Forbidden Fruit Pt. 03 - Finale

PART THREE: THE THIRD DEMERIT.

"Please, Sir, st-t-t-" I stammer, trailing off.

No, not 'Stop.' That's the word that earns me an abrupt end to the scene, a pleasant lunch, and a pathetic peck on the cheek as he heads out the door for the Strip.

I didn't come this far for that.

No, there's only one way for me now, and it's forward, which is deeper into his little hell.

'I won't play fair,' said his last text before he arrived.

I know. Bring it on.

Fourteen.

Entrapped.

Daniel T.

"SIR, PLEASE -- THIS, THIS -- YOUR WORTHLESS WHORE WASN'T READY!" Mimi's voice is breathless, desperate and jumbled. "Sir, I mean Master -- please -- your slut was off guard, Master, give me another ch-chance! I know I can be your good little paintoy, ohhhh," she bawls, "Plee-eee-ease!"

"Shut up, slave," I snap. "You're in trouble."

Biting her lip, whimpering, she breaks down sobbing. I see the tears leaking out from under the blindfold, falling off her cheeks and splashing down onto her bare, heaving boobs. I don't speak further, I just keep working with my ropes, punishing her with my silence.

I've got her on her knees facing the chair, handcuffs removed, but elbows tied close together, and I am wrapping my rope around her chest above her tits. I like my view of her ass while I work, which is framed by the belt and garters of her slutty lingerie, the black welts of her nylons underlining her plump butt-cheeks, black satin thong disappearing into her ass-cleft. The tatter of her pink cotton top is bunched around her waist. And she still wears her black hooker pumps.

Inside her, Mimi is a riot of arousal, desperation, uncertainty, anguish, dread and -- did I mention arousal? She is melting into the ropes that wrap around her, I feel it, rope bondage is an huge turn-on for her. But the rest is a struggle. She's riding a high of both adrenaline and endorphins -- still reeling from the intense pain I just inflicted on her tits and nipples, excited by my hands and my ropes on her, and breathless with dread of what's coming next. Still, apart from her ragged moaning and panting, she remains obediently quiet.

I bring a second loop under her tits, loop and cinch the strand inside her arms and under her armpits, pinning her upper arms tightly to her sides and her elbows to her back.

I lift and turn her, place her butt on the chair, turned side-saddle. Facing her, I remove the blindfold. Her eyes are wet and pleading, a ruin of smeared mascara. She sees I am holding a coil of rope in one hand.

With my other, I grip her throat. "What do you think happens now, my captive-slave DS-929?"

She gulps. "Daniel, please-- please, you're scaring me--"

"'Master' is still in order, slave," I say sharply, tightening the grip on her throat.

She blinks her terrified eyes up at me. "Master -- how freely can this slave speak? Ohhh, I'm really scared, Master. You know your slave is a pain-wuss, and that was, was --"

"Too intense?" To punctuate the question, I take her cotton top, rip it down the seam and yank it away from her waist. Her eyes widen with alarm, but her hips squirm with excitement at the violation.

"Yes! Please, Master, you have to see it. I'm not cut out for this, for, for... for the Sadist. Ooohh, untie me ...please?"

I laugh. "Don't you recognize those words, DS? They're the ones I quoted back to you, when I read your..." I tap her forehead three times, "Stupid. Slut. Mind. Which was back when we were discussing Option Three."

I move behind her to start tying her wrists. "Which I described as the 'boring but safe' option, your 'off-ramp.' And which you recall, you rejected."

"I remember, Sir, but..." She whimpers, her shoulders squirming as she tests the bondage on her upper body, and feels her helplessness deepening as I tie her hands.

"But what?"

"But you said... I, I... you said this was about my 'consent.' I'm saying, can't you -- can't we...?"

"'Can't we, can't we,'" I imitate her in a shrill, whiny voice. "'Can't we do Option Three after all, Master?' Sorry not sorry, but it's off the table. And I didn't take it off -- you did."

"I know! But that was before it got so... scary. And it hurts! What are you going to, to... do to me?"

"Wrong question." I wrap the strand twice around her waist, securing her hands to the small of her back. "The right question is, given your Demerits situation, what do you deserve?"

"I don't know," she groans, twisting her upper body in the ropes. "I don't know the rules -- I don't understand your game!"

"Game?" I come around in front and stand over her.

"Game, test, discipline -- whatever you call it -- can't we just agree that it's -- oh!"

She reacts to the sight of my hunting knife, eyes wide as I lower it between her legs, I catch the gusset of her slutty thong with the tip of the blade, and...

Riiii-iiip!

"Oh!" she repeats.

I do the same at the waistband at both hips, then take hold of the cloth and pull it toward me... plowing it slooowly through the lips of her bare, slick cunt.

"Oh," she says once more, only this time it's more like, "Ohhhh..."

Next, I slice off her garter belt and garters. I peel down her stockings and, pausing to pull off her shoes, strip them off her feet. Leaving her, at last, completely nude.

I turn her so that her bound arms are pressed against the chair back, and go behind the seat. Where she can't see me, I take a large bath sponge out of my duffel, wrap her juicy panties around it, and set it aside.

I crouch behind her, wrapping my left arm around her upper body and settling my hand into a firm grope of her right breast.

"Oooh, Maaasss -"

"Ssshh," I command. "Not a word."

I fondle her soft, bruised boob, teasing her clamp-tenderized nipple between thumb and forefinger. She moans. My other hand traces a soft line along her side, almost a tickle, and down her belly.

"Spread your legs, slave. Wider."

Once she complies, my fingers slither inside her unresisting folds. Mimi's eyes close and her mouth drops open, she gulps in air, and moans.

"My captive slave wants to know what's going to happen to her? Just listen."

I release her breast, allowing all her attention to flow to my probing hand. She is quiet now, breathing deeply but evenly, moving gently with my hand. Not fighting me. Legs spread wide. Yielding.

I feel her submission palpably in my hand, and more pervasively, I smell it. Funny how eager she is to obey all of a sudden, to cease her whining and carping, once I have my hand in her snatch. No, she had her little 'slave-rebellion,' but I quashed it. Not with a bitch-slap, a whip or a ballgag. But with sensual, manual persuasion... one hand inside her, gentle as a lover... and just like that, I am back in control. Well, to be specific, my hand is ...

And her pussy. It's the two of us, really, in it together.

"Again, you took Option Three off the table. That means your Slave-Ledger is in play, and we still have your Demerits to deal with. You ask about your 'consent?' If you were just one Demerit down, I admit it, I would have to go along and let you loose if you asked. But more than one? You owe me something..."

"Ahhh..." Curious about, and afraid of, what that something might be.

"And you're not getting loose until that debt is paid."

Touching her forehead, I tip her head back closer to my lips, whispering, "Oh, you're right, you know... the way BDSM is supposed to work, is 'safe, sane and consensual.' So Mimi P. would be entitled to end play on request. But you, my Desert-Slave, you signed up for my kind of play, with Merits and Demerits and so on. So we're playing to higher standards... and I expect more from you, slave, understand?"

"Yes..." she breathes.

"And you understand, you signed up for expert domination when you signed up with me?"

She nods, eyes shut, purring, "Mm-hmm..."

I work another finger inside her folds. "And you know, from first hand experience, what shitty domination is like, don't you?"

She nods, Yes.

"So, don't you feel proud to be held in such high esteem by me? Privileged? Special?"

"Mm-hmm... yes."

"And you understand, if you really want to stop, I'll take my skills and... walk away?"

"Noooo," she moans at first, then grasps the actual question. "Oooh, Master, yes, your slave DS... understands. Yes."

I curl my fingers deep inside her, masterfully working her most intimate places. "My Desert Slut, do you want me to walk away?"

"No," she whimpers.

"Do you want me," I hiss in her ear, as my hand does the most breathtaking things inside her, "to stop?"

"Huhhh! N-n-n--" she stammers, then gasps, "No."

I double my grip inside her cunt, firmly lift her off the seat, and she groans heavily at the strength in my hand. On the verge of release, her breath catches. Her back arches. Her mouth gapes open, and shapes a silent scream ...

But I pull my hand away, push her down in the seat, and twist her clamp-sensitized nipple hard.

With my other hand, I cover her mouth to stifle her confused, frustrated shriek, and squeeze her nostrils closed. In a sudden panic, her mounting bliss shrivels up inside her.

I laugh at her. So much for that "O," too. That's six thwarted orgasms, and counting. Poor slut must be sooo desperate for release. And I think it's clear to her by now, I mean to keep her that way.

"No?" I ask with a chuckle. "No, you said? Good, I'll continue. Then you're all mine, Desert Slave 929, that's why I'm tying you up nice and snug."

I take my hand away from her mouth. "It's so that I can use your body without mercy."

'Without --" Gasping for air, she whines, her eyes spring open in shock. "Don't I have 'consent'? I, I -- you said, I mean, two Demerits, don't I have, have --?"

"You had two Demerits, stupid slave. Failure to suck me off, then flunking the make-up exam, that was number three."

She is suddenly desperate, whimpering, "Wait-- what was two? What did I do wrong?"

I whisper the secret of her fate into her ear, chuckling, "Greedy, amoral skank that you are, you sucked the cock of another woman's husband."

Her jaw drops, but nothing comes out of her mouth. I see her gathering her breath to scream.

"And begged me like a cheap whore to do it."

"Oh God," she panics, raising her voice, "oh God oh God, HELLLL-MMPPPH!!"

I am ready with the panty-wrapped sponge. Her scream for help dies in the back of her throat. I'm ready, too, with the wide roll of black electrical tape.

"MMGHH!"

Laughing as I get to work gagging her, I say into her ear, "There's a reason, slut, that it's called 'forbidden fruit.' It's because, if you taste it, you have to pay the price."

Fifteen.

Shamed.

Mimi P.

MY SELF-LOATHING SHAME BURNS RED-HOT LIKE A FURNACE IN MY BELLY. Branding me for what I am: a wanton, brazen whore, driven only by the lusts of my skank pussy, unfit for the respect or affection of any good, decent man. And to betray the faith of another woman, one who deserves the love of that man... that makes me even lower. Fit only for contempt and punishment, and unworthy of pity, or of mercy.

I saw that in Master's eyes when he removed my blindfold. No pity.

He saw my terror, heard my pleas to stop, and unlike twenty years ago, he was unmoved. His eyes didn't show disappointment, either, annoyance or disgust at my weakness. My weakness doesn't matter this time. He is going to take what he wants. He will be pitiless, merciless, and fearless.

God, that excites me so much! Somehow, the unfairness of his trap is no roadblock to the rush of self-recrimination that washes over me. I am a whore! The brand of shame in my belly, somehow the heat of it fires a lust in me like I've never known. It erases my pride, outrage and fear. There's only a surge of craving for his punishment, no matter how painful or intense. Is it too late to beg him for that?

"Mmph-NGHH!"

Begging is not an option. Between the gag in my mouth and the blood rushing in my ears, I can hardly hear myself. This excites me. Ughh, finally -- gagged! At last, no more words, no more mental tests, no more self-control or self-discipline. The fat wad of satin and sponge, the smothering constriction of the tape winding around between my teeth, jamming the gag deeper into my mouth, tastes like the disgrace I am, and the degradation I deserve. It feels fitting that I can't spit it out, that I have to suck on my own slutty juices -- like the humiliation of that is a medicine I don't want, but need, and have to take.

"Twenty years ago when you first came to me, DS-929, there was a little game of 'helpless prisoner' self-bondage that I asked you to play at the outset -- remember?"

Behind me, Master goes on wrapping the tape tightly around my upper lip under my nose. "I'm sure you do. You chickened out. I let you off the hook. And the days that followed went differently than we both had hoped."

His tape winds around my chin. When he is finished it has swallowed my whole lower face. I test my voice, which is reduced to a feeble little bleat, "mphh!"

"Well, consider this my 'reset' of our first date, or..." He puts his hands out where I can see them and make air-quotes, "my 'revenge.'"

His hands slide down and grip my tits, squeezing and groping them like he owns them. Which he does. My head swimming, I moan into the gag.

He goes on, "This'll be different from what I had in mind back then, though. This'll be more open-ended, time-wise. And more intense for the both of us."

He lets go of my tits, comes around in front and looks me in the eye. "Especially you."

He strokes the bulge in his jeans. Showing me what the sight of my bound, stripped body and my muzzled suffering and terror does for his cock. Yes, that and not pity or mercy, is what I want to see in him. Not that it matters what I want. In my hot belly, there is wet shiver of lust.

All of a sudden, there's a look of practical purpose in his eyes. He puts his cock away, zips up, bends over and takes a coil of rope out of his bag. Grabbing my thighs and pushing them together, he crouches at my feet and binds my ankles. He quickly ties the loose end to one leg of my chair. Twisting in the chair, I grunt and groan. Done tying my feet to the chair, he rises and turns away. "Now..." he says vaguely, scanning around the garage. "There it is."

He finds the electric garage-door button on the wooden post along the farthest car space. It's silly that my house has a three-car garage, I own only one, and I never park it in here -- but it came with the property. Silly that I am thinking this, too, as if I'm embarrassed at my riches.

Even sillier, I realize I don't own anything anymore. Rather, I am owned.

Ugh, owned, my body, like a possession. A thing. Fuck, I am burning up inside!

The garage door hums slowly open, the bright afternoon floods in, its light slanting toward the corner where I am held prisoner. But not quite reaching me. Master heads out onto the driveway, disappearing into the Nevada sunlight.

As I look past where he was, I can see across the street -- my neighbors, the Fergusons, coming down their walk, their cocker spaniel Rusty in tow, pushing their newborn ahead in her stroller.

I'm not sure, but I think even though I'm in shadow, they could see me if only they would look my way.

HELP!

"HHMMM!" I wail into the gag.

Nothing. The Fergusons turn up the sidewalk and move along with their cheerful family outing.

I despair.

I know my gagged voice was weak and muffled... but at the same time, my scream for help was actually, basically half-assed.

Why was that? Did a part of me fear the shame of them seeing me, bound and gagged, tied naked to a chair in my own garage? And if so, was that fear worse than that of what's going to happen to me, if I missed my one and only chance to be rescued from my terrible fate, what's coming at Master's hands?

No, I know that's not it.

It's because I don't want to be rescued.

Sixteen.

Terrorized.

Daniel T.

I BACK MY TRUCK INTO THE GARAGE, get out and buzz the door shut. With the sunlight extinguished, it's dark again inside. So are my thoughts.

I look at Mimi squirming in her ropes and shoot her my most menacing glare. Inside me, though, it's a little different. What I'm about to do to her is going to be a kind of torture, but mostly the mental kind. A mind-fuck of sadistic sexual danger. I'm going to verbally abuse, taunt and terrorize her. But being mostly verbal psycho-drama, that's not going to make it any easier on her.

Or on me. I said before, I'm her friend -- her lover, of sorts -- not a monster. But now, if I'm going to see this through, with my words and my will, I'm going to have to become that monster.

I lift the hatch and lower the tailgate of my truck. I move toward Mimi, our eyes locked... mine hard and cruel, hers wet, pleading and hopelessly terrified. I know, at some deep level, we are both acting. That helps.

"Now," I say as I pause in front of her, looking down into her fearful eyes, "let's get my captive slave ready for transport."

I crouch at her feet and undo the loop around the chair leg. The ankle bonds before, those were just a quick tie to secure her to the chair. Now I'm going to truss up her legs good and tight from top to bottom. Mimi loves rope, and she loves the feel of my hands on her skin while I wrap her up in it. We'll see how the arousal of that merges with the other feelings she's going to experience, as she hears the awful things I'm about to say to her.

"Slave, let me give you some insight," I say breezily as I work, "into how you wound up in this, um, pickle you're in. I told you, The Wife is my submissive sex-slave, trained to 'Please, Seve & Obey,' yadda yadda, all that. One thing about her, though, she's got a very low pain threshold. Stop me if you can see where this is headed..."

I laugh, "I mean, as a Master and a Dom - not to mention, a husband - I shouldn't care, I should take what I want, right?

"But in The Wife's case, we happen to agree. I worship and adore her. I can't stand to see her suffer. She's like a priceless China doll. When I get in a sadistic mood, and even tease about 'punishing' her, it hurts her feelings, and I can't bear that.

"I mean, she's a total slut in most ways -- the most talented fellatrix I've ever trained, for instance, quite the limber little bondage-toy, pleases me immensely with all three holes. But I can't even dream of raising my whip-arm to her lovely white skin."

I stop what I'm doing and look up meaningfully into her eyes. "No, slave, The Wife is my goddess up on a pedestal."

I look down, finish binding her knees, above and below, and cinch the loops between her legs.

"You know, slave, you missed an important clue earlier. Remember in the kitchen, when I said, 'The Wife accepts that I have my own life apart from her, where I get to do things she doesn't like to do?' The clue you missed was, what The Wife doesn't like to do is get 'punished' ...

"So what I get to do is, I get to go out in the world and find sluts I can 'punish.' Sluts like you," I laugh.