Sweet Gwendoline Ch. 21

My vagina throbbed as Elizabeth continued to eye my naked body and then said, "You're absolutely adorable. And it almost seems a shame to mark up your perfectly shaped ass, but that's the plan for this evening."

Elizabeth then walked over to a leather upholstered ottoman and revealed that there was a hidden storage compartment inside. Once opened, I saw that it was where my client hid her bondage gear.

"Do you mind if I chain you up while you're spanked?" Elizabeth asked, "I'm still learning how the rules work for emotional support companions, but I really would like you to be bound and helpless before I spank you."

Standing there stark naked before my fully-clothed I felt a wave of desire pass through me. This was the sort of stuff I lived for. I mean, it was scary, but it was also deeply exciting. To be naked, helpless and punished was deliciously exciting for me.

"If you wish for me to be bound and helpless during my spanking, I am obligated to go along with your wishes," I replied, "How would you like me bound?"

"Wow, you're so cooperative," Elizabeth gushed, "This is even better than I could've hoped for!"

Elizabeth pulled out a leather collar, and I allowed her to buckle it securely around my throat. Next, she pulled out some leather wrist restraints, and I allowed her to buckle those onto me as well. Then Elizabeth produced a short length of chain. She had me place my hands behind my back, and then she secured the wrist cuffs to the back of the slave collar by using the chain to link the two together.

"Feel helpless yet?" Elizabeth inquired. I struggled against my bonds and assured her that there was no way I could get free on my own. I was indeed helpless.

"You look more delicious when you're helpless," Elizabeth declared breathlessly, "You look so yummy right now, I just have to take some pictures!"

I thought that Elizabeth would pull out her phone, but instead she pulled out an expensive-looking camera and pointed it at me. There was one camera flash after another as the enthusiastic girl immortalized my helplessness in a dozen or more photos. Without thinking, I spread my legs further apart, leaving my pubic lips more exposed and making myself appear even more vulnerable.

"We should do this often," Elizabeth said, overtaken with girlish glee, "like on a weekly basis! Now that we're doing this and I realize how much fun it is, I want to make this a regular part of my life."

Elizabeth's enthusiasm was infectious. I got swept up in her high spirits and felt glad to be there in her bedroom, being adored by her. Of course, I knew she was planning to hurt me, but I had a long history of being spanked, whipped and hurt in other painful ways, and when pain was inflicted by the right person, I usually got a dark, sexual thrill out of it.

Then Elizabeth set her camera down on the surface of her cherrywood dresser and said, "So, companion, have you ever been spanked before?"

"Plenty of times," I responded, "Something about my butt just makes people want to put their hands all over it."

Elizabeth hugged me again, kissed me on the cheek and said, "Your bottom is bewitching. It has the power to hypnotize us mere mortals. We can't be blamed for wanting to spank it. People like me are helpless to resist when it casts its magic spell."

Elizabeth then released me from her embrace, pulled a chair away from the dresser, sat down and urged me to go across her knee.

"Over my lap you get," Elizabeth said charmingly, "I've never spanked a girl before, and I'm eager to get started."

It was hard to maneuver myself across Elizabeth's lap with my arms bound the way they were, but Elizabeth helped, grabbing me around the waist and hips and pulling me into position, with my face staring down at the bedroom carpet and the curves of my buttocks conveniently positioned where they would be most vulnerable.

"You have a really beautiful bottom," Elizabeth assured me, "I mean, your whole body is beautiful, but your bottom is especially enticing. It's like you were sculpted by Pygmalion and brought to life by the gods themselves."

I assumed that Pygmalion was some sort of master sculptor and that he sculpted some exceptionally beautiful statues of female nudes. I was about to ask Elizabeth if she had learned about Pygmalion from one of her university professors when I felt a stinging slap come down on my unprotected bottom.

The first slap was a surprise. The impact of Elizabeth's hand made a surprisingly loud sound and hurt far more than I was expecting. At a casual glance, Elizabeth seemed like an approachable, friendly, innocent sort of girl. She also didn't look all that strong. She was a skinny girl with soft hands and unimpressive-looking biceps. She didn't look like the sort that would be an expert at inflicting stinging pain and abusing innocent bottoms.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" I exclaimed as Elizabeth assaulted my bare buttocks. My legs kicked and my hips squirmed, however, Elizabeth kept one hand gripped around my waist, preventing me from sliding off her lap no matter how much I bounded and squirmed across her thighs.

Elizabeth assured me that she enjoyed my girlish screams and that the way I squirmed across her lap was "erotic" and "delicious". She claimed that the way I writhed, panted, and emitted yelps of pain was far more entertaining than any striptease that I'd ever performed for her.

My bottom was still throbbing with an intense, scalding pain when Elizabeth pulled me up off her lap and enveloped me in her arms. I was hugged and kissed and then thrown on Elizabeth's bed, with my wrists still bound helplessly behind me.

I squirmed on the bed for a few moments because it was awkward to lie there with my arms chained underneath me and my spine arched. I tried to get into a comfortable position and then felt Elizabeth's strong hands on my thighs, spreading them far apart.

"Oh my God, you look so pretty when you're crying. The sight of you all helpless and suffering, it just does something to me."

My bottom was still on fire, and my brain was focusing mostly on the red-hot pain. As a result of that, I didn't immediately deduce why Elizabeth was forcing my legs so far apart. Then I felt Elizabeth's hot breath and her enthusiastic lips on my swollen pubic lips.

"Aahhhh," I gasped as Elizabeth's tongue tasted my juices and licked at my sensitive labia. Her tongue was skilled at finding the most responsive spots, and I continued to gasp and pant as wave after wave of desire passed through me.

The woman between my legs displayed an amazing amount of skill in the erotic arts. I suspected that she must have practiced on her sorority sisters. The sisters in her sorority had all hired me to strip for them before. They all enjoyed looking at my naked body, it was hardly a stretch to suppose that, given the opportunity, they would indulge in sex with each other.

I tried to remember the names and faces of the other women in Elizabeth's sorority and if Elizabeth seemed especially friendly with any of them, but then my hard, swollen clitoris was absorbed into Elizabeth's eager mouth and she proceeded to suck on it.

It was sensory overload. It was too much, too fast, and I feared I might pass out from the rapid onslaught of sensations. My hips writhed involuntarily, and I panted and yelped.

"Oh God," I exclaimed as Elizabeth tightened her hold on my thighs and spread them even wider, making me feel all wanton and shameless.

"Aaaahhhh! It's too much, Elizabeth," I screamed, "No, no, no! Oh, please don't! Oooh, please! Elizabeth!!!!""

Of course, Elizabeth ignored my screams and her enthusiastic mouth continued to work its magic between my legs. One wave of pleasure after another ripped through me, increasing the intensity of my orgasm again and again until I thought that my clit would certainly explode.

I screamed till my throat was raw, and when the orgasm was over, my body was twitching and covered in a sheen of sweat. The afterglow from my orgasm was magical, and I just stared at the ceiling as I savored the delicious sensation.

"You liked that?" Elizabeth asked as she hovered over me, her hands still holding my thighs apart.

"Unbelievable," I whispered in between panting, "Oh God, that was amazing."

"I enjoyed doing it," she responded, "The sounds that you make as you're getting closer to orgasm are delicious, and that look on your face! Absolutely adorable!"

According to Noel, I'm not supposed to develop emotional attachments to my clients, but I couldn't help it. Elizabeth was just so endearing. I wanted to take her home and introduce her to Lyndsay. I was certain Lyndsay would love her too. She was so perfectly suited to the sort of lesbian games that Lyndsay and I loved to play.

What happened after that was a blur. At some point our positions were reversed and Elizabeth was lying on the bed, while I knelt and kissed her vulva and lapped at her pink, swollen pubic lips. My young mistress was extremely eager, and her first orgasm hit way too soon. With Lyndsay and me, orgasms are things to be savored, not to be rushed.

Well, what Elizabeth lacked in patience, she more than made up for in endurance. She ordered me to stay on my knees and lick her to a second orgasm. The second orgasm seemed more special, with a great deal more moaning, panting and gasping than the first orgasm. Some of the sounds she made as I licked her to orgasm seemed exotic.

Then, Elizabeth left me alone in her room. She ordered me to remain kneeling with my knees wide apart while she went off to the kitchen. She came back with a bottle of Evian water. She drank about half the bottle herself, offered some to me and then ordered me between her thighs once again.

Like I said, the girl had endurance. I lost count, but I think Elizabeth had four or five orgasms before the evening was over.

* * *

Councilwoman Normandy was my second emotional support client. She was about twice my age, but attractive in a middle-aged, woman-of-the-suburbs sort of way.

I don't know how much money she makes as a government official, but she didn't even blink at the hourly fee I charged. When it came to hiring me, she acted as if money was no object. I suspect she might have found a way to surreptitiously siphon off money from some obscure fund somewhere in the city budget. In any case, when it came to me, she spent money freely.

Rather than utilize my services at her home, Councilwoman Normandy put me in her car and drove me out to Stoneman Field.

Now, to those of you who have never lived in Fairhaven, Stoneman Field is an area of town that the tourists never bother with, and many Fairhaven residents insist that the whole place is haunted. Back in the 1800's prospectors had panned and mined for gold out there. Nobody ever made it rich out there and it's said that many men committed suicide rather than live with the failure of investing everything they owned searching for gold that wasn't there.

Nowadays Stoneman Field is mostly grassland and woods, and the old crumbling walls of what must once have been saloons, general stores and stables. There's a graveyard out there somewhere, but it's so overgrown with weeds and tall grasses nobody can find it.

Councilwoman Normandy obviously didn't believe the ghost stories about this place or else she wouldn't have decided to bring me out there. After we got off the main road, she turned onto a dirt path and drove towards a series of ancient, dilapidated buildings.

We drove past a number of crumbling buildings and weed-infested fields and the shabbier a place looked, the more excited she seemed to be about the prospect of tying me there. She drove her car slowly and eventually stopped when we reached the ruins of what might once have been a church or possibly the town hall. Councilwoman Normandy got out of the car and gave the place the once over before telling me to get out of the car. What we were about to do was highly erotic and possibly illegal. If any witnesses were to come by while I was performing my emotional support duties, it would have proven painfully scandalous.

"I think we're alone now," the councilwoman said after a good fifteen minutes of examining the place, "You can get out of the car now."

I got out of the car and wobbled on high heels as I walked through weeds and grass. The spot my client had chosen hadn't seen human habitation in a long time. There was a stretch of stone and mortar that had once been part of a building. The wall had two heavily grated windows with seriously rusted metal. The roof was now gone, and grass had overtaken the floor of the building.

The councilwoman explained her plan before she hammered a mountain climber's piton into the wall at a spot above eye level. Once it was hammered in deep, she ordered me to get out of my clothes.

"What I really want is something primitive and barbaric," she said as I unbuttoned my blouse and yanked it out of the waistband of my skirt, "like the scenes in those books by Anne Rice, where naked slaves are whipped or paddled for the entertainment of the screaming crowds. I'm just not going to get that level of barbarism in my suburban neighborhood. Being surrounded by minivans, soccer moms and well-manicured lawns would just make it all seem fake."

I could sort of understand the point she was trying to make. BDSM fantasies often had a barbaric theme running through them. The leather whips, the chains, the public slave auctions, all harkened back to a much more primitive time.

I stripped naked and deposited my purse, my phone, and my clothes in the trunk of the car. The trunk was closed and locked and we were miles away from civilization. I was naked and would be unable to get my clothes back until the councilwoman unlocked the trunk. And if I tried to run, it would mean running naked through weeds, moss, tall grass and ruins. We were at least two miles away from the nearest paved road and at least three miles away from the nearest home or business. This was about as primitive as we were going to get.

"Okay, now go stand over there by that stone wall," she ordered me. Naked and barefoot, I stepped warily through the grass and weeds and finally made my way to the dilapidated wall, and then she curtly ordered, "Wall pose!"

As part of my slave training, I had learned a number of slave positions and the wall pose was one of them. Without hesitation, I leaned against the crumbling stone and mortar with my arms straight, my hands pressed flat against the filthy wall and my legs far apart. This pose left me completely exposed and vulnerable for corporal punishment as well as both anal and vaginal penetration.

Of course my vagina was dripping wet at this point. I've spent a large chunk of my life savoring dark, sexual fantasies in which I'm naked and at the mercy of some cruel woman. Being naked and exposed and vulnerable in front of Councilwoman Normandy in the crumbling ruins of a gold rush town left me panting and desperate to be touched.

Then, I felt Councilwoman Normandy's hand in between my thighs. She rubbed her fingertips across my swollen labia and even thrust a finger inside of me and probed.

"Dear God," she exclaimed, "You're soaking wet!"

"Being used and sexually objectified by strong women tends to have that effect on me," I explained, "It's a fetish of mine. And this place you've chosen...for some reason, the primitiveness of it makes me feel more helpless."

"You enjoy feeling helpless?" she asked as she continued to finger my wet vagina.

"It's part of my whole Cinderella sexual fantasy" I replied in between gasps, "I yearn for a cruel stepmother and stepsisters to strip me naked, make me helpless and do cruel things to me."

The councilwoman gave me an amazed look and confided that she had never met anyone quite like me before. She said it with a tone of reverence and wonder, and I knew that this wasn't the last time she would be hiring me.

From a canvas bag, Councilwoman Normandy extracted a chain and a metal slave collar. The collar was locked around my neck, using a massive padlock, and then the collar was secured to the mountain climbing piton with a heavy chain that was only fifteen to twenty inches long.

More pitons were hammered into the ground, and then leg irons were locked around my ankles. Chains were used to connect the iron around my ankles to the pitons. The chains were sturdy, and the pitons were hammered deep into the ground, thus making it impossible for me to close my legs.

The final touch was a set of iron shackles locked around my wrists. My wrists were shackled behind my back, and I was forced to keep my wrists held high by a short length of chain joined the shackles to the back of my slave collar.

"Now, you're collared and chained," the councilwoman informed me, "You've been stripped naked and made helpless. All that remains is to subject you to a variety of cruel torments."

I loved it. A feverish wave of desire passed through me, heating my loins, hardening my nipples, and causing my pussy to throb with hungry spasms. Then the councilwoman reached into her bag of tricks and pulled out a wicked-looking, leather whip.

"If you were my slave, and you escaped, I'd have to punish you for it," the councilwoman informed me, "Perhaps I'd have to take you out to some desolate location, chain you up, and once you were helpless, force you to endure a real punishment whipping, fifty strokes on the bare skin."

I squirmed at those words. I knew the councilwoman wasn't just teasing, she truly meant to take her cruel-looking whip and place dozens of painful marks on my soft, innocent flesh.

"Of course, she could scream all she wanted," the councilwoman continued, "I'd take her out to an isolated location. She'd be so far away from everyone and everything else that nobody would be able to hear her screams."

Then, in a move that filled my body with tension, panic and a dark, sexual thrill, she swung her whip in an arc, and I could hear the thin, leather as it cut sharply through the air.

And while I stood there, with my neck chained to the wall, she informed me that she would have to whip her slave's beautiful breasts and pouty pubic lips to make certain that the punishment had the desired emotional impact. She said this so matter-of-factly, as if she were discussing the importance of paying your taxes on time.

"Feel free to writhe and twist as your whipped," Councilwoman Normandy advised me, "It will improve the experience...at least from my perspective."

I knew from experience that mistresses got a certain degree of entertainment value from watching a slave dance and struggle during a painful whipping or paddling. Many of them prefer it when a slave puts on a show of suffering.

It turned out that writhing, dancing, and screaming in pain would not be a problem. The whip that my tormentor had selected was a wicked one, and it began to scorch my skin with the very first lash. The thin strip of leather curved around my hip and snapped painfully across my bare buttocks.

"Aaaaahhhhhhh," I screamed inarticulately, and then the whip snapped across my unprotected bottom a second time.

When the whip found my ass again and again, I screamed and writhed just as my captor wanted, not that I needed any encouragement. The whip stung excruciatingly on my bare skin. Recoiling in agony, struggling against the chain that held me and screaming in profound distress were all normal, human reactions.

The third crack of the whip on my smooth skin landed across my right buttock and the back of my thigh. Then a series of cruel blows decorated my entire ass and the backs of both thighs with scalding pain. I wasn't counting the blows, but at a certain point I was in so much pain that I was certain the count must have reached fifty, but Councilwoman Normandy continued whipping me,