Forbidden Fruit Pt. 02A

FORBIDDEN FRUIT.

PART TWO:

ONE TRAP AFTER ANOTHER.

Seven.

Obedient.

Daniel T.

"NOW, ABOUT THAT NEGOTIATION, SLUT ..." I am explaining as I put my captive slut on her knees in the garage. I pull up a straight-backed wooden chair, turn it to face her, an arms-length away, and sit.

"My Desert Slut," I sigh happily. "DS-929 is your slave-name now. That's Desert Slut, obviously, plus the date you were kidnapped and enslaved. Bye bye, 'Mimi.' Get used to being an alphanumeric object, slave."

She *shivers.

I instruct her how to comport and present herself before me for our bargaining session, and with some awkwardness and grunts of discomfort, she complies as best she can. I've got her kneeling on the pet-cushion I had her buy for her own online slave-training... the one she let her mutt piss on, so it stinks and I hope the slut finds it disgusting and degrading to have to kneel on it.

Her hands remain cuffed behind her still, but her legs are untied. However, I have her midsection trussed up in a tight, strategically-knotted web of crotch-rope. No skirt, but still wearing her pink cotton top and her thong, hose, garters and pumps. She is ungagged but blindfolded. Master giveth and Master taketh away.

The details of her presentation all matter. The top is still on, and the bra underneath, so that Mimi feels she has some modesty left to lose. The gag is gone so we can talk; although, on the other hand, I have her under 'whore-mouth' discipline -- keeping her lips parted and wet, showing me her eager tongue like a twenty-dollar suckslut -- so that's another give and take.

The handcuffs stay in place to remind her she's still my captive (and still turned on by that). The blindfold -- a wide, taut strip of black latex -- is meant to calm her down and focus her mind on my words. The crotch-rope tells her, your lower rape-holes are tied up safe and snug for the time being incorrigible slut ... pending negotiation. Her legs are untied so that she can spread them open, thighs wide, kneeling back on her haunches, like a slave... and the whole posture says, if a slave is permitted to bargain, she does it from down on her knees.

Oh, and the undies and pumps? Those are still on because ...well, I never get tired of seeing a bondage-bitch in slutty lingerie, kneeling before me.

My voice brightens, "Quiz time, DS-929. What is a Sadist?"

She licks her lips, her voice dry and cracking as he replies, "A Sadist, Sir... this slave believes it's someone who gets off, on, on -- if it pleases Master, ahh --"

She is squirming, struggling with remembering how to speak, and with the conflicting freedoms and restrictions of her current state.

And maybe with the implications of the question.

She takes a breath, blows it out with determination, and tries again, "If it pleases Master, this slut believes a Sadist is a Dominant who gets off on..." again licking her lips, "pain."

"Inflicting pain, I'm sure my slave meant to say. And that's true, as far as it goes. But I know the deeper definition, and it's the one I apply to myself: The Sadist is someone who take his gratification -- exquisite gratification, I should say -- from administering both pain and pleasure, to maximum intensity, and in doing so, pushes his sub past -- even well past -- her limits."

A husky gasp escapes her lips, "Huhhnh."

"Fun fact," I chuckle.

After a pause in which I say nothing more, I watch her face go back to 'whore-mouth' discipline. I am impressed -- and surprised. Thinking back on her online slave-training, I'd have put my money on her forgetting that detail of her slave-discipline ... a good kind of surprised, I should say.

I return to my business voice, "DS, if you want to work off that one Demerit and start training to earn rewards, you have three options. So listen carefully, like a good slave."

I lean closer, "Ooh, but first, give me your tongue."

Silly cunt, DS-929 had mistaken that 'listen carefully' for an excuse to close her mouth and crease it in concentration. Over-eager to hear about her options, is my guess. So undisciplined, my DS-929; so in need of correction.

Realizing her mistake, she licks her lips, opens wide, and thrusts out her tongue ... which I catch like a slippery pink tadpole with a sturdy wooden clothespin. Surprised, she snorts a little in response. Coaxing her with a tug of the pin, I tip her blindfolded face slightly up and back. I think, me holding her like this... once again, her puppeteer...

... also reminds her, With one hand, I can Master you.

I think that explains what her lips are doing, which looks to me like smiling.

So, I've got DS-929 subdued by steel and rope, true ... but more so, I hold her enslaved by her own simmering passions. I know, I've been talking to her about "consent" and "bargaining," as if she has conscious human agency and equal footing in the transaction. But the truth is, I'm not playing fair. From the moment I delivered the first bitch-slap, I've had her off-balance, terrified, breathless and desperately horny...

...and kept her that way.

How I moved DS-929 from kitchen to garage is the latest example of that. I made her bunny-hop across the house, legs tightly bound, with one hand on her elbow for balance -- but most of the propulsion coming from my fist gripping the crotch-rope at the small of her back. Ungagged, she was under orders to keep her trap shut and not make a sound. A couple times along the way, I took away the hand on her elbow to fondle and spank her curvy bum-cheeks.

I know for a fact, she noticed the carefully-placed knot snug on her clittie as she bounced. Sure enough, at the doorway into the garage, I had to stop because the crotch-ropes (and maybe the degradation) had her on the verge of cumming.

Once again, I had to bitch-slap the "O" out her. Held her throat while I did it, looked her in the eye, called her 'cunt' and 'skank' and 'my captive fucktoy,' clamped my hand over her mouth and nose and told her to shut up and calm down.

"Obey," I'd told her.

With a mmph-mmphhh! and a wide-eyed, frantic nodding, she agreed to be a good girl.

So much for that "O." That's four, and counting. No more bunny-hopping her with the crotch-rope, I decided -- this bitch's juicy twat is a powderkeg. So I hopped her gingerly, gripping her upper arms, across the garage, to the spot I have her positioned now ...

Back to my point. Just because I've got her at "rest" and "comfortable," and we're "bargaining" like two "consenting adults," doesn't mean she's really got any chips on the table. I've got her judgment clouded by the multiple thwarted orgasms, her fear of my exacting and unpredictable demeanor -- and of course, the bondage.

"Three options," I repeat.

And more than anything, I've got her hooked -- enslaved, as I said -- on the hope (and fear) of a vaguely-defined payoff at the end. The "anal-rape bondage-orgasm" of her wildest, sluttiest dreams .... or whatever ... we'll figure it out when the time comes for rewards. I was saying, she hasn't pulled her red-light bailout card so far, even though she knows she has the option. But on that point, DS-929 is thinking with her hot, undisciplined, rope-tied cunt. Hooked, enthralled, enslaved.

Like I said, it isn't fair.

"And when I say options, you need to keep in mind, your one Demerit gives you the right to consent, but the negotiations are on Master's terms. My DS-919 is in the correct submissive posture to bargain, and she'll bargain like a slave does, with proper voice-discipline, with an attitude of thankfulness, humility and fear. Fear, that is, of your Master's judgment. Because, Master is your sole prosecutor, jury, judge and ... well, jailer."

I squeeze the clothespin open and let her tongue free.

"Three options," I repeat. I move alongside her, lewdly grope her right tit through the soft cotton top and the sheer bra underneath, like it's mine to use and abuse. Which it is. And making her feel that way... like an owned, captive object ... well, that's more of me playing unfairly.

"Well, DS... come to think of it, how about you beg me to tell you what your options are? Beg me like a slave."

"This slut -- er, slave begs Master, um, to, to -" she stammers, then gets her bearings, "If it pleases Master, your captive-slave DS-929 begs to know what her options are."

Brava. Perfect slave-begging. Nice touch, by the way, throwing 'captive' in there.

I smile. Now we're bargaining.

"Option One," I say. "Submit to a strict whipping."

"Oh!"

* * *

"Oh!" It's not a word, but a breath, and the shape her mouth makes, when what I just said truly sinks in.

I elaborate, "A strict, thorough, prolonged and merciless slave-whipping. Think of Option One as 'tearing off the band-aid.' Your 'get-it-over-with-quick' option."

She pants hard, just once. Her 'whore-mouth' stays dutifully fixed.

Although she can't see it, I point to the overhead runners for the garage door. "I'll string you up right over there, strip you 'slave-naked,' spread you out, and have at it. You'll feel helplessly, desperately exposed. I'll come at you from every angle. No parts off-limits. Single-tail, buggy-whip and flogger. Nipple-clamps, weights. Just whips, no cane. That's it. The only breather you'll get is when I check your cunt to gauge how wet the beating is making you. Or not. We'll find out."

Stil kneading her jug, I reach my other hand down and give her a taste of that powerlessness by tugging up hard on the main knot of the crotch-ropes.

Mouth agape, DS-929 shudders, spasms, grunts. But when I release the rope, she stays still after that.

"It goes on until, at Master's sole discretion, I decide DS-929 has passed the test."

Her whore-mouth face nods with understanding.

"Here's the upside." Sighing happily, I continue, "You get through that, it's a double-mark on your Slave-Ledger. Not just one Demerit gone, back to Zero -- you're one Merit up. After that, you're due a reward. Fucking and cumming. You name it, Desert Slut, I will rock your world..."

"Ooooh," she gasps.

But it's ambiguous, that gasp. Possibly, she's imagining the orgasmic consummations of her efforts, and in graphic detail. Or maybe, picturing what precedes that, with equal fascination, but of a different kind.

... Either way, my captive Desert Slut is enthralled.

"Fair warning, I'll make it rough on you. I'll have to gag your mouth for that, strictly as I know how, so that we don't disturb the neighbors. But you'll appreciate it too, 'cuz you'll want to scream your heart out. Oh, I'm gonna light you up ...

"But that's why the upside is so generous. Big risk, big reward."

I wet my finger and run it across her upper lip. "Understand? Don't answer yet, 'til you've heard the other two. But think about it ... whether you're up for that."

Eight.

Enthralled.

Mimi P.

YES! PART OF ME WANTS TO SCREAM. I feel that Yes! as a bucking spasm in my belly and a gush of wetness inside my roped-up thong.

And I picture it the way he describes it: me strung up and spread out in an X, so tightly I can't move, naked and exposed to his whip-arm ... 'Slave-naked,' he called it, firing up my imagination. A bound, captive sex-toy, stripped naked in front of the clothed captor. Being trained for 'use.' But, defying her captor, she resisted his training and and his discipline. Which is why now, she faces a whipping... because she has failed to submit and obey one time too many.

Which is why she needs to be punished. Which is why she needs to be broken.

Kneeling on the smelly dog-bed, I swoon. I know this part of me. It's the part that craves complete and utter helplessness. The kind I've never really experienced in my real-life BDSM play, but vividly imagined in my fantasies. Strung up naked and powerless, and then punished. And that's what Master Daniel offers me now.

I want that. ... Once you've bound me like that, my slaver, will you take your knife and cut the rest of my clothes off me? And keep me blindfolded, as I am now, so I can't see where my beating is coming from? Yes, my slaver, please!

This part of me, I know, it craves the the absence of choices. The heady thought of having them taken away by force. My pussy heats up, juices and swells at the thought of it.

Unable to protest, too ... beg for mercy, scream for help, promise to obey. A strict gagging -- you promised me that! Mouth stuffed full of cloth and sealed tight with packing tape, my voice stifled to a helpless, whimpering near-silence. I've described it to him in vivid detail, how I want to be gagged... so he knows what I want.

... But he hasn't given it to me so far. Before, I bit on the napkin to stay quiet, but that was willingly, or out of obedience, or fear (is there a difference?). Briefly, there was the painful, humiliating mouth-leash gag, while he raped my ass -- which was super-hot -- but taken away far too soon.

And now, even worse, I'm ungagged -- expected to bargain, face choices, make them. Use my voice and my wits to make my Master proud.

Which is torture for me. Can a whipping be worse?

As a sweetener, Master is saying, all I have to do is get through it, somehow, and my slate is clean. Rewards earned, too. Fucking and cumming. The "kidnap-bondage anal-rape" of my wildest fantasies. Just "rip off the band-aid," and all that could be mine.

How tempting it is to give myself up to him and his Sadism, let him take what he wants -- or give me what I deserve -- as my atonement for my many past, feeble failures as his submissive over the years.

Starting with my first failure, my original sin, just minutes into our first session.

That's why I want to take a whipping. Because that failure, even twenty years later, still haunts me. And it always will ... until it's beaten out of me. Yes, that will be my atonement, my penance. My redemption.

If I can take it.

That's the 'Big If.'

I'm not too naïve to know I should be deathly afraid of this. The other part of me -- the practical, self-preservation part, the part not ruled by my steaming wet pussy -- wants to reassure me, he is still Daniel, still my friend. And he wouldn't really harm me, would he?

But that part of me is smart enough to know, Don't count on it.

Also smart enough to remind me, You're a total pain-wuss, Mimi, and you are NOT fucking ready for HIM.

...

"Understand?"

he asks me now, voice smooth and coaxing. "...Think about it ... whether you're up for that. Voice, DS-929, answer me like a slut."

I bite my lip. He's not going to make this easy on me. More than anything else, I know that to make Master Daniel proud, there's only one way. Right here, right now, I have to play his game. I have to bargain. I have to hear him out, all three options, weigh the choices he gives me.

And I have to speak the truth.

"I think Master knows..." I bow my blindfolded face, licking my lips before I go on, "I think Master knows this slut is not ... ready. This slut has, has -- has an idea what kind of Sadist her Master is."

"Slut's not wrong to worry about that," he chuckles. "Call yourself slave, DS."

"This slave knows she hasn't trained for that in real, real-time -"

"But ... a chance to make Master proud? Prove something. Redeem yourself."

"Ahhhhh," I moan. Master has drilled his Dominant will into my head, sucked out my darkest shame, and spat it back in my face. Shame ... twenty years old, but still weighing me down ... at having failed him so stupidly, so completely, like a chicken and a quitter. That's what he means by redemption. He knows it, and he knows I know it. And when he says it, redeem -- especially in that casual, offhand but biting tone -- the word is like the first whiplash cracking across my flesh.

(So then, why does the shame ... turn me on?)

"You would like to make me proud, slave, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, your slave DS-929 wants that. But --"

"So, a challenge?" he interrupts.

I nod, yes.

"And DS-929 understands, with just one Demerit on the ledger, she has the right of consent? And the right to refuse the Option."

Yes.

"So, if you accept Option One, you'll be consenting to that challenge? You'll be all-in."

Yes.

"Okay, put a pin in that." He sums up, "Take my whipping, no limits and no mercy, get two marks up. Extra rewards if you make Master proud with your performance. Orgasms galore. Fucking and cumming. That's Option One. Now, Option Two ... well, beg me, DS-929."

I take a breath; I've got this. "If it pleases Master, your captive-slave DS-929 begs to know Option Two."

"Okay."

But I think it's clear to Master, or I hope it is -- I never said no to Option One.

Nine.

Conflicted.

Daniel T.

"OPTION ONE WAS THE STICK, OPTION TWO IS THE CARROT," I explain to her. "One is Pain and Two is Pleasure."

I go on, "Option Two is, worship Master's cock and suck off his load, hands-free on your knees. I'll give you four minutes to finish the job. Get me off and swallow every drop inside of cuatro minutos -- I'll even put it on a timer -- your Demerit's gone, you're at Zero."

She nods in understanding. I think she's warming up to this one.

"Ah, but there's more. You fail, I get back those four minutes I just wasted in your mouth, plus interest. Five minutes of rough fun with your bare titties! Hah, weren't you wondering when I was going to let The Girls come out to play? More torment than torture, if you wanna compare it to Option One. Manhandling, tit-slapping, clamps and weights, and light caning -- that's it, tops.

"Option Two," I sum up, "suck like a pro, or it's tittie-torment time. Your choice, your consent. Is Option Two clear? Call yourself cunt."

"This cunt ..."

She pauses. I know she doesn't like 'cunt' -- being called it, or using it on herself.

"... understands, Master. But ..."

I watch her. She waits.

"Good cunt, waiting for permission. Questions?"

"But this cunt wonders, will Master ... try?"

I laugh. "Good one. DS, Master's dick has been rock-hard since I first bitch-slapped my captive cunt's face. You'll have no bigger fan at the Olympic Gold cocksucking finals than me," I lie.

She likes the encouraging tone in my voice. "This cunt understands, she believes you, Sir."

"Good. And?"

"And, may this cunt -- if it would please Master, this cunt begs, what's Option Three?"

"Ahhh, Option Three is..." I pause here, placing a gentle hand on the edge of the blindfold, fingertips softly grazing her left cheek, and whisper in her ear...

* * *

"Option Three is this," I whisper.

"I take this off and you look me in the eyes, and you admit to me what's really, truly on your mind. Which I know is this: 'I'm confused and frightened, and this is way too intense for me. You know I'm a pain-wuss, I just wasn't ready. Let me loose and let me catch my breath, and then... Then, can we start over, only with rules and limits and safewords?'

That's how you see it, anyway. Am I right ... Mimi? I'll be checking in while we play, you have your green, red and yellow signals... medium intensity play-time... fucking and cumming...