us see you." She obeyed. She wore no underwear beneath the tight sheath. "Higher," he admonished and she complied until her arms were confined above her head. Dr. Tom traced his finger tips under her breasts and across her nipples, eliciting a shudder. "Be still," he warned. And his voice echoed through my memories. It instantly dawned on me what the next command was going to be. Dr. Tom's hands went separately to the insides of her knees and suddenly, sharply pushed them wider, lowering her pussy onto the waiting lips of EgoMan. "Don't come," he ordered sternly.

I realized Camo Gal had come to stand next to Dr. Tom. She looked down at EgoMan. "Make her come," she commanded. I think I gasped. At any rate, Dr. Tom threw me a stern look before he stepped back from the desk. EgoMan reached up to grasp the woman's waist and pull her down even harder on his face, till I wondered how he could breathe.

"If she comes, she will be punished," Dr. Tom explained to no one in particular. "If she doesn't, he will be punished."

"My money's on him," Black Suit, still leaning casually against the wet bar, offered. No one graced him with a response. There wasn't much to see, save the woman's hardening nipples and the strain of her muscles fighting against the rising tide from the assault on her pussy. There was plenty to hear, though, and from the slurping and sucking, I was guessing her juices were gushing, if not actually squirting. It was obvious she didn't have a chance. For that matter, I doubt I would have had a chance. To her credit, she didn't make a sound when her body was wracked by convulsions from what had to have been an explosive orgasm. Still, I doubted her silence was going to diminish her punishment.

I glanced at the doorway. It still stood open. Maybe if she ran fast enough. Maybe I could even cause a distraction, buy her a few minutes. Let my Drama Queen loose for a few rounds of histrionics. When I looked back, Dr. Tom was helping her off the desk, but he was watching me. Damn. Bastard knew me too well. He looked away briefly to touch her cheek. She was crying. Because she was afraid? Or because she had disappointed him? "Choose," he told her, almost gently. She nodded and turned.

He'd told me that once, made me pick which implement of torture he was going to use on me. Indeed, she crossed the room to a wall behind the couch and went to a cabinet I hadn't noticed before, squeezed between bookshelves. She opened the doors. I could see a handful of quirts and crops hanging on the door. I knew there was much worse inside. She pulled something out and crossed back to him, handing it over as if it were a gift of great value. He nodded approval, eliciting a faint smile from her. She turned without a word, pulled her dress back up and bent over the desk. Dr. Tom circled around her so that his Suits would have a good view. He kneaded her exposed ass as he shook out the whip she'd brought him. I guessed it was what was called a cat o' nine tails. I looked away before the first lash fell, only to have my eyes fall on EgoMan, who had rejoined our couch party. He was rubbing the unmistakable erection struggling to be free of his jeans. He caught my glance, making his motions even more obvious and raising his eyebrow suggestively as his eyes drifted down my body.

I felt bile rising in my throat and swallowed hard. I wanted to bury my face, but then I heard the woman say, "Thank you, sir," as the first slaps of leather to flesh echoed through the room. And she said it as if she meant it. I couldn't help it. I stared at the scene before me. She held perfectly still as the lashes fell on her back, and her ass, and her legs. And each time, she thanked him. My brain took off in a direction I really did not want it to go. But it had a mind of its own, if you'll pardon the pun. Was it really so different that she thanked him each time a blow fell. Hadn't I counted blows when he'd used a flogger on me? And even as she lay over the desk, perfectly still as he beat her, hadn't I asked him to bind me, to be sure I would remain still? My traitorous mind flashed to the scene I'd witnessed in Randy's dungeon. A woman being beaten with a strap. She'd signed a form saying that was what she desired, was looking for someone to give her that.

My eyes were staring at the scene, but my mind was whirling in a vortex of confusion. There must be a difference between me and these others sharing the couch, between Randy or Francois and Dr. Tom. How the hell did a simple desire for sexual gratification lead to all this, and how much farther could it possibly go? I was about to find out.

I wasn't aware of how much time had passed, how many blows she had suffered before she slid to the floor, unconscious. My Hulk was tasked with carrying her from the room. Once my guard was gone, Dr. Tom was paying even more attention to me, though he signaled to the Bitch, the jealous, snappish one that had told me to do what I was told. It wouldn't have hurt my feelings if she were to be punished like the poor Lovelorn woman had been. But she was more like EgoMan, determined to conquer whatever challenge was set before her. She strode confidently across the room to stand in front of him, which seemed in direct contrast with her lowered eyes. Can you be confident and demure at the same time? I don't think so.

I found myself rooting for her to fail, which begged the question: What the hell was happening to me? I should have been calculating an escape while The Hulk and Dr. Tom were otherwise occupied, not wishing pain on others. I looked toward the door just as The Hulk was reentering the room. Fuck! I looked back at Dr. Tom and he gave me a brief look that clearly said he knew exactly what I was thinking and he was already at least two steps ahead. As usual. He confidently turned his attention back to the woman in front of him, leading her to the other side of the desk from where Lovelorn had suffered her failure and punishment. He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a pen laying it on an old-fashioned blotter. Went well with his index cards, I thought to myself. He pushed against her shoulder blades and she leaned forward to place her hands palm down on the blotter. Dr. Tom took up the pen and drew a short line on the back of one of her hands. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly. I could tell this was something new to her, not a return to common ground. Dr. Tom put the pen back in the drawer and pulled out a fish filleting knife. I recognized it from numerous fishing trips with my dad and brother. It had a narrow, thin but long and slightly flexible blade. My gut twisted in a knot. Dr. Tom placed the knife on the blotter between her hands. A few feet from me, EgoMan was vigorously rubbing his hard-on. I wondered if he'd been given permission to come. I scowled at him and he winked at me.

Dr. Tom pulled Bitch's dress up to reveal her panty-less ass. From my vantage point, I couldn't tell what he was doing with his hand along her ass crack or pussy lips, save the expression on her face left no doubt she was enjoying it. He began reciting from memory again. "Age thirty-two; parents married; no siblings; IQ one forty-five; JD, litigation; admitted to the bar in New York; partner at..."

He named some law firm but I was still gleefully stuck on the fact that she was older than me, even if only slightly. It was only grudgingly that my mind turned to wondering why these statistics were at all relevant to what was going on. And how the hell did my statistics fit in with the others. Age, maybe. But I had only one parent left, had never finished college, let alone grad school, I was presumably unemployed from a mind-numbing data entry job. And, while my dad had refused to tell me what my IQ was after he'd insisted the school system test me, I was sure it wasn't in that stratosphere.

Bitch was gasping now, a victim of Dr. Tom's magic fingers. "Don't come," he warned. Apparently, that was a very standard torture device. I could attest to that. He leaned over her, close to her ear and repeated, "Don't come." With his free hand, he pulled her hair over her far shoulder. I could imagine feeling his warm breath falling on the crook of my neck, as his fingers intensified their irresistible stimulations. Was this what PTSD felt like? Reliving the revulsion of knowing your body was about to succumb to pleasure in an act of incomprehensible betrayal. I squeezed my thighs together, miserably aware of the growing wet patch that undoubtedly showed through my jeans. EgoMan noticed and sneered. I scowled back at him, anything to redirect my attention from the drama unfolding before me, horrified by what role the knife might play. And yet, I couldn't not look, especially as Bitch's gasps turned to sobs. Dr. Tom hadn't told her to hush. He probably wanted his audience to hear as she struggled to control her reactions. And when I looked, his eyes were laser-focused on me, not on the woman he was tormenting with pleasure. Even as he spoke to her, he stared at me. I thought I might faint at his words. "Do you want to come, cherie?"

She was trembling uncontrollably. "Please may I come, sir," she gasped out, barely audible.

"I need you to do something for me, cherie, and then you can come," he said soothingly, his eyes still on me. "Do you see the line on your hand?" She only nodded, but he let it pass. "Do you see the knife?" My eyes flew to the knife as if he had been addressing me. Oh god, oh god, oh god. The refrain rolled through my mind like waves crashing up on a beach. I hugged myself, rocking on the couch, begging my eyes to close. They refused to listen. "Sheathe the knife where the line is, cherie, then you may come."

She didn't even think twice about it. She grabbed the knife with her other hand and stabbed it down into the back of her left hand. Then she screamed, not in pain, but in ecstasy as she came with unimaginable force. Dr. Tom was holding her up with his free hand, his other hand still working its magic on her pussy, or her ass, or maybe both, prolonging the orgasm. Rewarding her. I was on the floor, on my hands and knees, wracked by dry heaves. My eyes continued to betray me, focused on the blade as it wobbled slightly, more from its own flexibility than her movements. She actually seemed oblivious to it, despite the fact that it pierced her hand, the blotter and perhaps even the desk, such was the force she'd used.

I knew it wouldn't be bleeding much, at least until the blade was removed. Assuming the blade was well sharpened, it probably didn't even hurt that much. It was less than a half inch in width. Hell, I'd lost count of how many times I'd poked or cut myself with knives as a kid. Dad liked them real sharp. It was the thought of doing that to yourself, on purpose. The unavoidable conclusion was that she'd done it, not to avoid punishment - trading one for the other - but to please him. As that realization dawned on me, I saw him smile in that cold way he had, his eyes still on me. He knew that I had come to that realization, and he was pleased with me. I retched again.

The Hulk's thick fingers grabbed the collar of my jacket and yanked me back up onto the couch, then went to hold Bitch as Dr. Tom reached over and yanked the knife from her hand. The Hulk pulled a large wad of gauze out of his pocket and wrapped it inelegantly about her hand, putting pressure on it as he led her from the room. She staggered under his guidance, with a crooked smile, like a drunk. I simply stared. When they disappeared down the hall, I looked back at Dr. Tom. He was wiping the knife blade with a handkerchief. And he looked smug. His little demonstration, whatever the hell the purpose, was going well.

I looked at my couch mates. EgoMan was looking smug, too, like he'd played some role in the success. His erection was even more evident. It had to be painful, not that I felt sorry for him in the least. He caught me looking and smirked. The remaining woman, Dolly, was simply looking at her lap, apparently far more successful at not watching the drama than I had been.

Dr. Tom left the desk and conferred with Camo Guy and Gal quietly on the far side of the room. Their conversation included several glances our way, and particularly at me. I decided it was time to beat feet before The Hulk got back. I jumped up and ran for the door, only to find myself bouncing off the brute as he came back in the door. I landed hard on my ass on the floor but before I could even swear about it, I was being lifted by the collar again. Instead of returning me to the couch, this time; The Hulk dangled me out in the hall so that I could clearly see two more camo men, one posted at each side of the door. Okay, nix running for it as a solution. Satisfied that I had gotten the message, The Hulk hauled me back into the room and shoved me toward the couch. I straightened, wrapping a very frayed cloak of dignity about myself as I settled back into my assigned spot, scowling at anybody who dared to look my way. No one was intimidated in the least. The Suits seemed bemused. Dr. Tom was frowning darkly at me. Camo Guy and Gal seemed relieved that it wasn't one of their charges that was acting out. EgoMan was sneering. Dolly was sneaking peeks at me, avoiding looking across the room to where Dr. Tom had resumed his conversation with the camo twins. I couldn't tell if she was gracing me with pity or trepidation, like my acting out might result in punishment for her.

Drama Queen was struggling to get out of the straightjacket I'd encased her in, and I was thinking I had nothing to lose, at this point. But then Camo Gal was walking toward me and Dolly had been called across the room to Camo Guy. Gods, what now? How much worse could it get? Camo Gal stopped just in front of me and crooked her finger at EgoMan who jumped up with childish enthusiasm. I stared in fascination as she rubbed at his straining erection through his jeans and he moaned softly. She suddenly grabbed at the bulge in his crotch and squeezed. Hard. He went pale and stiffened but made no sound.

"Does my baby boy want to come?" she asked in a husky voice.

"Yes, Mistress," he replied through gritted teeth. She squeezed even harder.

"Will my baby boy please me?"

"Always, Mistress." There were no sneers or lewd winks anymore. I was even beginning to enjoy my front row seat for this drama.

She released her hold and went back to the gentle rubbing. "If you please me, I will give you a special reward," she purred, and he looked like a child being promised ice cream, all pain forgotten. "If you please me, I'll let you have that," she teased, pointing directly at me.

I gaped. "Fat fucking chance!" I spluttered. Or maybe it was Drama Queen. Sometimes we were hard to tell apart. The Hulk's massive hand clamped down on my shoulder. EgoMan was staring with wide eyes at my crotch like it was a Christmas present he couldn't wait to unwrap.

"You'll have to be very good," she warned, as if she hadn't heard my outburst. "It will not be easy to please me, this time." Somehow, I doubted it was ever easy to please her.