Candice in Suburbia Ch. 06

My neighbor Mrs. Patron has a deal where she can have sex with other women and her husband doesn't consider it to be cheating. As a result, she could have sex with me, and he wouldn't mind.

And even though her husband wouldn't mind, she waited until he was out of town before she invited me over.

On the day I was to come over, she called and told me to bring my mother along as well.

"My mother? Why?"

"Well, she's a slave too, isn't she? If one naked slave at my home is enjoyable, imagine how much fun it will be to have two slaves under my control!"

I groaned but agreed to bring my mother along with me. Being naked and sexually objectified is humiliating, but it's even more so with my mother watching. And if my mother was forced to be a part of whatever naked spectacle Mrs. Patron had in mind then my feelings of exposure, humiliation and helplessness would become even more intense.

To compound my feelings of embarrassment, Anna called up our friend Sam and invited her to tag along too.

"She's been asking me to include her more in our B&D sex games," Anna explained. "She's still basically a tourist when it comes to this stuff, and she'd like to become more involved."

* * *

When we arrived at Claire Patron's house, Claire greeted us all warmly. Both my mother and I were hugged enthusiastically.

"Candice! Ingrid! I've been looking forward to your visit! I'm so glad that you're here!"

Anna and Sam were greeted as well, but they weren't naked slaves, so they weren't as enticing. They didn't inspire the same sort of enthusiasm as my mother and me with our shaved pubes, bare breasts and shamelessly erect nipples conspicuously on display.

Once the social niceties were out of the way, Claire insisted that we all go downstairs so she could show us her punishment room.

Punishment room?

She mentioned that so casually, like mentioning that she had a pinball machine or a hot tub. But when a suburban housewife has a punishment room in her basement, it's a big deal. It's not something you just casually mention. You need to provide a backstory and explain what the hell is going on there.

Naked and barefoot, I descended the staircase and entered the basement that Claire had converted into a punishment room. One of the walls had a multitude of whips, leather straps and riding crops hanging from metal clips. In the center of the room was a padded bondage bench. Flanking the bondage bench were two whipping frames, and there were trapeze bars that could descend from the ceiling. The trapeze bars were outfitted with leather straps that could be buckled around a naked girl's wrists, thus securing her for punishment.

I had to wonder. When did Claire's basement become a kinky sex dungeon? Did she put it in after Anna told Claire that I was a sex slave? It would have taken a lot of money and effort to get all this equipment installed in such a short period of time. Was it set up by Claire before she found out I was a sex slave? Or maybe Claire's husband installed it to use on Claire? Maybe one of Claire's daughters set it up? Or maybe Claire installed it to use on her daughters?

All these and other possibilities presented themselves, but when I asked Claire about it, she just gave me an enigmatic smile and said, "It's not really fitting for slaves to be too curious. Just submit to my authority and stop asking questions."

Claire pointed to the trapeze bars set into the ceiling and directed my mother and me to go stand underneath them. Then she pressed a button, causing the trapeze bars to descend low enough that our wrists could be secured to them.

"Starting to feel helpless yet?" Claire asked. "If you don't yet, you will soon."

Mrs. Patron buckled my wrists to the trapeze bar and Anna did the same for my mom. When the leather straps were secure and there was no hope of my mom or me escaping from our bonds, Mrs. Patron went back to the wall and pressed some buttons to cause the trapeze bars to rise.

As the trapeze bars ascended, my wrists went up and soon my naked body was stretched taut, and my feet left the floor. My mother suffered an identical fate, and I couldn't help but think how much sexier she looked while her arms were raised up and her lithe body was stretched. Her breasts were lifted higher and put blatantly on display. Her belly looked flatter; her ribcage more prominent.

My mother complained about how high the trapeze bar had been raised and how uncomfortable she was with her whole body stretched taut and her toes just barely touching the floor as she waited to be whipped. Mrs. Patron just dismissed her complaints as inconsequential foolishness.

"Oh, hush, Ingrid," Mrs. Patron admonished. "You have a great body and you've spent years concealing it underneath clothes. Now that I've finally got you naked, I'm making sure you put everything on display as much as possible. The way I've got you all stretched forces you to stick your breasts out for me. Now that I've got you like this, I'm not gonna just quickly or easily let you go."

My mother groaned at this announcement, but Claire paid no attention. She simply walked over and grabbed my mother's breasts. My mother squirmed and gasped and grunted as our suburban neighbor kneaded her breasts and played with her nipples, but there was nothing she could do to get away.

"I've always wanted to play with you, Ingrid," Mrs. Patron commented as she rolled my mom's nipples between her thumbs and index fingers. "But you've been so damned snooty and cold. You keep your tits and other parts to yourself. This is the first chance I've had to touch you. And you can't stop me, dear."

Claire Patron ran her hands all over my mother's naked body, touching her everywhere and savoring the fact that my mother's private parts were no longer private. Then, once she had my mother panting and moving her hips in an undignified, libidinous manner, Claire walked over and placed her hands on my helpless, naked body.

"Your daughter is very attractive, Ingrid," Mr. Patron said to my mother as she cupped my breasts in both hands and lifted them up as if weighing them. "I'm going to enjoy violating her naked body."

Mrs. Patron pushed my breasts into my body, flattening them out. Then she kneaded them like bread dough. It was almost as if she were testing them for resiliency. I moaned as she located my stiff, sensitive nipples and rubbed her thumbs across them, making every nerve react, sending millions of tingles throughout my body.

"The sounds she makes when I toy with her nipples is adorable. I intend to make her make that sound again and again. It's music to my ears."

"Aaahhh, aaaaahhhhh, aaaaahhhhh," I gasped as Mrs. Patron played with my breasts. Her eyes locked with mine as her hands explored my defenseless body. Her touch became bolder. My traitorous nipples reacted, swelling, engorging with hot blood. Becoming so sensitive that their aching almost made me scream.

Claire Patron grinned broadly as her fingertips gathered up my areolae, pinching the sensitive tissues gently against the sides of my nipples, beginning a soft squeezing, tugging, rolling action. It was obvious that I had become sexually excited. Even though I was embarrassed for my mother to be a witness to it, I was moaning and squirming in libidinous passion.

Then Mrs. Patron released her hold on my nipples and smoothed her hands across my ribcage, across the taut muscles of my abdomen. She ran her hands across my collarbone, my shoulders, my arms, my ass, my ankles, my calves and pretty much every inch of my helpless naked body, like a blind woman who couldn't know the shape of my body unless she felt it with her fingertips.

"Aaahhh, aaahhh. Oh!"

Every touch of her fingers sent tingles cascading throughout my body, heightening my feelings of sexual need. She ran her hands all over my naked body, feeling the smoothness of my skin, feeling the firmness of my muscles, feeling my thighs, my calves and my buttocks. She spent a great deal of time fondling my buttocks. She palmed each individual buttock, felt it, squeezed it, traced her fingers across the swell where the underside of my buttocks met up with the tops of my thighs, and she even forced her fingers into the tight furrow between and lightly grazed my anus with her fingertips.

"Ohhhhh!"

I have something of a phobia about being touched there, but the way I was bound there was nothing I could do to stop her. She could touch me anywhere she wished, probe me, pinch me, finger me and I just had to hang there in my naked bondage and endure.

"Mrs. Patron!" I screamed in protest as my tight, delicate orifice was violated. She ignored my protests, but eventually moved on, touching every other intimate part of my young, naked body as well.

By the time she stopped her hands had touched me everywhere, found my most sensitive nerve endings and left me in sexual frustration. My nipples were agonizingly hard, and my sex throbbed with hungry spasms. I thrust my pelvis forward in a shamelessly slutty gesture, begging for her to touch me again and bring me to orgasm.

"I don't intend to bring you naked slaves to orgasm," Mrs. Patron said as she walked away from me and selected a wicked, slender whip from the far wall. "I just want you good and hot before we begin."

I flinched at the sight of the whip. I could tell just by looking at it that it would sting fiercely. Looking over at my mother, I could see her eyes widen and she began to squirm as we both awaited the inevitable.

I wished there was something I could do or say to comfort my mother, but before I could think of anything, I felt Mrs. Patron's wicked whip slash across the back of my right thigh. The whip stung like liquid fire across my innocent flesh, and I screamed inarticulately.

Traditionally a girl is whipped across her back, but my neighbor mainly whipped me across my buttocks and my legs. I recoiled and kicked and tried not to scream, but remaining silent when you're whipped is a herculean task and soon I was screaming with every stinging blow.

"I've long admired your daughter's impressive boobs, Ingrid," Mrs. Patron said to my mother as paused and gave me a chance to catch my breath. "And with her arms raised up so high, they're brazenly sticking out and making such inviting targets. Maybe I should whip them too."

"Wait, wait, wait!" I exclaimed, desperately hoping to vote down Mrs. Patron's idea of whipping my breasts. I knew from experience that a woman's breasts are far more sensitive than her backside, but before I could make an articulate argument for keeping my defenseless breasts from being abused, the leather thong of my neighbor's whip slashed across my left breast, and I let out a piercing yowl that made my mother's eyes widen in alarm.

I was panting and tears had welled up in my eyes as I struggled to cope with the pain, and then my suburban-style-conscious neighbor declared that she needed to whip my other breast so that there'd be symmetry.

"Oh God," I screamed as red-hot fire scalded my right breast. Mrs. Patron was so polite about the whole thing as she whipped me, but the pain was excruciating. It was a cruel thing to whip a girl's breasts, but Anna had placed me at my neighbor's mercy and given her carte blanche to do anything she wished to my naked body.

The way I kept kicking left my pussy vulnerable, and I soon felt the sting of Mrs. Patron's whip as it slapped painfully against my naked thigh and my outer labia.

"Aaaaaaaaaaagghhh," I screamed and looked back across a naked shoulder to give a pleading glance to my implacably cruel neighbor, but she just gave me an enigmatic smile and said, "I love it when you make that sound. Do it again."

The whip snapped across my swollen pubic lips, and I screamed again. I had no choice. The wicked sting that whip inflicted would make any girl scream.

After tormenting me with two lashes across my innocent pink slit, I assumed that Mrs. Patron was done whipping me there, but a few seconds later her whip succeeded in striking between my legs a third time.

"Gaaawwwwd noooooooo!" I writhed and twisted, but there was nothing I could do to get free or to evade the stinging blows of her whip.

Mrs. Patron alternated, whipping my taut buttocks or my legs and then without warning striking between my legs once again. And each time my innocent vulva was inflicted with stinging blows I thrashed and screamed for all I was worth.

One snapping blow stung my tender inner thigh, less than an inch from my swollen pubic lips, and I felt that I'd scored a small victory in that my neighbor had missed the delicate folds of my sex, but then her next devastating cut splatted directly against the soft, wet, tender folds of my exposed pubic lips and I thrashed my head from side to side and cried out as my innocent loins exploded into fire.

I screamed again and again until my lungs gave out. At that point I was reduced to great, gulping sobs.

Mrs. Patron then allowed me to hang limp in my bondage and sob pathetically as she moved on to whip my mother. Watching me get my innocent, naked body whipped was a form of psychological torture, and by the time it was my mother's turn to be punished, she was already trembling in fear.

My heart went out to her. I would have felt for any naked slave that was about to have her naked body marked up by the cruel sting of that whip, but my mother wasn't just any naked woman, she was the woman who had nurtured and protected me all through childhood and helped me to become the woman I am today. She was special to me, and her screams caused me to flinch and feel more sympathy than I would have felt for the average naked slave.

Mrs. Patron seemed to take an extraordinary amount of pleasure in whipping my mother's firm round ass. At the first stroke, my mom let out a yelp of dismay. The whip cut across both of her buttocks, and then a second slash went across the back of her left thigh. When I heard the leather impact again, I cringed in sympathy. My mother and I had become sisters in distress.

"Oh, Ingrid, your bottom moves so beautifully when it's whipped," Mrs. Patron enthused. "I feel like I should have whipped your cute butt years ago. This is far more enjoyable than I could have ever guessed."

My mother's whipping was just as severe as mine, and she screamed and jerked in her bonds as she was punished. I watched her squirm and dance and listened to her sob after the whipping was over. Mrs. Patron kissed her on the forehead after the whipping was over and she pressed a button to lower my mother's feet back down to the floor.

"I love you, Ingrid. I really do, but I will whip your cute ass every chance I get," Mrs. Patron assured my well-whipped mother. Then she walked over and kissed me and gave me similar assurances of love and future whippings.

My feet had been lowered to the floor, but my wrists were still secured to the bondage bar. My poor pussy, buttocks, thighs and breasts blazed with heat, my throat was raw from screaming and my muscles and joints ached from straining against my restraints, but I was filled with contentment.

The feelings of fear, helplessness and vulnerability that Mr. Patron had imposed upon me with her harsh discipline and her demeanor of authority were the sorts of things that I craved, even if I also feared them and sometimes begged for mercy and leniency.

"Oh, God, that was so beautiful," Sam gushed. I had completely forgotten she was in the room, but when I looked her way, her eyes were wide, and her mouth was open in awe of what she had just witnessed.

"Do me next! Do me next!" she said with more enthusiasm than I'd ever heard her say anything before.

"You want to be whipped?" Mrs. Patron asked, giving Sam an open-mouthed wide-eyed stare of disbelief. You do realize that it hurts terribly, right?"

"Oh, I believe you," Sam replied, "but it also looks so exciting. I've wanted to be whipped by a strong, beautiful, confident woman for as long as I can remember, but I've always been too afraid to initiate anything! But that changes today!"

"You're no longer afraid?" I asked.

"Sure, I'm still afraid," she replied. "I'm terrified, but that's part of what makes this so exciting. You and your mother looked so helpless and in distress up there, it made me so hot and turned-on to see you naked and whipped! My panties are soaking wet right now just from watching, but what would be even more delectable is if I was the one who was naked and helpless and screaming as Mrs. Patron decorated my body with whip marks."

"Are you sure about this?" Mrs. Patron asked. "Because once I've got you naked and helpless, I may not be able to stop myself."

"I'm sure," Sam insisted. "In fact, your warnings about not being able to stop just make me want this even more."

Mrs. Patron looked at Sam like she was crazy. And I'm sure I gave her an incredulous look as well, but in the end, Mrs. Patron told Sam to strip naked and unstrap me from the trapeze bar so she could take my place.

After my mother and I were released from our leather restraints our wrists were secured behind our backs with stainless-steel handcuffs. We were ordered to stand quietly and watch as Sam was raised up off the ground and whipped.

"You surprised me, Sam," Mrs. Patron said as she stood behind her naked captive and felt her up. "It's not often that an attractive, young woman offers herself up for painful punishment when she hasn't even done anything wrong."

Mrs. Patron ran her hands up and down Sam's buttocks and the backs of her thighs. Sam wriggled her butt and made enthusiastic sounds as she was felt up. She seemed to be enjoying herself.

"I've had fantasies about being naked and helpless for a long time," Sam confessed.

"So, all it took was seeing Candice and Ingrid being naked and helpless to get you to come out of your shell?"

"Something like that."

Mrs. Patron smacked Sam playfully on the ass and said, "Well, it's too late for you to back out now. You're about to find out if this is a positive breakthrough in your life or if you've just made a horrible mistake."

Sam had an openmouthed grin on her face and her breasts heaved up and down as she breathed excitedly and waited for her whipping to begin.

My neighbor whipped Sam, starting on her taut, firm buttocks. Sam gritted her teeth at first, trying not to scream, but soon she was howling, yelping and crying out in pain. She jerked in her bondage and kicked her legs madly as her poor bottom was abused, but she never begged for mercy or asked for a break.

Then, Mrs. Patron selected a different whip and moved around to start on Sam's front. Sam squealed and cried out in pain as the whip slashed across her young breasts, reddening them, but still, she didn't ask Mrs. Patron to stop.

When her nipples looked swollen and inflamed and her breasts couldn't take anymore, Mrs. Patron began to whip Sam across her belly and abdomen. And if Sam twisted her body in the right way, where her pussy was exposed, Mrs. Patron would curl the whip between Sam's legs and slice it across the tender lips of her pussy.

It seemed that Sam was a natural masochist. My mother and I had to learn to love punishments, it was something we developed a taste for after months of conditioning. Sam didn't need any conditioning; she just took to it like a duck takes to water.

I had known Sam for years. We went to high school together. In all the time I'd known her, I had never suspected her of having submissive tendencies, and yet there she was, naked, bound, covered in whip marks, glistening with sweat, and she had a spirited look on her face, like she was loving every minute of it.

Sam was left with her wrists secured to the trapeze bar and her bare feet suspended a few inches above the ground. She whimpered and rubbed her naked thighs slowly and rhythmically against each other, but she did not ask to be released.