Named and Shamed (15 page)
Holding her head high she took a step forward on her cream stilettos, and then another. It wasn't that hard. Now all she had to do was make it to the dungeon, which was where Kyle was 'correcting' the behaviour of an errant pony girl. Please don't let it be too awful, Isabelle thought, resisting the urge to place her head within her hands.
Kyle was enjoying himself far too much. He had a thing about glossy latex. He had another thing about zips. He had another thing altogether about what to do with the hidden delights beneath them. The pony in question, he had no idea what her name was, was dressed from head to toe in a cherry-red catsuit. A full hood covered her head and there was a single zip over her mouth. She had two sets of twin holes that punctured the hood; one pair for her eyes and the other to enable her to breathe. She had been polished to within an inch of her life. The girl gleamed. So much so that she could have started a fire if placed in direct sunlight.
His girl wasn't going to be seeing much sunshine today, though. At the moment she was chained to the St Andrews cross with her arms and legs splayed as wide as they would go. The zip that ran down the centre of her catsuit, from her surgically enhanced breasts to her crotch, strained at the seams and almost begged to be opened to ease the tension it was creating. All in good time, he thought.
Pulling down a five foot bullwhip from the left hand wall, he coiled the supple braided leather around his hand. He shouldn't really be using it, still somewhat of an amateur with it, but how was he ever going to get better if he didn't practise? Some dominants used beer cans, others trees or posts, but Kyle had no patience for such things. Where was the fun in cracking a beer can in two? There were no shocked gasps and no screams; beer cans did not bleed and they did not cry. So Kyle had decided to practise on the real thing, which was a damn site more entertaining. It wasn't as if he was going to get into trouble. He was in charge and he could do what he liked, when he liked.
Placing his thumb forward on the handle he cocked the length of the whip behind him and brought it forward. It made a delightful crack in the air and the little submissive horsie on the X-frame whimpered through her latex hood. It was a lovely sound. He cracked it again through the air, just for the pleasure of watching her wince. Oh, how he wished he could play with the twelve foot bullwhip that took pride of place on the centre of the dungeon's back wall. Still, you had to start small and work your way up to these things. He'd probably need to work his way through a few test subjects before he was ready for that baby.
Ah, well. Walking slowly towards his victim he revealed a thin, cruel smile. He wanted to subject her to a taste of the whip before he played with her. That way, when he pulled it out again at the end of their session, she'd really know what was coming for her. He drew it through the air again, just for the pleasure of watching his pony's eyes, which were now white with fear. Oh, how he loved his work. The tiny sobs and the distressed look of horror were making him hard. It was time to test his aim. Using the 'Cattleman's Crack', which was the most basic way to crack a whip, he aimed for his subject's thigh.
The whip struck high and landed just above her hipbone. The girl gave a shocked gasp of horror as the whip cleanly sliced the latex of her suit and burrowed into the flesh beneath. It took a moment before the pain of the crack registered, and then she shrieked and struggled madly in her bonds. It only served to arouse Kyle further.
Annoyed his aim had gone awry, he immediately drew the whip back to have another shot at his target. Fuelled afresh by her pain, he aimed lower and repeated the standard cracking motion. The submissive vented another shriek, louder than the first and this time her latex suit was shredded at the knee joint. He swore. Mastering the skill of bullwhipping was going to take a lot longer than he anticipated. If he managed to bag a delightful trainee at the upcoming auction, then he would have all the practise material he needed. She would be his to whip morning, noon and night if so desired, and the thought was appealing. Cutting Miss Redcliff down to size would be an enviable task indeed, and he had decided that he was the man for the job. Whipping that pretty ass into shape would involve no hardship on his part.
Moving close to the whimpering sex-slave he let his fingers linger on the black plastic zip that strained over her cleavage. He slowly drew the zipper down to her navel, exposing the delicious twin curves of her breasts. Running a finger down a bead of sweat that had formed beneath the rubber material, he then grabbed a breast and twisted it. A softer mewl of pain this time, which was nowhere near as exciting as the bullwhip shriek.
'Shall I improve my aim on these delicate beauties?' Kyle tweaked the tip of a nipple painfully between his forefinger and thumb. There would be no response, even though his captive was not gagged. Plunging his hand into the depths of her suit he struggled to find her sex. The rubber was so tight that only the long length of his fingers allowed him to achieve his goal. He just managed to sink the tip of his middle digit into her greedy little hole. Even though the girl was clearly terrified she was wet, needy and desperate to be fucked. He had that effect on women. He smeared her clit with a combination of her own juices and sweat and manipulated it softly. Another mewl, this time of pleasure.
'Baby, you want some more of that?' He cocked his head to one side and watched her lithe body wriggle under his hand. 'Yes,' he cooed, 'I bet you do. Too bad, I've got plans for you.' The latex of her catsuit made a snapping sound as he removed his hand. Dragging the zipper down further he exposed her smooth, naked sex to the cool dungeon air. Her body twitched. Thrusting two fingers inside her, as deep as they would go, he raised her body with the aid of his fist beneath. His pony girl feebly struggled with her wrist restraints, but employed no real enthusiasm to break free. She already knew the effort would be futile. Wiggling his fingers inside her, he was pleased to find her body so wet she was leaking down his hand and that was exactly how he liked them.
Removing his fingers with a pop he pulled a clear plastic, oval-shaped cup from his pocket. He squirted a generous amount of lubricant along its outer edges before placing it over her pussy. Attaching a small plastic tube to the air inlet on the front of the cup, he then fixed this to a hand-held pump. Slowly he began to suck out all of the air from inside the cup, watching her labia swell and open as he did so. Some more struggling ensued, but this time of the pleasurable kind. He pumped her up a little bit more, wanting her fully, almost painfully engorged before he removed the device. Her blood would be pumping furiously to her nether regions about now. Sealing the air inlet off, he decided to leave her like that for a few minutes. He wanted her sex huge, pink and as sensitive as possible for what he had in mind next.
Meandering over to the storage cupboard in order to pull out a very special piece of equipment, he couldn't resist admiring its simple lines. It was called 'wooden pony torture', and was basically a long, waist-height triangle of sharply angled wood, which was placed under a restrained subject's genitals. Initially they would use legs and feet to prevent all their weight bearing down upon their tender folds of flesh, but inevitably they would tire and that was when the torture would begin. His slave would eventually be forcing all of her body weight down upon her crotch, which would, of course, be sitting upon a sharp angled point of wood. It was going to hurt. Judging by the way she had already swelled beneath the cup, her extra sensitive clitoris and labia were going to be burning in pain relatively quickly. That was when the fun would begin.
Wheeling the four foot long triangle along on its castors, he allowed her to get a good look at the contraption. He wondered if her little brain would figure out his ingenious game of torture. As he wasn't going to let her speak he would never know, but he didn't credit many of the slaves with much intelligence. Squatting down in front of her, he eyed up her genitals. They were now filling nearly half of the cup and the slippery folds of her labia looked enormous. Satisfied that his pump had done its work, he removed the cup and taking hold of his wooden pony once more, slotted it neatly underneath the girl's crotch. He ratcheted the height of the device up by means of a floor pedal, until her pussy was barely nestling on the wooden frame.
He gave her a minute or so to think about that one. Finally understanding dawned in her eyes. Using the lever to raise it another couple of centimetres, so the point rested uncomfortably in the centre of her private parts, he stood back to admire her sleek form. His little pony immediately strained in her boots, trying to raise her body in order to avoid the sharp point. He would let her struggle for a few minutes or so, knowing she would quickly tire herself out and that was when he would raise the device a little higher. No matter which way the rubberised girl twisted and turned, there would be little relief available to her and no escape from the torment which would only get worse the longer she was forced to remain there.
Kyle pulled up a brown leather lounger and sat in the middle of the room enjoying the view. He had forgone candles today and settled for the long strips of bright, halogen lighting which filled the dungeon's stone ceiling. He didn't like the muted light that the candles produced. When he was in a scene, he wanted to see every last little nuance of pain that crossed his slave's face. At the moment there wasn't much to see. She was a little uncomfortable, but there was no real suffering taking place. That would change shortly. Her face would contort in dread, her body would shake with terror and she would consider opening her mouth to try and beg for mercy. If she had any sense, she'd keep it closed. The only time he wanted an open mouth anywhere near him, was when he wanted to stuff it full with his cock. The last time a pony had spoken in his presence he had almost flayed the skin from her back.
Not wanting to hurry the proceedings along at this point, he let his mind wander. His thoughts immediately turned to Isabelle. He could probably sheath his sadistic streak and even go vanilla for a couple of rounds with that package, although he'd still probably have to tie her up. A leopard didn't want to lose all of his spots, lest he become a pussycat. Being gentle with Isabelle wasn't as unpleasant a thought as it usually was, though. Beautiful ladies deserved a little respect. He would love listening to every single word she uttered, just for the pure musicality of her voice. There would be no need to gag her. If she switched to her native French and began whispering in his ear there was always the chance that he might have one hell of a party in his pants before the proceedings began.
Smiling to himself, he wondered where he should suggest that the first date take place. That they were going to have sex was a foregone conclusion, but the where and the how were as yet still a mystery. All he knew was that it had better not be at his place. He hadn't cleaned up in weeks, and at the moment he had to forge a path through a jungle of discarded clothes, magazines and used coffee cups in order to make it to his bed. Personally, he preferred to take a flying leap. It saved the hassle of near death experiences when faced with the prospect of crushing china beneath his toes.
Noticing that his pony had become considerably more agitated upon the horse, he decided it was time to stop daydreaming and get some additional bullwhip strokes in. It was clear he needed the practise. Moving his chair back to allow himself plenty of room to cast the whip, he began to concentrate on where he would like the tip to strike. He raised his arm straight up and gave the whip handle a light wrist snap. A crack shot through the air and echoed around the cavernous confines of the dungeon, but Kyle hadn't actually managed to hit anything. At least it had the desired effect on his pony girl, who began struggling madly in her chains.
Aiming anew he took another flick with his wrist, but this time he managed to get the whip caught behind him and the tip swung back around his body and sliced between his shoulder blades and into the nape of his neck. When a bullwhip moving at seven hundred mph severed your shirt in two, you knew all about it. Dropping the whip and swearing like he was frightened the word 'fuck' might be going out of fashion, he snapped a hand over the injury. It was throbbing and wet. Drawing his fingers back in front of his eyes, so he could witness his own stupidity, he found them covered in blood. Great. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It stung like a bastard. He could only imagine what his little horsie was thinking, and damned if he didn't hear a snort of amusement. Little shit. It was all right for her; she was a masochist. He, on the other hand, was not.
Feeling a dribble of blood slide down his neck, he narrowed his eyes in annoyance. There was another snort, this time louder. She really was laughing at him. How dare she? The snorts were getting louder and closer together and... she was... laughing hysterically. The cheek of the slut was unbelievable! His mouth formed a thin line as he held the bullwhip up high and felt his body tighten with anger. She was asking for it and hell if he didn't want to give it to her. Letting the whip fly in the height of his anger he hit his target; the top of her thigh, first time. Her shocked gasp and scream as the latex tore once more wasn't nearly enough to appease his anger, however. The whip continued to sail through the air, and it was fair to say that as long as it shredded some rubber he didn't really care where it landed.
Isabelle's heels were wobbling precariously down the steep stone steps which led to the dungeon. It was a delicate procedure. Catch one in a hole and not only did you snap your heel in two, you were lucky if you didn't snap a few bones in the process. It didn't help matters that she was also encumbered by a very tight, knee length, black pencil skirt. At least there were no spectators down here to witness her ridiculous sideways waddle as she carefully negotiated each step. Why they couldn't have thought to put a simple hand rail in was beyond her. Was the entrance to the dungeon supposed to be as tortuous as the paraphernalia inside it? She had to wonder.
