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briefNcounters -> Master's Retribution... (3/19/2014 10:50:03 PM)
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PUNISHMENT BEFITTING PROMISES BROKEN
My hands bound, my mouth gagged, I sat in the darkness. Sir was displeased and had bundled me into the cellar, locking the trapdoor above my head. I could hear his movements in the lounge room above me. It was difficult to move; there were boxes all round me and it was pitch dark, save for a faint crack of light showing along one edge of the trapdoor.
Eventually I heard his footsteps above, heading towards the back door. I heard the door close and the key turn. I could just make out the sound of his vehicle starting up, and then leaving.
He had gone.
I was alone, bound & gagged and locked in his cellar.
It was my fault I was in this predicament. I had promised to meet Sir for a session, but when my partner left home this morning with both sets of car keys I had no transport. I had to cancel, but because I was so longing for the lash of his whip, the caress of the pin-wheel, his tongue in my mouth and his hand inside me, I didn’t let him know early enough. I was hoping against hope that I would get the keys in time for me to make my way to him. He wasted his whole afternoon waiting to hear if I was going to be there or not. And I let him down.
My mistake. And with that mistake Sir had become frustrated, and annoyed.
When I did eventually get to his home, he greeted me as usual…in silence. But I could sense an undercurrent of menace, a certain restrained anger I had not experienced before. And then I was in the cellar, bound, cold & alone.
Mental exhaustion must have overcome me. I fell asleep against one of the cardboard boxes, my naked arse pressed against the cold brick wall, my legs curled under me. I was woken by the sound of the back door opening and two distinct sets of foot-falls entering the room above me; one typically feminine, the other very familiar. I sat up. My arms were dead from my wrist restraints and my hands had pins and needles. My arse was numb from the cold, damp bricks. I pushed myself into a standing position and stretched as best I could. The gag in my mouth was wet and every time I closed my mouth against it, saliva dribbled down my chin. My tits-free vinyl corset did little other than restrict my waist and lungs, and the leather collar around my neck pulled hard on the ropes that ran from it to my wrist cuffs. I was shivering, cold, and miserable. I had no idea how long I’d been down there. Was it still day time? Or had night come without my knowing?
Whatever other punishment Sir decided I deserved, I was ready to accept it; anything to be released from this cold, dark cell.
I heard muffled voices above me and I followed their movement through the darkness of the cellar, my eyes wide with the effort. I heard the couch creak and an almost imperceptible shift of its legs on the floor as the bodies above dropped their weight into it. At first, I could only identify Sir’s voice, although there was something vaguely familiar about the lilt of the female’s that caused me to strain to listen to their conversation. It was typically a young girl’s voice, full of bounce and cadence, as though she was smiling as she spoke. I could only catch snippets, but still….something familiar.
Within a few minutes though, the talking became less and I knew he was seducing her, this young thing he had bought home from who knows where. I could picture him kissing her, his tongue exploring her mouth, it’s piercing tapping against her teeth. He would have one hand on the back of her neck, offering little escape, and the other? Probably grabbing hard at her firm, young breast, or rubbing along the inside of her thigh, snaking its way to her tight, warm pussy. I had mixed feelings for the little thing on the couch. Was she here thinking she’d found a Daddy figure, to love her, stroke her and coo pretty things into her ear? Or was she here fully aware of Sir’s penchant for things a little darker, a little rougher, a little kinkier?
Feet move quickly across the floor. First his, stopping in front of the open fire, then hers.
I quite clearly heard him tell her where the bathroom was and then add ‘When you’re ready, knock and wait; I’ll tell you when you can enter’. Her foot-falls retreated in the direction of the ensuite. Nothing moved above me. My neck ached from trying to listen to their activities. I moved forward until I could feel the steep steps to the trapdoor, and sat myself on one of the rungs. Sir moved above me, just a little. Then his voice - deep, dark and unmistakably horny: ‘Are you enjoying this, Slut? Keep listening. It gets better’.
I heard her tap on the lounge room door. I waited, as she did. I knew this routine well. Tap once, count to 60 slowly, tap again, wait. I knew she would be shivering with expectation, anticipation and apprehension. I knew she would be conjuring up every scenario she thought could possibly be ahead of her. And I knew she would have no clue.
I was 51 when I first tapped at that same door. I’d birthed and raised 4 children, married & divorced, fucked many men in my lifetime, had a healthy involvement in the swing culture across the state and dabbled in things too taboo to include here. I too stood there that first time thinking I knew enough about BDSM to forecast my fate.
What I didn’t know, and what this young thing up there couldn’t possibly know, was Sir’s ‘absolute or nothing’ attitude to the lifestyle. Sir does not believe in a ‘softly, softly’ approach. Within minutes of that first tap, I was bound by leather wrist cuffs and tied in an intricate arrangement of rope; soft Japanese rope that caressed my breasts and my neck, lulling me into a false sense of security; of ‘this isn’t so bad’. Then came the clamps, the pinwheel I’ve grown to respect and enjoy, the whippings, the spanking and the finger-fucking while I stood, bound and bewildered, in the centre of the lounge room. All within an hour of that first tap on the door.
I heard him command her ‘Enter’. I could hear dainty, high heeled feet crossing the floor to where he stood, not far from the trapdoor that held me captive.
For a few minutes there was nothing, save the soft sounds of his feet moving in a circle presumably around his new young toy, circling as a shark circles its prey…thinking, assessing, and deciding. I heard him move across the room to his toy bench, hesitate, and return. I heard nothing from the girl. I assumed he may have gagged her, or perhaps she was still smiling sweetly, unaware of what fate was to offer. A few minutes passed, then I heard quite plainly a whimper, followed by another; louder the second time but just as plaintive. I wondered what he was up to with his nubile, young toy. Part of me was hoping she was made of tougher stuff than most young things these days, but part of me was wishing fervently that I could be part of what was going on. I could picture with absolute clarity his eyes, hooded with passion and burning eroticism, and I knew she was looking into the same eyes right now. Too late to run, sweetheart, you’re in for the long haul now.
Another soft mewl from her was followed by a loud, gutteral moan. I heard the slap of Sir’s hand, three, four, five times, each one followed by a faint squeal. I heard him move, heavily, around the circle once more, followed by a started cry from the girl. She began a rhythmic squealing, interspersed with ‘No! Please…no!’ over and over. Sir stifled her cries, either with a gag or his hand, I couldn’t tell. The rhythm gave their activity a name. He was fucking this young thing. Fucking her while she stood in his lounge room, totally defenceless against his strength and those Japanese ties. Was he fucking her pussy or her arse, I wondered?
Sir is a virulent fuck. I had vivid memories of me on all fours, and Sir perched entirely on top of my body, his cock sunk deep inside me. I hoped for her sake she was able to accommodate not just his cock, but the rabid intensity of his appetite.
It occurred to me then that this little thing, this bit of strumpet he’d found and claimed for the night was probably in truth not much older than my own daughter. I have always been determined that she wouldn’t be subjected to a man of Sir’s potent virility at such a young age, warning her about Daddy Doms and making sure she understood how precious her assets were. Where were this young thing’s parents? Why was she able to be picked up by a man of 45 years and dubious intentions? Honestly, some parents should be shot!
The empathy I felt for her was brief, however. I found that I was getting turned on by the sounds of their sex; of the intense, heated passion and obvious carnality going on up there and I desperately wanted to be part of it. I wished Sir would remember me down here, forgive me and invite me to watch as he devoured his new, young toy.
The fucking continued for several minutes. I could tell instinctively Sir was enjoying it, humping her hard. The floorboards creaked in the area they were standing. On occasion I thought I could detect her feet leave the floor, as though he had her skewered, suspended. The whole time, she continued her constant, rhythmic whimpering. I came to realize this little thing was almost certainly new to fucking; a virgin, in this day and age! Sir would be pleased.
She had ceased asking him to stop, and I wondered if she had begun to enjoy the activity. At intervals, I could hear Sir’s hand falling on her arse with a pronounced ‘Slap!’ but very little sound from her. ‘Well done!’ I thought. ‘You’re getting the hang of things’.
Then all activity stopped. There was barely any sound from above me, save the girl’s quiet sobbing. Then the unmistakable sound of kissing. Long, deep, wet kissing. Despite his Dominant nature, Sir is compassionate and caring. He clearly wanted to reassure his little virgin.
There was a palpable shift in the room above…the air eased, became less intense. I heard what could only be the sound of a long length of rope falling to the floor, coiling upon itself, followed by the disjointed tapping of stiletto heels crossing slowly from the lounge towards the bedroom. I could hear Sir making his way to and from his toy table. On what would be his last passing of my door, I heard him stop above me. I froze, unsure of what he expected of me. His voice came, thick with anticipation. His appetite for his waiting toy was evident. ‘So Slut, I will unlock your cell. You will count to 60, slowly, and release yourself. Do not disturb me or my new sub, or your punishment will be absolute. Do you understand?’
I swallowed hard. ‘Yes,Sir’.
I heard the metallic rattle of the lock sliding sideways, felt a soft puff of air as the door released its weight.
I counted, slowly, to 60. The room above was now clearly empty; they had moved.
Fortunately, Sir had bound my wrists in front of me, not behind. On reaching 60, I edged my way up the steep ladder-like stairs to the trap door at the top. Opening that door was a little problematic, given that my hands were cuffed tightly together, bound by rope that fed through the ring on my collar. I realized I had to descend the stairs again, turn around, and try reaching the top backwards. Stiletto heels did not make the task any easier, however some minutes later I was finally at the top of the ladder-like steps and, putting my back against the trapdoor, was able to push it open. As fortune had it, the door opened against the back of the couch. If not, it would have crashed onto the timber floor and I would be looking at another stint in the cellar. Thank you, Fate!
I eased my cold, aching body out of the hole, using the couch bring myself upright. The lights were off, so it was definitely evening. The only light was the soft glow of the lamp in Sir’s bedroom. I could see the rope on the floor in front of me, just as I had imagined. I glanced at the toy table…from what I could see, maybe a whip or two, a paddle and some clamps were missing.
I focused my senses. I could hear her muffled voice coming from the bedroom and realized Sir had her in there, obviously gagged. Cautiously, unsteadily, I made my way across the room. My progress was awkward. Trying to remain absolutely silent (I didn’t want to find out what my ‘absolute punishment’ was) I balanced on the toes of my shoes, praying I wouldn’t lose balance and topple something along the way.
I peeked around the corner of the ensuite door. From there, I could just make out her shape spread-eagled and tied to the bed. Sir’s back was towards me. From his posture, the movement of his arms, his position across her body and the muffled cries of his new young sub, I could tell he was tightening the clamps on her nipples. Her feet, tied to the end of his bed, visibly curled in pain. I couldn’t make out much more of her from where I stood. She was clearly long and slim, her flat tummy concave to the bed and her ample breasts heaving.
I watched as Sir climbed onto the bed, between her legs. Lifting her hips and resting her body against his thighs, he fingered her tight young pussy, first one and eventually three fingers, and the juices flowing freely each time he plunged her pussy revealed her eagerness.
I watched, glued. I had many times felt the fullness of his hand inside me, but never witnessed it. I waited, knowing what he was hoping to achieve. Slowly, he turned his hand sideways and pushed four fingers in flat, like a slap-hand. Her body arched off his thighs, and I heard her muffled objection. He withdrew his hand, and then plunged it in again, this time thumb too, rotating his hand back & forth as he spread her pussy further than it had clearly ever been spread before. Slowly, she lowered herself back onto his thighs. Her toes uncurled, and I watched as she relaxed visibly, then began to writhe in unison with Sir’s pumping hand…she was enjoying it.
I decided to take a chance & move to the other side of the doorway, to get a better look at this little nymph who was learning to appreciate all Sir has to offer. As I stepped, silently, across the narrow space, Sir sensed my presence. He looked over, and I froze. Please Sir, don’t put me back in the cellar. He did not stop the rhythm of his hand, which was now wrist deep inside his young sub. I returned his gaze, those hooded eyes full of the lust and depravity that drew me in so very easily. I was dismayed to see him smile. This was something new, I didn’t know this side of Sir at all. His eyes directed mine to follow their gaze; he was telling me to look at the pretty young thing straddled beneath him, still writhing in the pleasures of her first fisting, blindfolded, ball-gagged and bound. I looked, and couldn’t avoid the gulp of air that filled my lungs, making me choke on its intrusion. There on Sir’s bed, sweaty and covered in his cum, writhing and moaning in obvious pleasure at his exploits and totally oblivious to my presence, was my very own 18yo daughter.
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