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Suspended, naked, hanging like a child’s mobile four feet above the
ground, wrists and ankles in leather cuffs. Not enough slack that I
could bring my hands together to effect an escape, and that’s not what
I was after anyway. I was here for insight. I pulled, and there was
slack in the ropes, but it just meant I flailed about and bobbed and
swayed like a fish on a hook. He left me like that for hours at a
time. At first, I thought: this is bloody dull.
And then he got down to it.
He came in and slowly undressed. I watched the
unveiling of firm pecs and a six-pack of hard brown muscle, and it was
clear that whatever ordeal he had been through with this group, it had
confirmed him as a fanatic in the gym. When he pulled down his pants,
he took his underwear with them, and he was already hard. Seven inches
of thick cock, and if you’re one of those who think penises have their
own personalities then his was a dick that was rude and angry and
insistent, a dark brown pole, his large testicles with their skin taut
like folds over large eggs. The head of his penis was a red bulb, and
I swore I could see a bead of semen glistening there. He was close to
coming just thinking about me up in his shop. Now he moved towards me
with his erection like it was to be a punishment.
And I was completely vulnerable.
His fingertips touched my pussy, and he said in a harsh
voice, ‘You should be wetter for me.’
‘I’m plenty wet,’ I said.
There was a kind of harness to cradle my neck and my
head, but I was hung in an almost fully horizontal position. I could
see him when he walked in but not anymore, not when he stood in front
of my open legs.
‘Shut up,’ he snapped. ‘You speak when you’re spoken
to.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I mumbled.
I felt a slap across my buttocks.
And I burst out laughing. It was an involuntary
response. I felt ridiculous. Too conscious that I was playing a role,
that I—
Crack.
I writhed in sudden pain and cried out.
Whatever just spanked my buttocks wasn’t his hand. I
couldn’t see, just feel the after-shock of searing heat and mild pain
expanding over my ass. That blow wasn’t playful. It wasn’t the clap
your Mummy gave you when you were bad. It was sharp, precise,
deliberate, came from some kind of paddle. It stung like hell.
‘You respond to me with conviction,’ he ordered.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I don’t need it loud. Just sincere. Like you mean it.
I won’t call you “bitch” or childish, stupid names. That’s amateur
hour BS. But you will submit, do you understand? Until your training’s
complete, you belong to me. Is that clear?’
I hesitated. Belong to someone. Like property. Like a
slave. And my hackles instantly rose at that one.
‘I guess I better unlock you,’ he said. ‘You can’t do
this.’
‘No! Wait—‘
Damn it, I needed to know about this stuff to get in,
and that meant trusting him, and—
‘You belong to me.’
Stop thinking.
‘I belong to you.’
‘Again.’
‘I belong to you.’
© Lisa Lawrence
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