Clive Bedford: Mistress of torment

He groaned silently and seemed to die a little. But then he felt the lash across his buttocks, biting into weals already purple and sore, and soon it seemed almost as though one pain cancelled the other, mingled with the pleasurable vibration of the probe to produce a sensation of sexual ecstasy far advanced on anything he had ever experienced or even dreamed of. He became detached from the events, until it seemed that it was someone else who was suffering, and all Gerry could feel was the mounting sexual pleasure in his genitals. And at last, he began to wish for pain, to beg for it, to pray for it, so that the girl Sonia became, not just a casual acquaintance he had met in the course of duty, but a kind of deity to whom he owed an allegiance, and from whom he expected benefits…

After what seemed like an age, his body contorted once more. The orgasm came again, but with difficulty and agony this time as well as with pleasure, the two inextricably mingled so there was no knowing where one ended and the other began. There was no ejaculation, nothing but a dry, contortion of his body and difficult spasms of his muscles. Once more he cried out, inside the gag that shut him away from the world. And then his body relaxed, his mind went blank and he keeled over on his side and lay, twitching, sobbing, dead to the world.

Sonia stood watching him, her face impassive. Although he had fainted, she deliberately placed her right boot on the soft part of his waist and ground the stiletto heel into the flesh, twisting it from side to side, leaving a circular scarlet wound.

Then she sat down in the large arm-chair as though enthroned, legs crossed, waiting. She set her head on one side and listened. A faint tapping sound was coming from the sitting room. Agile, swift, like a sleek cat after a mouse, Sonia stood up and strode gracefully, purposefully across the room. She opened the door and went into the sitting room. She stood again, rigid, tense, aware. The sound came from a walk-in closet. Sonia pulled the door open.

By a fantastic effort, the girl in the closet had managed to move one foot close enough to the wall to be able to tap her heel against the plaster. Sonia bent down and pulled the shoe off, then the other one.

"Kick all you want now," she hissed. "No one will hear you!" She checked the bonds carefully, tightening a couple of buckles so that straps cut into soft, warm young flesh. She added two chains, fastened with padlocks, then stood back to appraise her captive critically. "You won't go far tonight!" said Sonia, grimly. She shut the door, locked it and pocketed the key. Then she went back to her "throne" and sat there impassively, waiting for Gerry to regain consciousness.

In the dark of the closet the genuine Sonia Evans moved convulsively, trying to find a way out of her bonds, but without success. The creature who had tied her up had done her work too well. Sonia strained once more against the leather straps that cut cruelly into her flesh, then she felt herself rushing down a steep slope into a dark pit as she fainted again. She sagged against the bonds, soft and sweet and gentle. Her blond hair hung like corn-silk down over her face to her waist, obscuring the pale face with its soft hazel eyes, cupid-bow lips and rounded contours. The hair was long enough partly to cover her small but perfectly shaped breasts, soft petal-pink, with virginal nipples of a darker hue. Her tiny waist was dragged in by a wide leather strap that narrowed it incredibly. Her sex was covered by another wide strap fastened between her legs, to the waist belt. Invisible were two long black plastic plugs, each set with harsh knobs, which were held in her vagina and rectum by the under-strap. The girl's whole weight hung from that strap, although when she was conscious she could relieve the pressure marginally by standing on tip-toe. But even that slight relief was denied her now, because to prevent her from moving her feet again, the woman in the leather suit had put a strong chain through the short chain that joined Sonia's ankles and had pulled it tight to a ring set in the back of the belt, so that the bound girl's legs were twisted up, all their weight now on the ankle straps. Her wrists were banded with leather and the chain that joined them was locked to a metal hook in the wall behind her, high above her head.

It was impossible to judge the exquisite beauty of her face, because it was contorted by a cruel metal gag that forced her mouth wide open, almost to breaking point of her jaws. The key was still in the mechanism of this dreadful object, and before closing the door on her, the leather-clad woman had turned the key one more whole revolution, deliberately.

Gerry Glasner stirred and a deep sigh seemed to be torn from his chest. The woman he knew as "Sonia Evans" got up and quickly released the chain that encircled his scrotum and removed the gag. Gerry felt the relief and stretched his limbs carefully. His mind was still numb, with a kind of horror mingled with memories of a peak of pleasure he had never known to be attainable. His wrists and ankles were still encircled by leather bands and connected by short chains.

"You may get up now," said Sonia.

Gerry swallowed. "I'm not sure that I can," he said. He was visibly trembling, but with a great effort he managed to get to his knees and then to stand upright.

"You'd better not sit down for a while," said Sonia. "You can take a bath in a minute. That will take a lot of sting out of your skin – after you get used to the hot water!" She grinned as though she were enjoying herself as indeed she seemed to be doing. "How did you enjoy your first taste of 'practical perversion'?" She asked.

"There were moments," agreed Gerry, thickly.

"What would you do if I said I was going to do the whole thing over again?"

Gerry shuddered. "I'd run like hell, if I was free!" he said, "But if it came to the point, I guess I'd end up right here, in this suite!"

"You take to it like a duck to water!"

"It's nothing new," said Gerry, gruffly.

"Don't tell me you've got a 'Whipping Girl' of your own tucked away somewhere, Sergeant," the woman mocked. "Why, your skin did not have a mark on it – before I attended to you!"

"No. I've never gone in for that sort of thing. I've always thought it was crazy… But I've thought about it… ever since I was about ten years old, off and on. Wondering what it would be like to be whipped by a girl, dressed like you. Why like you, Sonia? Why always in a black leather trouser suit? Why always with black hair and a pale, beautiful face?"

"Ah," said Sonia, "there's a mystery all right!" But her face betrayed that it was not quite such a mystery to her, as it was to Gerry.

"How long does the treatment go on?" he asked at last.

"Until I am satisfied that you are genuinely masochistic; until anyone reading your thoughts would know that you are a genuine masochist, that you really do get pleasure from being tortured."

"That may take weeks!"

"I think not. I can get you into the right mood in a couple of days… You've been preconditioned."

"Precondition? Exactly what do you mean by that?" Gerry's voice was suddenly hard, filled with suspicion.

"Oh, by your upbringing, by social pressures… you've already admitted as much."

Again, for an instant Gerry felt a rising doubt, a suspicion, but in face of Sonia's reasonable explanation it subsided again.

"I'll take that bath now," he said, holding out his hands. Without a word "Sonia" unbuckled the wrist bands and Gerry removed them. Then he bent to unstrap his ankles. As he bent over, his face level with his knees, he became aware of a sharp-toed boot on the floor, between his feet.

Again that seductive voice whispered, "Kiss it, Gerry! Get down on your hands and knees and adore it! You have always wanted to, and there's no one here but you and me to see. Now's your chance!"