Sausages Backstory Ch. 17

Becky picked up a ball of orange bailing twine from the dresser. Being next to the farmyard, the kitchen was that sort of room. All the necessary kitchen stuff was there but, amongst it, lots of farm yard bits and bobs had migrated into the space. She tied one end of the twine to the top of a table leg near Dan's head. She pulled the twine over Dan's neck, wrapped it around his neck a few times and tied it off around the table leg at the other side or him. Now, not only could Dan not cry out, due to the gag, but he couldn't lift himself up from the table if the beating became unbearable.

Becky continued to unwind the twine from the ball and brought it around to the other end of the table. There she secured each of Dan's legs to the nearest table leg by wrapping the twine around the top of Dan's thigh and the leg of the table several times. Finally she ran a length of the twine from Dan's cuffed wrists up to the twine around his neck and pulled his wrists up tight, forcing his elbows out each side. That would prevent Dan flapping about his hands over ass to try and protect his bare buttocks from the blows of the stick. Becky didn't want the nice pattern of stripes she was planning for his ass to be messed up. She had reasons for wanting a nice pattern other than just punishing Dan.

This punishment session was now part of Becky own, separate, agenda for her future. Becky had decided to set up as a professional BDSM Domme when she got to the State capital with Alice. A little earner on the side. Not that Dan needed to know, and she didn't advise him. As far as he was concerned this was just another random disciplining that slaves have to expect. Something to keep them in line, remind them of their place at the bottom of the pecking order. But Becky intended to photograph the result of her efforts. The photos would be used to populate her website.

'There, Dan. All set.'

'Just so you know what to expect: I'm going to give you your first ten strokes, full force, each one separated a little distance for the previous. That way, you will have ten nice, even, sore red stripes across your ass cheeks. Then I am going to place the cane on the first stripe and hit it again, hard. I'll do that each time so that you will receive the twenty strokes but still have just ten stripes on your ass but they will be double hits. They will be doubly bruised and maybe bloody. My parting souvenir to you, Dan. My last outing as Dan's discipline enforcer. You might even have scars to remember me by.'

Dan winced at bit at the thought of scars, but decided it best to remain quiet, not even to try and grunt an acknowledgement or a plea for mercy through his ball gag. He felt he might only provoke Becky into doing more damage to his ass than she already planned.

'First, I'll just have a last drink with the girls, see what they are up to. It'll give you some time to think about what's going to happen to your tender ass. Back in a bit, Dan. Don't go anywhere.'

He remained quietly bent over the table, his hands handcuffed behind his back. He was truly tied down. No, he wasn't going anywhere. The bailing twine was particularly scratchy around his neck and the back of his knees. No point in struggling, only make it worse. He breathed steadily through his nose. He heard her leave the room. The music momentarily blaring louder as she opened and then closed the door behind her. Dan was disappointed that Becky did not playfully tap him on his back or ass as she went out to the other room. The human touch; a natural thing to do. He yearned for a human touch from her. But no, he thought, Becky had no intention of treating him as a human.

The girls must be having a good time in there, Dan mused ruefully, listening to the steady muffled thump-thump of the music through the closed door. He even recognised the song. He could hum along to it. 'Oh girls, girls just wanna have fun. Just wanna, they just wanna, yeah... Girls just wanna have fun....' What he didn't know was just how much fun the girls were having. Alice was sitting on the couch with her legs spread and her dress pulled up. Mary, his wife, was naked, on her hands and knees with her head buried in Alice's pussy while Bette fucked her from behind with a dildo. It was only fair and just return for Alice and Bette's work in delivering Dan to Mary as a true slave. Making him into a humbled, servile male who feared his Mistress. A slave who would live in dread of her absolute power over him and accept fully his absolute powerlessness under her.

Suddenly the music blared loudly again, meaning Becky had opened the door and was returning to the kitchen. Dan shuddered involuntarily as the music quickly died back, meaning she had closed the door. She was in the room behind him somewhere. He knew that the next touch he would feel would be the full force of the ash sapling across his ass. It would be pure torture. Dan braced himself. Being gagged with the metal ball gag, he knew there would be no counting and no 'Thank you, Ma'am.' Just straight punishment. Relentless and sore.

And so the beating commenced. Becky kept up a slow, steady pace, carefully placing the ash plant lightly on his ass before making a stroke, to help with her aim. Dan flinched each time she did this, so she waited until he settled before delivering the actual stroke. Dan jerked violently under the full force of the blow when it came, moving himself and even the table a little in one direction or the other. Dan moaned and gasped with reasonable, manly, fortitude for the first few strokes, muffled by his ball gag. Becky was determined to make a well-spaced pattern of ten painful parallel bright red, slightly purple lines starting from the top of Dan's ass and moving steadily over his stretched, firm cheeks towards his upper thighs. This would be her calling card into the Dominatrix business in the big city; a nice little earner on the side, she had decided. Given all her practice at punishing and humiliating Dan since the beginning of term, and the pleasure it gave her, it seemed entirely sensible to capitalise on her newly developed Domme skills.

Artistic photos of Dan's punished ass would give her website a sophisticated look. So caught up was she in her BDSM career project, in building her portfolio of bruises, Becky paid little attention as Dan's muffled moans rose to muffled screams, as his breathing became ragged and his tied arms scrabbled over and back ever more urgently, vainly trying to protect his tortured out-of-reach ass from more damage. The useless wriggling and writhing of that ass was only slowing things down as far as Becky was concerned. But she was in no rush. Great art takes time. Eventually Dan's struggles after each blow ceased. And then he got another unmerciful blow and the cycle repeated.

Having delineated, to her satisfaction, the first half of Dan's punishment in fine detail on his ass, Becky moved around her canvas, taking photos from different angles, sometimes laying the ash plant diagonally across his tied down back as an artistic backdrop to the striped arse in the foreground. Another time, forcing it into his asshole and having him arch his ass up with the hot throbbing cheeks clenched tight to hold the stick in place. The artistic interval allowed Dan time to get himself together a bit. When Becky was finally ready to start on the second ten strokes, Dan was just quietly sobbing and moaning. The big jerking sobs that shuddered through him earlier and threatened to ruin her work has eased away. Dan, the tied beast was at bay, about ready to be worked over again, she decided.

Becky selected a fine rod from the pile in the corner. It was a composite of some sort, might have been the end of a fishing rod once. She wanted this new stroke to land directly along the middle of the old one and see what the effect would be. A thin, raised black/ purple bruise on top of the old thicker red weal was the effect she was hoping for. It would look interesting. But maybe the skin would break, or ooze. Not a good look. Might scare the potential clients. She might have to experiment a bit. Who cares how many strokes she administers anyway, she though. The idea was to give the slave a good hiding. She was obliging the girls, after all.

She laid the rod carefully along the first bruise and allowed Dan get his ass flinch out of the way. Just one short but sharp stroke onto the first of Dan's bruises would do as a trial of how a welt on Dan's ass would respond to a second hit, Becky decided. The rod lay precisely along the line of the first stripe, a pink raised weal, high on Dan's ass. That had been made using the thicker ash plant. The bruised weal it had produced was a good deal wider than the rod. She waited until he was breathing steadily. His ass was tensed but not moving; ready to be hit again. Next door the muffled 'Girls just wanna to have fun,' thumped on.

Becky made her stroke and landed accurately on top of the first welt. Aside from the fancy colour scheme she was aiming for, there was an unexpected side-effect of Becky's short sharp strike with the thin rod. A long, unintelligible muffled howl squeezed up from deep in Dan's throat and around his gag. It sounded like Dan had had enough. Whether in pain, or rage, or both, he had immediately reared up from his bent over position, Dan was now standing upright. He was still tied by his legs and neck, to the table. His were restrained behind his back by the handcuffs. He had managed to pull the small table up with him so the four legs were now horizontal and pointing at the back wall of the kitchen.

Dan's head stuck over the top edge of the table, like the head of a turtle from its shell. He was not a pretty sight. A tangle of snot and drool hung from his nose and around the steel ball gag that stretched his mouth. Dan's eyes swung wildly from one side to the other, as if desperately assessing his escape options. The great escape. The twists of twine around his neck were pulled ever tighter by the weight of the table hanging out of them, causing his battle cry of rage, and his breathing, to grow hoarse and strained. He looked like a cross between an angry playing card soldier in Alice in Wonderland and some sort of pantomime six legged beast. The houpagluopo or something, he would be called, stumbling around the stage. All the kids would laugh each time he bumping into things or got swatted on the ass. A clown, in short.

As Dan, the clown, attempted a shuffling step towards the back door, through which he would not fit anyway, Becky placed her hand on the end of the top leg of his table nearest her. She leaned on it gently, and that was that. The table, and Dan tied to it, bent steadily downwards. Dan was downed by his own subject; science. The law of the lever. Becky just had to lean a little more on the end of the table leg and push it towards the ground. The effort to remain upright became impossible. Dan could not fight the force of Becky's simple downward pressure on the table leg, plus gravity; not after his forced standing for a couple of hours in the corner of the living room, then the strain of being kept tied to the table, the stress of the beating, plus the struggle of breathing while gagged and the twine around his neck choking him. With a loud thump, the table legs landed firmly of the kitchen floor with Dan sprawled back down on the table top, still tied to it. The second great slave rebellion of Dan was at an ignominious end. It was all over, as soon as it had begun.

Becky had her project to finish. She lifted one of Dan's legs and bent it at the knee. He didn't resist. Like a horse giving his hoof to a blacksmith. A simple few loops tied Dan's thigh to the table leg. She now wrapped some twine around the ankle and tied it off to the table leg as well, leaving the leg bent at the knee and the sole of Dan's foot pointing towards the ceiling. Same with the other foot, so that the feet couldn't reach the floor. Dan was now tied to the table with his feet tied up off the floor, waving over and back uselessly. Totally exposed to Becky's tender ministrations. He'd just have to take whatever she dished out to him.

Becky stood between Dan's feet and observed her victim. The additional restriction made him look ever more exposed and vulnerable. His scrotum lewdly available and open to her touch as it hung between his spread thighs, the tender skin of the soles of his feet facing upwards and asking for some bastinado. She'd beat both his balls and feet and take pictures, she decided. But first she examined the impact of her stroke with the rod. A thin red line of blood welled slowly up over the length of the stroke where the previously bruised skin had broken. Maybe the rod was too much then. Must have been sore. No wonder he reacted so violently. A revised plan was called for. She retrieved the thick ash stick.

To finish off Dan's twenty strokes, Becky positioned herself at the head of the table, she hoisted her skirt and straddled Dan's head, squeezing it between her thighs. Then, from that position, she decided to administer Dan's second set of ten strokes. Each time she hit Dan, his muscles spasmed, as before, and his head jerked up hard into her crotch. She squeezed him tighter in response. Then when he flinched or shuddered in anticipation, as she positioned the stick for the next hit, she got a little further rub of his head against her crotch. A tender, more sensitive touch. In response, Becky rubbed herself over and back on the back of Dan's head, grinding into his hair, feeling it against her sex, forcing his head down against the table. She would hit him again and get the full spasm jerk up of the slave's head once more. Becky realised she could cum if she did this a bit more. It was fun potentially. How to beat yourself off with the back of your slave's head; future research project, but that was not for today. She had her portfolio to complete.

Because the second set of ten strokes were vertical, they crossed the first set of horizontal strokes leaving Dan with a clear checkerboard pattern on his ass. The pattern will look good in the photos, Becky thought as she had finished the beating. It was artistic, different, and interesting. It was also very sore for Dan, but Becky was not about pain management, she was about portfolio management. For Becky, Dan's howls and sobs had just blended in with the music next door. In so as far as she was listening to anything, it was to the future ching, ching of her future Domme cash register.

For that reason, a business reason, Dan got five strokes of the rod on the sole of each upturned foot. An accidental, unplanned addition to Becky's Domme portfolio, and a nice photographic effect; five thin red lines across the tender inside arch of the foot. Clearly, the hits hurt. At the first stroke, Dan's foot leapt from Becky's grasp as he waved and waggled it about in an attempt to avoid any more. Becky found that a tight grip on Dan's big toe was the best way to proceed. She just waited out his wiggling after each blow, then hit him again. If anyone asked, she'd justify it as an extra punishment for Dan's escape attempt.

Finally, Dan was awarded a few slaps of Becky's broad leather belt on his balls. A few up and under shots. She did it just to try it out. It got an extreme reaction from the tied slave, Becky noted. Another useful future punishment option for her future paying clients. Though not presenting any real photo opportunities, Becky took a couple of 'before and after' shots of his balls. From behind they looked fairly animalistic and ugly anyway, just hanging there. The steel chain tying the cock cage to the perineum piercing looked slightly arty, but not enough to redeem the overall coarse look of his hairy scrotum.

Once Becky was satisfied that she had all she wanted from the session, she returned to the gathering in the room next door, switching off the kitchen light on her way out. She did so without saying a single word to Dan. Just left. No 'goodnight' or 'see you around.' Dan felt very like he had been used and discarded, but then it was Dan who always wanted to be a slave. And what are slaves for?

Dan remained tied to the table in the kitchen, in the dark, his breathing slowing and becoming more even. His ass was throbbing and on fire. He expected it would remain very sore, possibly for the whole of the remaining week he had left on the farm. At least the punishment was over. He knew he had not acquitted himself very well, not in terms of dignity under duress, or manliness. But so what? Who's counting? Who's caring? He already realised he'd get no respect from anybody anyway from now on, being the pathetic slave or prisoner he had become. He had survived the beating, and now it was over. He was relieved that he hadn't pee'd on the floor.

As he lay there, feeling the scratchy twine that held his head down itch his neck, Dan heard the familiar sounds from the next room of a party winding up; the high pitched goodbyes, last giggles and grabbing of coats. Bette's visitors left by the front door. Nobody popped their head into the kitchen to say goodbye to him, not even his wife. He supposed he was considered a sort of embarrassment in relation to the school thing, not quite a paedophile but nearly. Better out of sight. Ignore the ugly thing in the kitchen. Pretend it's not there.

Dan didn't know it yet, but Bette was of the same mind. As regards ignoring the ugly thing in the kitchen, that is. She didn't want to spoil her post party buzz. She would just leave him there tied on top of the kitchen table until tomorrow morning, she decided. The thought that Dan could be set to cleaning up after the party, once she released him, was very relaxing. There is a lot to be said for having a slave, she concluded, as she settled into her soft and cosy bed.

Bette's bedroom was located directly above the kitchen where Dan remained tied face down on the table. He had listened to her bare footsteps pattering about as she prepared for bed. It was a nice, intimate, domestic sound. It would be nice to be up there he thought, slipping into bed, snuggling down under the duvet. Not going to happen tonight, he accepted, as he struggled to get comfortable face down on the table. One of his bent and tied legs was beginning to ache, the other had pins and needles. His ass was still on fire. His neck was all scratchy and itchy.

As the house eased into quiet and darkness, and there was no further movement from the room above him, Dan knew for sure that nobody was riding to the rescue. A long night lay ahead. Still, he had only one more week to go. Onwards and upwards. Soon he would be home. He promised himself that he would be a good slave for Mary and try to avoid her punishments. Not that she would be delivering any physical pain, just deprivation and humiliation. Mary didn't do physical pain. He wondered idly who she'd get to administer that aspect now that Becky was off the scene.