F. Campbell - Slave Girl and the lash

"Do you hit that girl, Daisy, this hard, Mr. Hennery?"

"For five quid!" He sounded shocked at so stupid a question. "I lay it on her like this one here." My respect for the absent Daisy grew. I had found it hard not to scream. "Do you have to gag her, Mr. Hennery?" I asked apprehensively.

"Don't like the gag, do yer." Mr. Hennery had noted my concern. "Nah, I don't bother. She howls a bit but it just gives me a better cockstand. Says the damnedest things too. Makes it interesting."

"Do you fuck her after?" Anything to get him talking and not whipping.

"Of course I do! For five pounds.!" The next couple on my bottom were almost a reproof. "Am I getting some nice marks, Mr. Hennery?"

"You mark lovely, lass. Let's take a good look." His 'good look' took a long time. I was thankful. Conversation really was a useful diversion. But I soon learned why.

"Yer cunt's sticking out behind, Phemie!" He sounded shocked.

"They do if you bend a girl double, Mr. Hennery."

"Never seen Daisy's do it. You sure it's respectable?" I almost giggled; but I hurt too much. "I think girls vary quite a lot, Mr. Hennery. Maybe mine does protrude a bit more than most when I'm positioned like this."

"Doesn't seem quite decent, y'know. Positively winking at me?"

"Well, it's just between the two of us," I consoled. "And, honest, I'm not doing anything to it to make it wink. A girl can't."

"Ought ter be taught a lesson, it did." His tone was highly moral. My heart sank. This absurd male was not one to ignore the gifts of nature. I had thought my puss well buried in the rug, but evidently my struggles and jerks had sent her peeping between my legs. "'Perhaps we could deal with her tomorrow?" I suggested without hope.

"Oh aye, and we will too. But right now — where did I put that dratted whip!" It was hopeless as usual. A girl might as well take her whippings and keep quiet, she's going to get them whatever she says. However, I tried. "But, Mr. Hennery, you're busy caning my bottom right now."

"I ain't that busy." It was a beastly kind of pain. Far too intimate. I could envision the lash entering inside me. But it was not the ideal position for punishing my puss. Between my buttocks and the rug the whip could not get its full impact. My tormentor amused himself for a few painful minutes and then returned to the cane and my taut rear. "Nothing like a good bottom, is there lass," he said approvingly, and struck. He made me scream. I expect I should have started earlier instead of trying to be a little heroine. He went well beyond my tolerance before he set aside the vibrating thing that had been thrummming into my flesh. "Bet you're ready for a good screw," he suggested kindly. I was not ready for it at all, but I got it just the same. All I wanted to do was curl up in a corner and weep. When he was finished with me I lay panting on the straw wondering what diversion I might think up against whatever his next cruelty might be. But I had misjudged him.

"You said something about being tied up, lass?"

"Would you like to tie me up?" I erased the hope from my voice.

"Well, I can't keep lacing into yer all day, love. More's the pity. I'll tie yer up real sweet and proper and give yer a bit o' rest. Besides, I got a few jobs." Artistry was something I would never have associated with Colin Hennery. But, with rope, he had it! "Back against that there upright, Phemie gal', I'm goin' ter make yer real pretty." It sounded normal. Dutifully I obeyed. I had to arrange my cuffed hands inside the curve of the small of my back, but I was surprised how well I could do this. I stood against the post, expectant. My bottom burned wickedly, but I was grateful for the respite. Perhaps I might manage to stay alive through the ministrations of this ridiculous creature who had captured me. But I shut escape from my mind. He would never let me. The bands 'round my tummy positively plastered me to the post. They were all he needed to make me secure. But they were just the start. "I don't like no rope across a gal's tits or her chest, love," he explained judicially. "I got me own way o' coming up under her armpits and across her shoulders. Holds her tighter nor any other way and looks right proper." I suppose this is where I apologize again. Being rendered helpless by such male and knowing hands engendered the lovely sensation I knew so well. I had always associated it with Yolanda. But Hennery's skill worked its inevitable magic with me. He noted my quickened breathing and laughed in satisfaction.

"See! I told yer, love. Yer liking it, aren't yer?"

"I can't help it," I admitted apologetically. "I'm sure it's silly, but yes I like it. The liking won't last. But for a little while I'll know a peculiar kind of peace." He tugged at a rope that went over my shoulder, behind my neck and 'round the post. It was brutal, but I glowed in the knowledge of being possessed by another. I had passed my point of no return and would be dependent on this odd man for future liberty. In the meantime he would have every little bit of me totally. The rope burned my shoulders as it bit deep, I loved it!

"You won't even be able to wiggle, Phemie." What an ill assorted pair we were, yet joined by this common need! I stood in a roseate radiance as my knees were cinched and then my ankles. Lastly he examined the placement of my chained hands, then used more rope to clamp them back to the wood and render them immobile in a manner the handcuffs could not do. He stepped away and examined me. In his way he was a sculptor who had wrought a statue. I felt a strange pride that it was me.

"What yer say to the rest o' the day, lass?"

"It's not for me to say, Mr. Hennery. I'm the captive. It's you who can do what you like with me." It was throwing my bread upon the waters. The devil of it was I meant every word. The way he had tied me was a work of art.

"You and me's going to get along a treat, Phemie." He stood for a long time, drinking in my strained and outthrust breasts and my coy pubic bush. Then, as though rendered speechless by what he saw; he turned and went about his affairs. Alright! I'm a silly girl. I'm a nympho', I'm kinky, I'm irresponsible, I deserve all I get. But I told you! I can't explain the phenomenon of me. I've got a notion I'm not all that different from any other girl. I'm just willing to talk. It was early in the day when I was tied. It takes me one or two hours to make the transition from loving it to wishing I hadn't been such a fool. Three hours has me panting to get loose. But, now at that point, my day stretched interminably ahead, still young. A naked girl helplessly and hopelessly tied has only one recourse: the visions she can evoke within her mind. It's not always easy, it wasn't this time. Hennery's artistic strands of rope across my shoulders were biting at me like personal enemies. They were deep in my flesh, had been ever since he pulled them tight. The kicker was that every time I breathed they sunk in a bit deeper and hurt so much I longed to tear them away or to burst into tears. I won't dramatize. It was not my first time. It did not hurt any worse than some of Yolanda's bindings. She'd made me feel sorry for myself often enough. So I sort of put my sensations out of gear the way I'd learned from long sessions as a bound slave, and contemplated my future. I didn't have any! This was my first thought. What was happening to me now was IT! I could pick no hole in Hennery's plan to keep me forever. If someone else discovered me or I was rescued it would have to be by accident. I didn't waste time thinking about escape. The way Hennery had me the word escape was a mockery. I'd never get away from him. Can you envision it? Quite a spot for a girl! I surged angrily against my bindings but did not move. I was tied tight. But it was the future that mattered. To go on and on with Colin Hennery! He was so hard to reconcile with all my past. He did not belong. He was not a beast or an absolute brute. In some things he was almost kind. But I had to recognize I was in the power of what I could best describe as an amateur sadist. My main hope was that he'd value my body enough to wish to preserve it in good condition for his enjoyment. He probably would do this, but it wasn't much comfort. There's a precept, isn't there, that things can always get worse. Hennery was evidently a believer in it. He showed up in the early afternoon, smiling broadly. "You look good enough to eat," he said, and meant it. I told him how I hurt. He didn't appear to hear. "Realized I forgot something, lass," he informed me jovially. What he had forgotten was more rope. Rope that went up between my legs. It was not needed to make me more secure, only to hurt and to emphasize my female nakedness. Beside my puss and up over my hip. Then the real dilly, the one that went inside and was cinched up and up until I howled. I could not look down and see myself, but I was positive it was well within the lips of my cunt. They probably even closed over it.